A House of Moments

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"Nothing was found," Naomi said sadly.

"But he wasn't looking for it, Naomi," Eric piped in from across the room.

Could he really hear from that far away? He does have big ears, like funnels made of cartiledge and skin. His ears are sexy in a way that no other ear could be, because they are just like beer bongs and his ear cannal is the surgical-tube stretched out to someone's lips, the lips of high-school drop-outs or college students, but instead they go into his brain. And his brain makes up phrases out of all the shit in the air. Eric is wise, even if the inferno in his guts catches his clothes on fire and he has to go upstairs to change, another vintage suit ruined; he leaves the rest of the living room to dream without him.

Harm cannot come to those who dwell to0 long in the living room. Yes, the room lives even while no one is there to be in it.

It even stole his second glove, the first one in his hand, black like the couch that is always there, a leather mouth for backs and asses. The couch's bottons lick at their crotches to make them squirm. It likes to feel people's asses rub on it's lips. The couch is lecherous, but no one has figured it out, yet.

2 Responses to “A House of Moments”

  1. Blogger L>T 

    reading your blog site. I was suprised that your comment to language was so...Hmmm, searching for the word...cohesive, no coherent and then I read your blog site and it's strange to say the lest. Anyway, I am also here in the Pacific north west, the moist crotch of the planet earth. come visit

  2. Blogger Frida 

    Absolutely loved it. Will Self meets Hunter S. Thompson in so few paragraphs.

    It was fabulous, you made the L/G blink! Too cool.

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