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November 15, 2014 | Dispatches

Karaoke Brothel

Sean Kilpatrick

Karaoke Brothel photo

I was party to the karaoke brothel god does not forgive. A basement room you pay to woo. Hourly or with sprinkles. I saw things birth is not a venue for. I made beep sounds against such foams, tricked out my halitosis to crutch the box. I thought say placenta so they gather you aren’t one. I had been smelling like pee for a long time.

There were backdrops of snuff video produced behind milk. My infertility was never rendered better. Who else was lured rampant to their spastic gouache? The kind of used to be I am. Gotta take charge when scrimpy. To clarify, I believe there were people present. I believe every one of them was a sinner and I owe them my life. But careful, my life is the gift that keeps flaring up.

The strobe light conferenced in my pupil until a volcanic amount of rats chased each couch. Time unlocked its girdle, imprinted upon the recycled degrees in my coat, the bluster that chanced us communal, the original splintering of planets cast to rue evolution interactively down from Blink 182. I dialed back on my vomit until it was a sibling gone astray. We totally settled for an amen.

I spend my free time an appropriate amount of bed sick. I keep a lot of spare pieces of glass up my carpeted self. I mean a literal debris of glass happens when I sit forward. There’s a chore of gnats surrounding the spinally antagonistic chairs I visit. I’d mistake them for dandruff if my hair-striped scalp wasn’t mostly canker. I’m a colonoscopy martyr today, more prostate than yogurt, if dairy was anymore possible. In eschewal of everything about me, I still can fuck. When and if (as if I could possibly stop or falter longer than it takes you to stop rushing) that function teeter totters out, you won’t have ever heard from me, regardless. My generation auto-castrates proportionate to our ambition for surfing in vain what little work’s leftover. That is evolution at play by its glorious canines. I am proud (only pets are proud) to be a tampon in such exemplary progress. No awake brain these days should continue to allow for the body below it. Start by poisoning the seed. Free of outside oppression, we’re too busy diagramming where on us isn’t already a general malfunction. Stomping in your gonads is the most up to date we might innovate the network. Soon the damages incurred will contort us into the most reliable furniture.

I’m glad for the safety of those who won’t approach. Because I feel variously rented by a greeting. There have been recent congregate medical suggestions for Zoloft that I turbulently dismiss into my handkerchief. Try this particular retail on me once more and I will call you sir until you leave the room. Constipation is how my body keeps a lone interior darling in defiance of the earth. I shall never again refute a tune to hoard such value. 

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