Posted: December 17, 2010 in otiose
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I pulled the spine from the shelves that had yet to be sifted and organized by genre, and the pages fell open in my left palm to a stilted, unfocused scene of forced fellatio. I thought about the previous owner of the book who had creased the binding to this position in the text while reading the obnoxiously written lines mired in gimmick…or is it a genuine creative writing mechanism?


Gimmick. I sighed, and I closed the book replacing it on the unfiltered shelves for someone else’s masturbatory enjoyment. I bet they bought it after the movie adaptation came out, too. When did I read it? Why did my hand fall to it on the shelf of new arrivals?

Because I recognized something familiar; familiar in recession with the ebb of the unknown and forgotten.


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