Worlds. Romeo. Diaper House.

I'm sitting here imaging somebody somewhere else. Who knows if they're pissed or not. It's probably a guy, mainly because it's hard for me to imagine a girl imagining something.  The guy's sitting a desk. He's wearing pajamas, reading a forum. He's writing a response. His stomach burns from eating out earlier. He had two cups of chili and six glasses of water. 

The water was free, he kept drinking it. The waitress filled his cup up even before it got empty. Her apron hung below her hips and he probably stared at her ass when she walked away, trying to see if she was wearing a thong or not. Guys can tell, some girls, too. Eating the chili caused regret. Acid reflux. Stomach turning over like ungreased cylinders and gears. Difficult with grinding and septic noises.

When people think of imagination as "imagining," I think that's bullshit. There are six million people in the world, so chances are, if you're imagining a guy in his yard mowing grass, or somebody's mom cutting a tray of brownies into little squares, there are people doing those things somewhere. 

Somebody is imagining you. They're imagining your face looking into a screen reading words about them looking at you. Everything is happening everywhere.

** 

I've only read Romeo and Juliet one time and I didn't understand it. Fourteen-year-olds really don't understand anything, and looking back at it, that's really unfair. Your body starts betraying you. Boners, screaming. You start caring about stupid things like clothes and driving a car fast and being loud around strangers and friends. Man, who cares about any of those things? 

It was the first time I ever remember a teacher referring to the word "theme." We had to write an essay for the test over Romeo and Juliet about a major theme. Mine was two pages of complaining.  I didn't understand why a guy with a sword wouldn't just ride on a black horse through the woods and rescue this girl. Things were supposed to work like that in the sixteenth century. 

After that I started asking questions about everything. I started writing poems, too. I've tried to look for old ones that I wrote, or old essays, and I can't find anything. Maybe my parents have them. I remember one day at lunch when my friend was talking about seeing a hooker in Louisville, and I said, "If a hooker gets raped, is that considered shoplifting." Everyone thought it was hilarious, but I thought it was a legitimate question.

**

I like typing things into Google's image search and seeing what comes up. It's usually something perverted or disgusting. I typed in 'diaper house,' and nothing came up that's worth posting. There's some upskirt shot of Amy Winehouse that's supposed to show that she wears Depends or something like that.

You should type in something awesome and comment back on what you find.