Sunday, January 17
I feel like I want to explode and shrivel up all at the same time. I want to be launched into space. I want to ride different orbits, I want to slingshot from planet to planet, all the way to the edge of the galaxy. I want to feel gravity! I want to feel the planets tug at me all at once, even the faraway ones. I want to be my own celestial body! I want scientists on planets thousands of light years away study my image long after I've gone. I want to be in one of those damn astrology atlas shits, the big picture books, with the colorful sketches and maps. And after I've had my fun, I want to be flung back towards the Sun. I want to see the Sun from as far away as possible, as if someone was just shooting at my eye with a laser pointer. Then I'd approach it and it'd get brighter and brighter and bigger and bigger until my eyes would have no choice but to boil out of my head. Then I'd be blind. My hair would sizzle away like sparklers on the 4th of July, my limbs would shrink and blacken like used matches, my body would toast then quickly char like the marshmallow of an impatient fat man. The only thing that would be left is me, and I'd know that I would be eaten up by the Sun, even though I'd have no real way of telling. My senses would be gone and I'd be left completely alone with my thoughts, just floating floating floating, until pewf, I'd be gone.
Chris Bell died in a car crash that may or may not have been his own damn fault. What a silly, convoluted way to die.
Anyway, I'm done now.
Chris Bell died in a car crash that may or may not have been his own damn fault. What a silly, convoluted way to die.
Anyway, I'm done now.
Labels: pseudoku, puns, who exactly am I trying to impress? ???
