Shirk Application

guy-forever-collar

My creative thesis, ———, is a novel which will explore the idea of fucking in a park while old men with radios watch. I’m a batshit insane crazy person and I’m submitting this because I’m an idiot at the end of my rope. Hello. Hello. Repetition. Digression. I love you. Call the ropes. Cull the idiots. Throw me into a well. Hello. I’ve diapered my body. I am a wallpapered cunt. Forget it, you insane maniac, I’m a wall of spiders. Don’t. Hey. I’m a wall of spiders and my tight brain is dying here. Tight. Oh my god, I’ve got a blood vessel popping in my forehead constantly and there’s some serious wave action going here. Hi? Hi. My god man look at all of these torpedos they look so legit and I’m hungry. I’m quiet. I’m a quiet dildo man riding a smooth wave out into the ocean, hallejuah. I will learn all of this shit again and become king of the mountain somehow. I’ll become king of the mountain somehow. No one will love me. I’m generous. Forget it. I’m crying immediately. Hi, balls. Hi. Hi, the dark lord is visiting. He thinks you have a dick on your face. “No,” I said to him, as if he were a dirty animal. I ran my hands through the topsoil and a sharp rock cut my fingers. “No, no, I’m crying now,” he said to me. I ran to the bathroom and watched the dirty water spin slowly away from me. In which direction? Clockwise or counter-clockwise? I don’t know, a raven just spat on me and I’m angry, so who gives a fuck? The raven, I bet. Ca-caw, I said, to nobody, over the sound of a broken radio whining in the night.

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