It’s not so much the heat…

You have not heard from me in some time. It’s likely better that way. The summer heat is getting to me. The furious sun’s wrathful gaze is upon me as I slave away at homework, dreaming of cool clean waters and a better way of life.

The heat gets to us all. It slices low into your brain, a lava torrent of mad thoughts and hyper insanities, cutting quick to your tongue. Summer heat makes you unable to move, but makes your tongue twist, saying whatever comes to mind. Libelous languor, cannibal concessions, and kukri confessions in the subtropics of the subconscious. The heat makes you think of murder, and the screaming of a faraway girl.

Yes, it’s probably better this way. I’ll just stay in my corner, drinking daiquiris. Fueled like Hemingway…the fistfights will come.

The heat whispers to me now. I know why no brother sleeps in the house of Caine.

Stop by when it’s cooler. I’ll see what I can do for you.

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~ by Benjamin Kenneally on July 1, 2010.

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