The New Adventures of McShutup (#1 in a series of 1)

[mcshutup]

In one of the strip malls I pass on my paper routes, there is a porn/adult novelty store called Adam and Eve. Nearby, there is a Christian bookstore called Agape.

So, there's that.

Comments

[inadequate_one]

The coiled restraint burned inside him like oily pearlescent dew drops pooling over grease stained concrete next to an erupting kegfire. The twitch in his neck was a match, his veins were filled with sulfur, his limbs fettered strips of flesh enslaved by a beating heart of hollow ambitions, his blood boiling with feces and filth. He was literally full of shit, venom spewing mad, quivering with apoplexy and rage, sulfuric acid face of beat red, unshaven. His emotions swam up from black depths of inadequacy and pain like an inky translucent film slowly suffocating his psychology, and the strain was uncoordinated and intoxicating. He was olefins of nothingness, ethylene and sulfuric acid, slowly turning into a drunken ethanol wasteland

[mcshutup]

When he dreamed he sometimes made worlds out of his fears, whole colonies of flotsam and jettison, anger or pain or envy, and the tiny little lives multiplied by the billions and unspooled for dimensions and millennia never aware that the entire dynamic of their universe was a condensed, unshackled emotion the body was trying to forget or bury beneath subconsciousness.

You wrote this, right? I'm kind of flattered to have this excerpt in my journal. I relate a lot more to this solipsistic, self-effacing first part than to the preface....a personal bias, I guess. I think God is more everything that I (or we) am not, but it's probably only the word "god" that scares me off. Whatupwiththat, huh? Anyways, very nice writing, if it is yours....

[mcshutup]

My spontaneous attempt to write something in response (prose cypher

[inadequate_one]

There’s another sort of province here, besides civilization and savagery. One too literal (or literally felt) to be an axiom; an un-topia. A place where everybody walks at a crawl, too narrow in stature for their own shadows. Where the streets are so cracked that the pattern of the defects overwhelms the symmetry intended in the roads. Not that they notice. Where the light is always gray, in the painfully dull, nauseous flux between evening and dark; The evaporating light perpetually causing a blur of vision and disorientation of purpose. Where the power lines share an irritated whine, the ache of post-storm confusion and an expectation of service, attention, parental reassurance, that never comes. “You should have been home twenty seven minutes ago,” they’re always saying (because I’m always late.) There’s an eerie, flickering shape to the reflection of winding branches against the wooden fence; the living wood taking stage on it’s dead cousin for a personified dance out of some remembered Disney film. The terror of innocence. “It’s

[kanino]

http://community.livejournal.com/hiphopverses/713727.html?mode=reply

questionable?