Punchings Of A Closed Fist

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

???

Drugs make the time pass quickly, get rid of the awkward moments, exchanges between strangers. The immediacy of a cigarette, the soft orange glow of a bowl of marijuana, a soft, gritty snowfall ready for nostirial consumption. Seen through the haze of an amphetamine rush, the schoolday seems blue-gray in comparison to the vibrant purple shades of a mushroom-fuelled stupor. Charismatic consumption of highly illicit substances are the zenith of college, high school, its all the same in a cafeteria; bragging rights to strong drink, weak bud, and easy women, last night’s fuck the most story worthy of the day.

Funereal procession to the next class begins at 12.30, 1.45, 2.00. failure to comply results in swift and immediate punishment…or none at all. Take the risk, roll the dice.

Talk about things that increase your “cred” or listen to a slight, bearded man bombard you with questions.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

Keyboards and shitty computers eat the paper, the students’ own fault for not saving to a flash drive, the poor, indolent bastards.



z out

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