When I saw the Hemingway movie, I thought it was showing me glimpses of her life when I wasn't around, ways I goaded her to other things. It hurt too much to see the plots take place throughout the channels, realistic scenes of a woman's life that I could not handle. It was at its core natural jealousy, resentment—I realized I was a boy who had impeded on her life too much like an adult, and they were all sick of it—and it hurt to see the scenarios play out now that I wasn't searching for it in that state, scenarios that served as dailypricks, leading to sensations and physical repulsion if unless properly indulged,. He bought the freakin' potato for 1.5 million,that got my hopes up that I could fix the framing and the corporations they had set up under me. I talked to the newscasters a little and they had on Levinstein on the Street. Seemed like they were going to take care of my representation and wanted to comfort me. But the tickers changed, the other side of the world had made their move. I was of no use to them; they had no interest by helping me. I could tell. Flipping through the channels I realized they had stripped my blog, the blue line in the pool to mock me and show me what real productions they had made, professionals, all against me, laughing at me, most of the actors looked like me, in the movie too. And I was by myself. They were the ones who had bought the potato—the producers. They had also funneled the money and taken it to Europe! She was with them at the end, and with my relatives and my friends, the husbands of wives. In the Hemingway movie, I realized she had ended up falling in love with my older cousin after me, that time we had dinner together with him and his wife I knew I sensed an uncomfortable sexual undertone to their political debate. Me and his wife stared ahead at the conversation, like I was my mom. I didn't know what to interject. Another older man...she liked the vibrations when he took that turn on the freewat ranp. They must have ran into each other again during some international travel. All the channels were laughing at me, everyone knew about me, the weather girls were nervous going on, I had to change the channel...I have a beautiful mind. The only channel not hostile was the psalms, eerily relevant. Finally lying down, I tried to whimper out an apology, and I could hear a distant caustic refusal. I knew whose voice it was. I slept a little, Punky slept next to me, and when I woke up I remembered again...I couldn't understand how rotten I could be that every one that knew me had been planning it all along. But it made sense. How could I leave the house anymore? Where were they lying in wait?
Then when I woke up and looked down the first thing I had told them was if they had cut half of it off ? It was really unpleasant and looked scary like I was about to faint.
Then when I woke up and looked down the first thing I had told them was if they had cut half of it off ? It was really unpleasant and looked scary like I was about to faint.
