match ryan : “shut up & ride the weird train”

Step right down.  Step right down again.  Two steps closer to Weirdsville.  A place I call my domiciliary.  A book that you claim needs to be erased.

 

My imagination makes your open mouth look like the head of a gavel.  Do you really want to smash my words and call them to order?  You say I’m this and that…and I say it’s because you’re so, because you’re so, because you’re so…you know that I know who you are.  Right?

 

What’s it to you if a toe has a nipple?  If I embalm the family cow with my halitosis and take said bovine with me to a stranger’s funeral?  If a jacket-wearing jackal jacked off under the influence of Apple Jacks? 

 

These are the stories I tell my children when they need comfort.  These are the truths I tell God to put in the New Improved Testament.  You treat them as if they were pubic hairs that needed to be shaved from the twat of a porn star.

 

What you’re really afraid of is the bottom corner of the page.  The way it barely touches the tip of your thumb when it’s off to the next page.  That’s when you close your eyes and tighten the chastity belt your husband gave you.   

 

You’re wondering if I’m standing in your bedroom.  Above your bed.  Maybe I am.  Maybe I am that jackal who has had too much cereal.  Because you’re so, because you’re so, because you’re so…that’s right…because you’re so…right there…because you’re so…oh, oh, oh…

 

Now let’s smoke.  Now let me tell you what you tell your husband.  Now tell me what it was like to sex a man who has much in common with the octopus.

 

Match Ryan lives in Minnesota. Octopus population: 1.

 

[ J. A. Tyler ] [ blog ] [ news ] [ buy ] [ read ] [ Mud Luscious ] [ current ] [ news ] [ archives ]

{ issue four