part four or... I am starting a band called malcom x box aka the carl jung bloods

i can't finish anything, not even my life -slew
"wishes are only dreams with expired half- lives" bob said out loud. celery shouted down the hallway "and eyebrows are only little hairy sweatbands for your eyes." grabbing at a dull pink disposable razor and tugging it across her forehead taking off half her right eyebrow.
somewhere close a man has started drinking in a bar by himself. he raises a small glass full of whiskey and hate
the man exhales "here but for the grace of god we go." and drinks in and down, all the violence. he touches his swollen nose with a hand, the inside crusted with dried blood. blood tastes like copper... it's like trying to swallow a mouthful of rotting pennies. back and to the left.
the man on the bike path died a little more then two weeks later in the bathroom of his home of a massive brain hemorrhage. naked and foaming at the mouth... saggy balls and all. the fire fighter paramedics went through the motions covering his waist with a clean white sheet and drove to the hospital having already pronounced him in their minds. death be not proud.
fate... much like the word fucked... both start with the same letter.
celery knows this because i know this, she also reads the obituary pages from day old newspapers.
her parents died in a drunk driving accident. you know what they call a family of five in a minivan in accidents like that... airbags.
"everyone i ever know goes away in the end" celery sobbed pressing her head to the microwave and pushing start one night with slew. thank you trent reznor.
disappointment muck like the river denial is not just a island in the pacific... or a river in egypt.
the man at the bar will began drinking amaretto stone sours very soon, his name is upcheck. i know this because celery knows this. not the big why questions, but just the result. i know all of this before her because i am already dead. -bob