When a man plans, a woman laughs.
Fred said, “Man, I think he’s gonna make a fuckin’ suit of human skin, using the best parts from each of us.”“Holy crap,” said John. “He’ll be gorgeous.
John, let me make one thing clear,” Jim said, cutting me off in his most stern, evangelical voice. “Every man is blessed with his gifts from the Lord. One of mine happens to be a penis large enough that, if it had a penis of its own, my penis’ penis would be larger than your penis.”........"Fuck all of you,” John retorted. “You don’t even exist. We’re all just a figment of my cock’s imagination.
...and - holy shit was this song bad. It was like the singer was stabbing my ear with a dagger made of dried turds.
What, then, is the soul but a prisoner of your flesh? An undying yet constrained energy, bound and enslaved within a shuffling, steadily rotting suit of tissue and savage needs?
We rode in silence, I think all of us wondering what was behind the flowery wallpaper our perceptions had always pasted on the unknown. All the things the mind won't allow us to see, to protect our sanity, or our soul, or maybe just to keep the shit out of our pants.
My mind didn't clear. It had been clear before. Instead it muddled, suddenly ablaze with rioting factions of insecurities and dreams, a cacophonous battleground of conflicting moral codes and dogma. I was, therefore, back to normal.
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