over_clocked

Well shit. Maybe I'm just that shy.

Right, this whole time you've just been fronting this unruly bravado, using the mutual cover of our shades to hide a delicate blush and the overwhelmed fluttering of your eyelashes.

Precious.

That would be god damned adorable.

But nah.

I haven't had a lot of time to examine it yet but for now I would say putting heads on pikes was not as much up my alley as I felt and feel that it should have been. The implications of having two bodies alone are pretty extensive even without the addition of one of them living as a figure head prince for a silent minion-like carapace race. Most immediately, it likely explain why I don't feel a need or desire for sleep.

For the record I am pretty ok with heads on pikes not walking down your alley. That fucker can take the long way with the toll roads, get marooned in this traffic jam we have going and sit there for a good long while.

Yeah. I mean that's probably the wiser option. Dudes like that really got no business in places out of the protective public eye period.

Except when you have a lot of shit to do and not a lot of time to waste on being squeamish about a few gruesome displays of one-upsmanship.

[quiet shifting]

Fuck. This explains the incest thing perfectly.

I can fucking guess what you did with two bodies.

Here let me get this for you.

[tugs down on your shirt again but not at all in a distracted manner this time]

I'm not sure why you keep looking for answers to the incest thing beyond an either natural or learned predisposition for a colossal attraction to my bro.

I get being curious about the origin of this feeling. Pondered it at length myself. But I say with a lot of fucking certainty that it doesn't boil down to some narcissistic desire to take masturbation to a new level and thus latching onto the nearest guy who looks like me.

Edited 2012-10-16 06:39 (UTC)

You're doing it wrong. I don't tug bashfully at the hem of my shirt like I'm trying to pull it down over my panties, Jesus. I draw the line at role playing like I'm a sixteen year old girl playing her first game of strip poker.

[pulls his cape out from under himself; now we can both fidget with it]

Edited 2012-10-16 23:34 (UTC)

Nice dodge on all of the other statements I made there. But ok fidgeting 101 is covered.

Right? Now that shit's gone and broke through the window, hurtling through the air until it begins its descent, taking out innumerable feathered assholes as it plummets through the air to finally embed itself in an unsuspecting frozen burrito. Yep, we're not seeing that shit any time soon. Not unless King Arthur has hankering for shitty imitation Mexican food.

Bro you make less sense the more you want to avoid something.

Dude, that made perfect sense. That was a stone-solid metaphor. Not my fault you can't follow the labyrinthine turns of my nimble tongue.

[just stares at maybe]

Nope, fuck you, I'm on to that shit.

[headtilt...]

Maybe you could clue me in then.

You know exactly what shit I'm talking about. We have gone through this bro and pony show like five times now where you awkwardly long pause blackmail me into spewing out a bunch of garbage which you pick through like hobo looking for a windfall of leftover five star munchies.

Ok, I totally do that. But sometimes I just need to think a minute. In this case, about the dynamic array of shit that is up with you at any given time that I don't actually get. Yet.

Could you lay off sounding like my psychiatrist? There's plenty of other shit to fuel this clusterfuck of a Freudian wet dream without you laying me down on this long, hard couch and trying to analyze my phallic symbolism.

Sorry bro. Pretty sure not understanding... just about anything is high on my list of stuff I don't enjoy. Having forgotten my entire life is obviously priority, but willing my memories into existence has yielded minimal success and my patron god is being a dick. You're interesting, though, and I find myself without any sufficient motivation to not give a fuck about that.

Well feel free to whip out the scalpels, but good like finding a decent disection table in this place.

I expect this to be more of a recontruction than the other way around. We don't remember enough of ourselves to fill a bedpan much less an entire table. What's important is making sure that receiving our lives back one saw-tooth edged jigsaw piece at a time doesn't result in some sort of abstract living art display representing the the soul sundered by existential ambiguities admist theological realities.

[...

tries to do the quiet thing]

[looks at]

...ok.

Elaborate on why you're a professional at dying.

[god dammit]

Same way you become a professional at anything. Hard work, sweat, and practice.

I know you don't want to talk about this but it'll be over faster if you don't make me drag it out of you piece by piece.

Edited 2012-10-18 02:37 (UTC)

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3

Re: Day 3