Mother's sharp tongue

Greetings,

Random access inside Moleskine notes. Hiding under the bed. Slick. No answer. Locked door. Suspicious? More like stupid idiot. Pick up the remains. Tell me a story.

They hope for a lot. They get a little. She disappears. The tease does her job. Just enough desire and temporary distraction - stay down! - no getting down - just enough stimulation as the skinny dude hears her speak - "now." it's ok." telling him yes, go through pockets. "be quick."

She's stacked everything at the end of the bed on the floor. This was a dream his uncle told him in the village. "Son, you need to be careful in the city. People will cheat you. They are clever. Don't let emotions control you - be reasonable - cold as ice when it comes to business. If you sleep with strangers, know where the exit is."

His scary story imagined a monster under the bed - whispering secrets to me before I fell fall feel asleep.

You have to love the stranger's stupidity, noise, sad face, confusion and chaos. Did he mention irony and entertainment value? So much for a fundamental shift in consciousness. Dying of boredom. Buried with boredom's memory.

Throw the sunset away with syntax. They treat silence with elegant love, respect and dignity. The orange yellow moon rose. Is a rose a moon? How does the moon rise into a black voice of emptiness? Into endless pyramids of joy? With the beauty of simplicity? Where do butterflies go at night?

Peace.