Jesus Christ I need to read this several more times (can’t quantify) than the three I’ve already done. It’s like death on repeat. Did it really happen that way? Did I see that last time? Where is this taking me again? Did I go there before?
I feel a fire burning. Or maybe it’s the northern lights. And it’s still snowing here.
This is my life, and half of it ended on May 29th, 2023. But.
The Saint hangs silent. She’s even got a room in my house, filled with her things. My walls are covered in her art. How she wrote her y’s, with a distinct tail, infected my print. We are still the same.
The first thing I think I learned of real value about writing, is no one will ever believe the truth, so you can hide all the worst things ever in your fiction.
More like staring at your own shit and being confused because you can't remember the last time you ate corn but there a kernel lies, embedded in your ablutions.
like most things of yours Ive read, Emil, you have to read them twice at the very least to get all the "goodness" out. like scarpetta when you mop the bowl with bread to get every smear of the sauce up because its so good you can't leave any and you know there's an ingredient you couldn't put your tongue round with the first mouthfuls.
im guessing white claw is some kind of hooch/cider or something similar?
White Claw, is terribly overpriced alcoholic Seltzer flavored with no real and true flavors, but with the whisper of what a flavor could be. I don’t know if the American obsession with bubbly water and La Croix has made it to England, but it’s basically alcoholic La Croix. 11% ABV.
That and Vodka were the Saint’s drinks of choice. And now we’ve come full circle and they have non-alcoholic White Claw. She would be laughing so fucking hard it hurts to think about.
i bet it costs just the same...even with no alcohol in it... apparently you can get it here... i may need to try some... 12 cans is about $25 and its 8%. that is some cheap old booze.
Bro. The Saint is brutally perfect. Between White Claw cases and Ghost jokes that aren't jokes. Fear as a constant companion who never fucking leaves, who watches while you try to live normal. You didn't just answer the prompt. You mutilated this fucking thing
"...I'm joking, I'm jooooking."
- 5/Redacted/23, 12:31 PM
Jesus Christ I need to read this several more times (can’t quantify) than the three I’ve already done. It’s like death on repeat. Did it really happen that way? Did I see that last time? Where is this taking me again? Did I go there before?
I feel a fire burning. Or maybe it’s the northern lights. And it’s still snowing here.
This is my life, and half of it ended on May 29th, 2023. But.
The Saint hangs silent. She’s even got a room in my house, filled with her things. My walls are covered in her art. How she wrote her y’s, with a distinct tail, infected my print. We are still the same.
And I speak for the dead.
The truth. That’s why the prose burns. You’ve opened the wound for another look. It glistens.
Somebody was pretty quiet when IKEA sold you a boat labelled 'submarine', too.
Nice piece, btw. I'm just trying to emotionally side step it.
I was trying to emotionally sidestep it too, that’s why I used every cheap easy manipulative trick in the minimalist playbook.
Wrenching. I can feel this prose vibrate uncomfortably in my skull. It’s a bad comedown on the bus ride home.
The first thing I think I learned of real value about writing, is no one will ever believe the truth, so you can hide all the worst things ever in your fiction.
I get that. Sometimes it's not as hidden as we think it is. Oof.
Oh yeah, no, this was just like, last night around dinner time.
tucked away in yesterday's meatloaf
what are these? peas?
More like staring at your own shit and being confused because you can't remember the last time you ate corn but there a kernel lies, embedded in your ablutions.
mine just stares back
My therapist is going to be confused when I talk about all of this grief I am processing but it's not mine.
Mission accomplished!
like most things of yours Ive read, Emil, you have to read them twice at the very least to get all the "goodness" out. like scarpetta when you mop the bowl with bread to get every smear of the sauce up because its so good you can't leave any and you know there's an ingredient you couldn't put your tongue round with the first mouthfuls.
im guessing white claw is some kind of hooch/cider or something similar?
White Claw, is terribly overpriced alcoholic Seltzer flavored with no real and true flavors, but with the whisper of what a flavor could be. I don’t know if the American obsession with bubbly water and La Croix has made it to England, but it’s basically alcoholic La Croix. 11% ABV.
That and Vodka were the Saint’s drinks of choice. And now we’ve come full circle and they have non-alcoholic White Claw. She would be laughing so fucking hard it hurts to think about.
i bet it costs just the same...even with no alcohol in it... apparently you can get it here... i may need to try some... 12 cans is about $25 and its 8%. that is some cheap old booze.
It costs just a little MORE with no alcohol in it.
but of course... how did i not guess
Bro. The Saint is brutally perfect. Between White Claw cases and Ghost jokes that aren't jokes. Fear as a constant companion who never fucking leaves, who watches while you try to live normal. You didn't just answer the prompt. You mutilated this fucking thing