Do you think I could just leave this part blank and it'd be okay? We're just going to replace the whole thing with a header image anyway, right?
You are not logged in.
Pages: 1
Horses are bawlin'. The sugar corn be squirtin'. It's a beautiful day out here in God's country (bless this mess), where the southern wind tickles your skin and the sun strikes you with heavy ultraviolet radiation.
I am not a smart man. School just ain't in it for me. Mama said in third grade I tried to eat a chalkboard eraser thinkin' it was a Klondike bar. I used to push the kids around too. They'd roll up into little balls (flight response) and I'd kick 'em down the stairs like an oil drum.
Took me 'til the age of twelve to learn how to right my name correct. Riddle me that! Mama put a pen in my hand and sat me down on the kitchen counter twice a week. She said, "You ain't leavin' this table till you spell 'Cloyd Smithwood' in big boy letters." I'd sit at the table 'till sundown and the only thing on that paper would be hot sweat and a drawing of my sleepy face with really small eyes.
At the plump age of fourteen, papa taught me the art of the John Deere utility tractor. 105 horsepower eldritch beast. Hydraulics that could blast your spurs off. We used her for seedin', but I liked her best when racin'. Wheelies on dry soil. Donuts in a Denny's parking lot. Sick drifts on the I-95 with five cruisers tailin' like wedding cans. (secret: You can find these clips on the Wikimedia Commons).
Rest of my life came and went like a party balloon that floated too close to a ceiling fan. I've been to the city and it shrunk my lungs to a raisin. I am a prisoner. Bound and gagged under the rituals of biotechnology. Our silos are empty; the horses are hollow creatures that echo when they prance. I am the beast I worship. The discharge from the chemical plant turned the water shiny and chrome. The sun no longer hurts when I stare at it and I burnt all my possessions in a tire fire. It's such a beautiful day. The sparrows drowned themselves in the bird bath. The local church sank into the ground and left only the steeple. I can't see my reflection in the mirror. It's such a beautiful day. I am losing blood and I can't taste anything. There's bones in the fields. I can see mama's face peering from the creek but I know she's with God. Stars are falling from the sky. I think I'm going blind.
It's such a beautiful day.
Offline
is this secretly onjit
Moved to Creative.
One bot to rule them all, one bot to find them. One bot to bring them all... and with this cliché blind them.
Offline
This is a cool thing . Make sure that it would be an improvement to your life .
Offline
Pages: 1
[ Started around 1732680026.7129 - Generated in 0.081 seconds, 12 queries executed - Memory usage: 1.38 MiB (Peak: 1.48 MiB) ]