New American Yarnprose>The True Story Of A Pea-Brain Nine Days Old As Told By Jack Kessinger

The True Story Of A Pea-Brain Nine Days Old As Told By Jack Kessinger

There is a numbness I feel in my brain; a numbness that spreads like pasted glue between thinly assembled lines of cardboard waiting to be shredded. When you leave the house without combing your hair or wearing the same shirt, same pair of pants and same pair of gym shoes week after week, this is what it feels like.

I can write a good game, but I can’t pullulate as well. There’s a burning internal forest that attacks my anxiousness, like a big black bear that is always looking for food and will stop at nothing until it finds one hamburger patty inside a hamburger roll.

I invent, re-invent and ventilate all in the same perplexive moments, but still it does me no good; more harm than good and still I stand by and accept it as such because I slowly sit by and kill myself with anger and blood spit back in my face. I’ve accepted the fact that I’ve been left to die at the side of the road, while everyone else happily speeds along.

It’s a NASCAR mentality that seems to poke me in the back and laugh out loud and directly into my face when I least expect it. Lately, the laughing has been carrying on nonstop and it makes me feel stepped on as if I don’t exist; oh woe is me, another cog in the wheels of operation in space designed to destroy me with whatever I have left to breathe with.

A rising star I was destined to be, I have fallen and smashed to the ground split apart in so many pieces, unable to comprehend what I once was or what I was supposed to be. It’s similar to being in a daily drunken stupor like so many men and so many women have been through, day after day, night after night, promising themselves they will stop, but of course they never do.

What does it take for them to realize that something is wrong and yet everybody stands by just watching and doesn’t bother to help them in their time of need and just lets them fall to the ground?

Remember me who once lived there, who ate with you, who slept with you, who drank with you, who got mad with you, did everything you wanted me to do with you and when it came around to helping me out, you said “Forget it,” grabbed your hat & coat and flew out the door without saying so long.

Oh dear God in heaven; let it bleed, let it rain corpses on my death parade. Well, I don’t mind, it’s not like I haven’t been there before, so I shall just breathe in slowly and let the magic begin.