Straight from the edge of ruin.

See, morey is not, as is, some who are. Not at all. morey is what is as morey, and not at all restrained by what is, or protruded by what is, or confined by what is, human. The morey bothers humans because he shows no respect to them, and no respect to the things they respect, and all humans have that one thing they respect which, if one should disrespect, a little button is depressed in that person's head and they go into anger mode, like when you're a kid at school and somebody disses your mom and you have to fight them for it. You don't know why and you're getting mad, but you're building that anger, it isn't exactly there but you have to put it there because somebody just insulted the woman you love and you know not how to react... Like when morey disrespected Hemingway. That could have bothered me because Hemingway understands what it means to have light shine through leaves outside quiet cafes, he understands the drink and the insanity and the smoke, the gun and the fist and the horn; Hemingway knows the silent moments in which man is imperfection incarnate and is dipped in a selfish solitude that makes God grasp at him with a curiousity akin to the God in Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions who just had to know what his human once in a world of robots would say when he came sliding down the mountain to wade below in the river spring. But the disrespect is not grounded! He doesn't know Hemingway, but morey knows know and is of not knowing that which is unknowable, so that he can paint and ride bikes and smile queerly to the derelicts of worldly 'burbs. Anywhere, anyone, any time, morey can drink in a character and like it without ground. See, he respects nothing. No value or tradition or religion or constitution, but if morey likes you it is for something as simple as a chemical cocktail and a series of events, an acid flashback and a circadian mistep, sugar you didn't want in a coffee you can't return because you're already at work, but it turns out being the best coffee you've ever had. And on that groundless ground in the wake of uncertainty, morey, that flittering thing likes and dislikes without reason, just passion, dividing heaven and hell on a cunt hair decision and riding insanity to divine inspiration that is the lohan. Be so enlightened as to see without seeing, to take texture from afar the way you take colour, the way your eye extracts it from a distance that could only be spoken of in a paranormal tongue by the born blind that hasn't the concept to take colour from distance. Live and let live. Do not understand morey, but hear him, the way you walk out of a hairdresser with the same haggard trot after she guessed your sign and that of your friends, told you how you fuck up and why and when, things nobody could have known, and nod to astronomy but pass it by, take and absorb and move on, like what you must do to the teachers and cops and faculty if you know who you are, and accept the morey as a commodity. Cause I've thought it over and that mother fucker ain't human. Nightrious Sat, 09/06/2008 - 09
Dec 31
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coloring sue

I unlocked the bedroom door and entered the hall. I’d been drunk the previous night but not blackout drunk. I’d had to lock the door after the stripper had tried to mount my face. I had maneuvered her into the hall and locked her out. I didn’t want to wake up to an encore of that particular unpleasantness. She wasn’t ugly or anything and in fact a lot of fun. She’d strip anytime anywhere. Get the fuck off me, is all I thought though while she ground away on my face making it difficult to breathe.
The night before had been me, Jain, Sue, and the stripper. Also Vic came by for a short while and pissed me off by telling me I couldn’t play Dead Kennedy’s on his stereo. He was a Christian, and Jain’s boyfriend. When he departed I busted up his expensive set-up. Upon reflection I felt kind of bad, assholish. No one will know that though, I considered while taking a piss so long I got bored. I was still fully clothed so instead of a shower I just splashed some water over my face and through my hair.
I entered the living room on my way to the kitchen for fluids. Sue was sitting on the couch, in a bathrobe, hair wet, staring at the floor. I had blacked out, and at the sight of her I remembered everything we had done to her, and in that moment all I wanted was to be sucked back into the comfort of sleep.
The four of us had been drinking beer, dancing around, talking over each other, regular drunk shit. Jain and I had been drinking all day. We’d sat out on her deck, in lounge chairs. Jane had wrapped herself head to toe in a sheet, she didn’t want any sun on her.
After I took a nap we went into town and picked up Sue. Sue was my roommate. The stripper showed up of her own volition. Her name was Kim but I always referred to her as the stripper.
Jain and the stripper didn’t know I wasn’t really vagina friendly—they just thought they weren’t my type—so at some point they tried to double-team me into some kind sex party shit. To avoid that awkward situation I turned the focus from me to Sue, who was passed out on the couch. This was easy. They’d pretty much do whatever I wanted, just like Charlie’s girls, the Mansonettes.
When Sue was out she was out so it took little effort to strip her down to total nakedness. Next up we tied her wrists and ankles to various doorknobs with panty hose. Sue had a really great body and while Jain was admiring it, the stripper and I sought out supplies for decoration. The stripper hit the kitchen while I went into the kid’s room where I found paints and majik markers. I also grabbed some vile cologne from the bathroom, and some make-up.
We didn’t have much discussion about what went where, or how far to go. We were just trying to crack each other up.
The end result had Sue with target tits—red nipple areas with black and yellow stripes circling out from them—a big green arrow snaked down her belly, ending at her pubic hair—which I had decided not to shave, but did color with a spurt of purple spray paint. Her face ended up clown white, with sky blue eyelids and brows, a garishly over drawn red mouth completed the look We then sprayed her down with the cologne and some Lysol. When I stuck a stick of margarine into her vagina we cracked up so hard we couldn’t continue.
From what I glimpsed of her that morning she’d showered off most of it but for a faded majik-markered FUCK ME on her forehead. I felt horrible; probably more so than I ever had in my life, but she would never know that. I told her good morning and asked if she wanted a beer.