Two Page Stories

Call was the Tower of Babylon with the three participants lacking in common shared language. Spanish over French over Czech. The lacking made up in character, chatter, drunkenness, dissonance and cacophony. The switch between the bilingual combinations was lost.

As the stem of a thought came in, the stillness slipped into slimed skulls slowly swimming upstream. Swapped sorrows sang stream, salmon against the established systems. Some stand guard for their own belief, with the strength of a slimy salmon slippery on moist moss covered stones. Slipping unscathed by sharp

Slightly above my desired temperature he set our room to boil me alive like a lobster a couch potato that I’ve become. He means well to make me go outside to motivate me. But he picked the wrong day, wrong month, wrong year to motivate me. I’m sweating

Would it be wrong to agree that we all flee? That what we pray for in our singular shared dream is to have appraisal worth the spree demanding of life and spilling the tee.

I feel back into the Abyss of obsession and addiction. I hunger for more constantly without pause, to grab what I see without restriction. I consume, forgetting my addiction to frivolous items that is a living in possession by the power held over my head. I strive to become the

The Sunday pace on Friday that breaks space between the mid-weekend day drags on the midday the afternoon. Boy and the Girl with their cameras at the ready to sift, shift and persist their co-being. I want a picture. I want a picture of you. A tug of friendly war