Crude (209)

this is pretty crude. it’s pretty rough. i think people are like crude oil, there’s something more precious inside but it’s not always so easy to see because of all of our impurities. it’s also like life. we are all seeking something greater, but we are often so blinded by everything else that comes between us and that purity.

this is a very experimental piece. happy thanksgiving!

Damn. It’s a fucking left turn. Why can’t these cars get a move on it or stop so I can pass? Man and that blue Subaru next to me is fucking ugly. Who drives a thing like that around? Damn, move move move!

Fuck. Too late. Damn black SUV. You think you are baller with that flashing license plate? Fucking people and their goddamn slow driving. I hate making left turns.

Green light. Go go go! Damn. Fuck it! I’m about to ram into this car and bum it to the next lane if it doesn’t goddamn turn already.

Finally some action. The ground’s so wet. I can hear my fucking tires licking the rocks. At least there aren’t puddles everywhere. I’d hate that. Argh, the smell of wet soil is disgusting. It makes me sick. Imma goddamn puke.

Fuck! Another left turn? There are like fucking seven left turns in this half an hour drive. Where are all the right turns?

Fuck. I’m on a hill. I hate hills. They make me so anxious. I hate whoever decided to put a red light at the goddamn top of the hill. I feel like I can slip backwards anytime. Goddamn hills and goddamn red lights. They make me feel so anxious. I fucking hate this.

Damn, another left turn. I swear there are way too many left turns on this trip. It makes me sick to the bones, and I goddamn feel like sweating. Better roll down the windows.

Damn, I need a smoke. For reals.

The goddamn radio is playing Eric Clapton. What a wimp. Sob. Goddamn depressing. It’s fucking Thanksgiving, what is this depressing shit?

Damn, it’s already fucking dark. It’s only five o’clock, where the fuck is the sunlight? I fucking hate winter. It’s fucking depressing, and the fucking radio is playing fucking sob songs, and it’s so goddamn dark!

Shit. Where’s the place?

The people there are kinda nice. They fucking gave me presents on Christmas, but they preach all the fucking time.

Fuck where’s the key? Damn, I left it in the car. Fuck.

These stairs are full of grass. They gotta weed the garden.

“Hey Father.” Fuck he probably knows I’ve been swearing the whole way here.

Fuck, He’s smiling,

“Welcome Home, Angel.”

Crude (209)

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