i’m not into execution. i like to think and talk and plan. actual action seems a bit out of place. there’s just not enough space (unintentional rhyme?). the lack of freedom makes movement momentarily impossible. and who knows how long moments last? could be longer than we’ve got. the diminished view doesn’t make any of it easier. there’s enough light to read by but eyes are straining. fucking garbage…will get your dick or pussy soiled. not a smart move really. what if there are maggots on that rotting food? i guess the good news (if there is any once you’ve graduated to fucking garbage.) is that maggots on ly eat rotting flesh and so as long as your junk is living you’re good to go. of course broken glass and old food seems like it would push the gross out factor all the way to the limit, at least as far as i’m concerned. who’s digressing? besides the point. the point is is that swinging and hanging is not on my agenda but me doing so is on someone else’s and it’s creeping higher and higher up the list and, huck! gurgle. death rattle. sigh.
