Friday, November 29, 2013

Shaving by candlelight

Does that make me Cary Grant? ("If he can talk, I'll take him!") Or, since this is the end times, are you auditioning for the role of Paul Novak?

Does this mean that your delusions have finally consumed – and excreted – you?

Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?

Did you know that most predators kill their prey by biting their necks? They’re after the big vein or the trachea: you bleed out or suffocate. Wolves slash at the muscles and ligaments in the legs. But you’re no large ungulate.

Do you think zombies go to heaven?

Does it matter that the noise I heard outside was a stony-eyed girl with a growling dog? We burned things and ate out of cans. A few days later, a pair of buzzcutt-ed boys with fresh needle marks. (We shared out our pork n’ beans.)

They didn’t mind my necklace of teeth but the beard scared them. So I shaved by candlelight.

Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?

I caught a cold from one of the kids. Does it matter that I intend to survive?

* * *

Exquisite corpse #20.

Darryl Joel Berger's (harrowing) #19 is here.

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