Tamed brain

Type: The worst sentence ever
Time: 30 minutes + edit

“They’ll probably take my citizenship”  “I can’t even bare to hear those voices.”  Sun meets sky, they collapse on each other, I don’t know what I’m saying but needn’t stop. The famous five series – jars of pickled onions, sponge cake. Memories, memories. – building cubby houses, and drinking coffee, but my tea is about to go cold now. I love sitting out in the garden eating chips with Nemo. I think writing is easy people complicate it I have thirty minutes. These headphones were bought in that year. Shopping in an old bookstore we stood in the aisle to buy her children educative toys, it was annoying and I felt bad – I didn’t want the others to feel jealous. Tea is going cold this is the worst sentence ever and I’m proud of it. Tame and oil our brains I can stick to this. Why should I say such things. He’s going to England and my hamstings are sore I need to set up nike I need to.. Baby might come today; the light grey over his forehead when peaking – a koala insect size. Night was dizzy, we sped. Arriving I found meat on the table, and daze. Smiles, and the cueing of butterflies; cramping my kidney.

Lets try this again, no not coffee; writing, we should stop. 8 30 you have to be there prim and proper like the way K’s two boys dress, don’t be scared don’t be scared no one’s going to read. Just keep triggering the gun…oh a dove, no not the doves, don’t shoot them; we know them too well. He would give me the big heavy gun, my finger cramping and then. I would move with the gun. It was a shot gun, like the ones men in trousers and black jackets up in the gunpowder factory, .. bombs underground I hear all day, A cow stampede on the road outside – it is the gunpowder men, trying out ammunition, gunpowder. A walk up there someday, maybe, to explore – see what we live next to…we went for a walk someday and we got funny stares from ladies and girls’; had we awoken from  our slumber. It’s funny but this is the worst sentence ever and I cant even find it but never mind. What is that in your hand, my tongue is itchy, more tea. 11 minutes, the time it takes to get from bus to the plane on low seasons.  Turkeys, cued up for slaughter, guards high and sturdy , checking each one off. Same kind of people. Kids half bred with their mothers – single maybe. The young men coming for God-knows-what reasons. Old business men stay still, briefcases lean on their tummies. The women in black who worked as hostesses followed us once to cut the line but we got to the ends, and found the security guy wasn’t going to do our passports, that hurt. Why didn’t we just join the other cue. Arriving 3 in the morning and spending 40 minutes in a cubic. After the guy joins us, he fiddles on the computer. We wait and wait. Outside they got disrespectful, something I never felt before. .maybe the tiredness helped my anger flare. They had my passport, running around with it. That felt worse. We felt like turkeys again. Sad ones. My brother was holding in his anger but I didn’t. A half-eaten sandwich left to rot. That’s abuse in disguise. We laughed so much afterward because they were half asleep and we’ll never forget that guy.
At the exit: “no sewing machines”,
“no sewing machines on board”
“Not a regulation”
“it either goes under or it stays here”. My poor thing, we only wanted to fly away together. But who cares, they’re gone – a memory. They made my brother pay 400 on it to add as extra baggage. See the corruption… here, and elsewhere. People. People. I often miss the food. There’s good people, and there’s bad people, and there’s people who just need a smile, and chocolate. I found a baby in its crib – a chocolate mine – wearing green.  It looked like my brother and his daughter. I miss her funny hugs and cute inspiring questions, but when they’re around you sometimes think: SOLITUDE.  Who am I to judge.. Just keep writing…1 minute left. This could be the worst sentence ever maybe; free accommodation. I miss the doves of the afternoon. No I have an extra 10 minutes, I didn’t study maths. Syrup, mango flavoured, on top of a vanilla cake. Stop, close your eyes and imagine; taste and smell those tastes.  Nope? .. let’s try something else. Palettes; Lime green with grey – shh, let them meet. Orange and purple never together, or green and blue. Swimming underground –the feel of warm feet crashing cold tiles above – cheerfulness and hot vibes. Fly rummaging on the back of my shoulder, no problem we can fix it later. I need to help her. She wants a crown like Princess has. Yes lets go to London. But eat your crumbs off the plate first. We can take a boat – swim aside octopuses and jellyfish. We can stock up on patterns as squirrels do with nuts. Meanwhile we can disturb people with our presence…don’t go to the ends of the earth “definitely an expat.” She looked empty as she said that.  Coffee, I’m sorry.. I should’ve stopped writing.  A sigh. Then the office chair squeals. He forgot. Getting old is hard. That image suffocates my eyes, builds mountains against my throat, and makes my eyes stream. Scotland. No.


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