I think I'm going to go ahead and try and do this as much as I can from now on. For those that missed it, this is all raw and unedited writing, me writing the very first thing that pops into my brain. It hardly makes too much logical sense but it does in other ways. Sorry/Enjoy.
Ellis can't speak a word to the ladies. He gets kicked in the balls a lot so all that comes out of his mouth is stuttering helium. It is like he had voice reduction surgery, what a silly little boy Ellis is. To me, there is nothing more puny and tasteless than those who seek to disprove themselves, take a bite out of crime and expect to be thanked for it. Not everyone wants a celebrity to worship, and not everybody wants a gun to hold or a chain to rock around your threads or your ankle, for that matter. Take me to the place where I was born, I miss it, I wonder what time it is twenty one years ago. Will it be cold when I go back? How many chairs will they have, will there be enough? Sometimes something as simple as that can ruin an entire evening, even for the scumsucking miscreants.
The bump on my knuckle smiled at me today, because I bumped it again earlier. It grew a little, it grew because I had hit it. I abused it and it grew in size and character, and mass and personality. It was my child living on my hand, watching my every move and doing everything that I do. It got annoying so I covered it, hid it away because I was ashamed of it, I wanted nothing to do with it, but I knew it was still smiling under all the mess I had covered it with. To these days that I live I can only wonder what the people behind the mirrors must think, if they regret watching me or if they are even more amused than they were when they first started. How will I ever know? I know nothing of the art, only of the exhibit. Bring me back to where I belong, the crib that brought me here and maybe I can recall a little more, something that you might be able to use at the end of your movie, a real page turner.
There are several small animals that run around my feet in circles, like little whirlwinds of proximal electricity. I don't know how they got there but I have grown accustomed to how they act towards me, like I am one of them, it gives a nice warmth that no one would really understand, I doubt I even do myself. But the animals seem to understand, they seem to understand a lot. They have twisted more than anyone I have ever seen, and still not even thrown a punch. They don't have the guts to, or maybe they are just smarter than that. Who is to say whats left is left, we only know that because we say it is so. For a moment I thought Mona Lisa was right, but now I see that she isn't even that pretty.
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