You take a 98-precent concentration of fuming nitric acid and add the acid to three times that amount of sulfuric acid.
You have nitroglycerin.
Seven minutes to detonation.
Mix the nitro with sawdust, and you have a nice plastic explosive. A lot of space monkeys mix their nitro with cotton and add Epsom salts as a sulfate. This works, too. Some monkeys, they use paraffin mixed with nitro. Paraffin has never, ever worked for me.
Four minutes.
Tyler and me at the edge of the roof, the gun in my mouth, I'm wondering how clean this gun is.
Three minutes.
Then somebody yells.
"Wait," and it's Marla coming towards us across the roof.
Marla's coming towards me, just because Tyler's gone. Poof. Tyler's my hallucination, not hers. Fast as a magic trick, Tyler's disappeared. And now I'm just one man holding a gun in my mouth.
"We followed you," Marla yells "All the people from the support group. You don't have to do this. Put the gun down."
Behind Marla, all the bowel cancers, the brain parasites, the melanoma people, the tuberculosis people are walking, limping, wheelchairing toward me.
They're saying, "Wait."
Their voices come to me on the cold wind, saying "Stop."
And, "We can help you."
"Let us help you."
Across the sky comes the whop, whop, whop of police helicopters.
I yell, go. Get out of here. This building is going to explode.
Marla yells, "We know."
This is like a total epiphany moment for me.
I'm not killing myself, I yell. I'm killing Tyler.
I am Joe's Hard Drive.
I remember everything.
"It's not love or anything," Marla shouts, "but I think I like you, too"
One minute.
Marla likes Tyler.
"No, I like you," Marla shouts. "I know the difference."
And nothing. Nothing explodes.
The barrel of the gun tucked in my surviving cheek, I say, Tyler, you mixed the nitro with paraffin, didn't you.
Paraffin never works.
I have to do this.
The police helicopters.
And I pulled the trigger.
**********************************************
See all these walls around me? I am just waiting for my Marla Singer to come in and save me, and you are not her. So stop trying.
On a lighter note of things, my mom's birthday is on March 11th. I just realized that her date of birth in numerics means she was born on 311 Day.
My mom is such a pothead.
You have nitroglycerin.
Seven minutes to detonation.
Mix the nitro with sawdust, and you have a nice plastic explosive. A lot of space monkeys mix their nitro with cotton and add Epsom salts as a sulfate. This works, too. Some monkeys, they use paraffin mixed with nitro. Paraffin has never, ever worked for me.
Four minutes.
Tyler and me at the edge of the roof, the gun in my mouth, I'm wondering how clean this gun is.
Three minutes.
Then somebody yells.
"Wait," and it's Marla coming towards us across the roof.
Marla's coming towards me, just because Tyler's gone. Poof. Tyler's my hallucination, not hers. Fast as a magic trick, Tyler's disappeared. And now I'm just one man holding a gun in my mouth.
"We followed you," Marla yells "All the people from the support group. You don't have to do this. Put the gun down."
Behind Marla, all the bowel cancers, the brain parasites, the melanoma people, the tuberculosis people are walking, limping, wheelchairing toward me.
They're saying, "Wait."
Their voices come to me on the cold wind, saying "Stop."
And, "We can help you."
"Let us help you."
Across the sky comes the whop, whop, whop of police helicopters.
I yell, go. Get out of here. This building is going to explode.
Marla yells, "We know."
This is like a total epiphany moment for me.
I'm not killing myself, I yell. I'm killing Tyler.
I am Joe's Hard Drive.
I remember everything.
"It's not love or anything," Marla shouts, "but I think I like you, too"
One minute.
Marla likes Tyler.
"No, I like you," Marla shouts. "I know the difference."
And nothing. Nothing explodes.
The barrel of the gun tucked in my surviving cheek, I say, Tyler, you mixed the nitro with paraffin, didn't you.
Paraffin never works.
I have to do this.
The police helicopters.
And I pulled the trigger.
**********************************************
See all these walls around me? I am just waiting for my Marla Singer to come in and save me, and you are not her. So stop trying.
On a lighter note of things, my mom's birthday is on March 11th. I just realized that her date of birth in numerics means she was born on 311 Day.
My mom is such a pothead.
1 Comments:
I haven't read the book but the movie was absolutely delicious.
Anyway, just passing by to say that your blog is definitely a good read and you can thank Fung How for getting you another dedicated reader. Or I can thank him for doing me that favour.
Keep the entries coming!
Post a Comment
<< Home