and I'll blog if I want to

It's my birthday

just in case you didn't know. just in case you failed to notice. just in case you couldn't take off of your busy schedule. Because it always you you you isn't it? and this one day, this time, where it might just be about me, you don't remember. It doesn't even cross your mind. I didn't even ask for much. I didn't even ask you to do anything above and beyond what would be considered just...just something that anyone would be more than happy to do. Or at least fake it for one day at least.

What do you do that so important? Just make up stories all day. Stories that don't even make fucking sense.

One day a little boy was walking by a field. A field that he had been to many times. Each time the boy would study the field learning it's landscape it's texture; the smells, everything seemed empty, dirty. The boy was fond of the pool of water that was near the field. The pool of water wasn't something that you would call nice or pretty or even pleasant. The water in the pool was shallow and stagnant, teeming with unknowable things. It buzzed and hummed but there was no movement in or around it. No swarm of flies or mosquitoes or whatever common thing that was found elsewhere was found here. The little boy one day gathered as much courage and strength that he could find. Walked to the pool pulled out his gun. He was together with the pool. But the boy did not become a part of it, no, the outside infected him. Yes, there it he was mingling with the pool; oil in water. Not all of it, not even much it; the rest his body, his skull and bones and guts, belonged to the flies and all the base things he was so desperate to be separated from. But, of course, the boy knew none of this, all that was reflected in his eyes was the pool with it's murky water and his blood finally joining the shore.


happy birthday, I mean happy halloween, I mean, I mean