Flash Fiction Bingymon Style

I felt it that day I felt it all as I ran up the stairs two at a time. At the top of the third floor I spun a tight u-turn and skipped to the end of the hall . The keys were magically in my hand and I made the special half twist and shake with my hand to silently open the door. I was in the tunnel everything was fine. Shari saw me from the living room couch as I entered her bedroom.
"What the fuck are you doing here Wallace Beaver! I broke up with you a month ago! Get out Get out Get out! " her voice rose in pitch level straight to hysteria.
" I told you I was crazy baby, remember?" I calmly stated though chattering teeth as I pulled the top off a can of red spray paint.
I gave it six rapid speed shakes as my finger found the button on the top of the can and I focused on the beautiful expanse of white wall over her bed. These old buildings with their solid plaster walls heavy with the grime of generations, I love them so.
My arm swept up in a precise arc I could never repeat on purpose if I tried a million times and the can hissed as I liberated myself of the image burning on the inside of the front of my skull. It wasn't a bad word or anything about Shari, but I knew she would understand, I had explained all this on several occasions after I'd fucked her senseless. I'd repeated my mantra enough I'm sure that she could grasp my intention at least subliminally.
A perfect circle! I'd pulled it off in one move! There was a little side spray of paint on the tops of the giant pillow and stuffed animal pile but a little paint thinner would take care of that later, much later.
I reached in my messenger bag for the second can and felt something tugging at my arm and a loud rushing noise in my ear.
"Wallace! Wallace! WALLACE! I'M CALLING THE POLICE YOU SICK BASTARD!"
Shari's voice sounded as if it came from far far away like the galaxy in Star Wars. I had the blue can now and the details began to emerge , the delicate flowers and hearts that covered the skin of the sacred satyr that represented my love for Shari. It didn't matter that she had broken up with me I wasn't upset, but this work was unavoidable , a bullet train of intention that I myself had no power to stop. My feet felt numb my legs were shaking but I kept on, now the green!
I swung the can towards the wall, time for another perfect circle! But my arm jerked and my muscles spasmed and my arm would not rise it was trapped. I turned my head to the side and saw the reflection in the mirror over the dresser. The boys in blue! Two of them behind me holding my arms, they weren't worried, I wasn't worried, we were old friends.
"Wally, are you done now?"
"Yes sir, thank you."

the folly of youth

this made me feel better

chest pain

my heart hurts and i know why
but i'm stuck here for the time being
knowing that is knowing something
doesn't really lessen the pain just makes it real
it's not enough to overwhelm me
no feeling ever will be
and still i want to run
because it's what i do best
damn
down rating myself isn't working either
i'll do what andrew t said so long ago
pray for the willingness to be willing
to accept
freedom through responsibility

twittering, is it real?

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I am hungry and I must rest there is much to do in preparation for the autumn pig slaughter 3 minutes ago
i once wrote a poem called "sweating lifes blood in the grip of society's mindcrusher" i was 17 or thereabouts 6 minutes ago
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the gangster chronicles were a band of young hoodlums age 8-12 in Landover MD circa 1970 they merged with the crunchberry disciples you see 27 minutes ago from BeTwittered
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johnnytoobad The author of the crashberry chronicles was an unknown poet from the upper eastside I channel his wisdom forthnnightly 34 minutes ago from txt
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