I don’t think that I really remember things, quite the way they happened. They left me off the list, which is just as well. Nobody knows what happened to any of those fucking people. I did my time in the institution, jail, mobile home, picnic grounds, vacant fields (fuck every goddamn one of you). My lawyer was a cocksucker, and he did what I did, more than once. All they used to do is quote song lyrics, as if they were Byron, or Shelley. Ah, it’s all fart jokes and aspirin, now… anyway. I got drunk on vineger, had a long conversation with your mother, lost my mind, then, found it again. How did Adam sneak into that one picture? The damn armadillo got into the backpack, ate all the egg salad. Skank, but, well, we like it that way. I used to sell porno to kids, but that was before… before the rest of it. They won’t read it, write about them. It was all patty-cakes and clown makeup, the freak population has been thinned out, with attrition and all. Imagine her, in those pants! All the quotes were made up. I was there, stood around, fell down the steps, and so on. Remember pretending to limp (oh, yes you do)? We were all duped, everything sucked! See, though, the bad, causes you to miss the good. We used to sell pumpkins out of the back of a truck. Do you know what it’s like to be very tired? Smell the injustice. We compiled a bunch of garbage. The main problem with being a writer, is the fact that it forces you to live in poverty for decades. He was hurting himself, nobody knows why. You promised me that you wouldn’t call me donuthead, anymore. I’m not going to live long enough to see this book get published… So, fuck you all, again. How’d she ever get to be so ripe, so soon? Living here is such a treat, such a treat. It’s like a game, a sick game (trying to do what I do). I knew, but I don’t know anymore. The depression comes on really quickly, and silently. There was a half a thought, that I had. The most exciting thing I do everyday, is complain. It’s grist for a mill, that’s gone out of business. I ran towards the terrifying shrieks. Where do they all come from? Danger is a real thing, nowadays. It’s a jambling, jangling, sort of. This is the worst part, now. My last words were, I am not. I refused to succeed, my hate wouldn’t wane, the flip flopping ended, the foolish drunkenness. In a way, it’s kind of funny. I see it leaving me, now. I dozed in the biosphere project; you’ll be lucky to snag a couple. Nothing is sacred, everyone is scarred, and scared. This could be cheating. I am your whore, you pay me by the hour. My skull is inside of me, I feel it there. Choose a different soft drink, get into the other mind. They keep raising the damn prices. What ends up happening, will seem very, very strange, and weird, to you. Life is like a board game, formerly in vogue, which is no longer played. Flushing the toilet makes such a loud, terrible noise. We’d do anything to… Into the toilet, out of paper, pleasure is not going to be allowed. Take the pain and suffering. It all starts with nihilism. After all this, nothing. Our dharma is like, stealing corn from the stalks, along the side of the road. There is no now, catch it if you can. An inappropriate hat, was worn. Sleep removes something. We’re associate members of that group. Someone said something, out of the blue. No rubbers, no sex. Papers were shuffled, boxes were folded, things took place. Nobody is ever going to read this, which gives me enough freedom to strangle myself with, no more. Old record albums, of bands, no longer popular, lined the walls. There was no eighth grade theatrical production, this year. They all too often, say no. The pregnancy rumor, was unsubstantiated. Invited into the back room (never seen). They dubbed in the part about low prices. I smell like the guy who made me puke! It was predictable, all that happened, and it will continue to be so. We’re waiting for the feed from Portugal. We spend our time attempting to communicate with machines. Low rent districts, some kind of surf/church music, my eye keeps falling on the lamp. The discoteche seemed so enchanting, to the damned. Things can get pretty bad, may you never know this. The food contains poison, do we need a padded envelope? Don’t give in. Everything is blank, this is what anathema is. Don’t let me die before the delivery truck gets here. This once meant something. The wishing well on North Avenue, is gone. It’s gotten so bad, so damn fast (I’m so cross with you). The economy thrives and grows, on all our failures. Go off, write poems, bomb the mall (we’re all faking it). Just remember this, “strange warmings.” Don’t say it, do it. As blank as gas, as dull as an eraser. The modus operendi, would appear to be, nil. Food is so tasteless, yet, we eat. You will see that that, will be that. I can’t even pretend to have a purpose, or a whatever, anymore! Look above the place where the tools used to be stored. The cheese grater took half of my hand off. I’m not going to make it. The entire city, was a ghetto. Scatter it into yourself, forget that I told you this. The project will never be completed. To me, it sounded like groceries were being carried in. This is what I alluded to, back in 1987 (it’s mostly “about,” a gastrointestinal infection, that I had). The end, is a meaningless, hurrah. The false teeth have been removed, and placed in a solution. The dandelion fuzzies, were conscious. The garden furniture was of a very high quality. My eyes feel like used teabags. Too many cream cheese choices! Cooties in the curtains, it’s all we’ve got left. Back to the student center. She got high on candy. Wait for it to melt. I used to want to break my pencil. Don’t get too involved in the “horror of your own being.”
A lot more shit went out of business, from the last time I was there. The existing couch, needs to be puffed. I don’t know if I’ve faced it, or not. Why can’t I act the part of Ben Franklin at the annual jamboree, and clambake? It took me years to figure out what the painting was all about (and meant). Well, most of us were in the midst of a fit. Yeah, I’d love psychoanalysis, but not on live t.v., and not if I have to pay for it. Something horrible must have happened. They know your weak spot before you do. The diaphragm went flying out the window, after the nursery rhyme/rhythm thing, that none of us could stand. You will continue to rub it all over me. You should be wide awake, at this hour. Why do they all insist on shitting all over me? I don’t want to hear my own digestive system sounds, anymore. No more acute vision, it’s gone. Sail into the middle of it, just like a bitch. Actually, this is what happens, long after you’ve lost your mind. It’s very glib (there is always more work to do). I’m starting to doubt all of my actions, not just some. The books keep falling off the shelves. Pass me that chamois. There is a way, there is a way, that these things are done. They know, and they keep it from you. Intensity, the true depths… All of the sudden, she decided to stop punctuating (just like last time). They all tell too many lies. No innocence, ever (these days). Don’t add insult to injury, by doing what I have done. If you fart, you fart (don’t hide it). Fear is the vice (a tool). We’re practically virgins. Only stupid people feel, “sexy.” We go back a long way (too long). Hey, that is in the past. All of our days are numbered, like some New Year’s countdown, but not. By Tuesday, all I could think about were the next weekend’s parties. It’s like staring at the inner workings of a single human cell. Kansas had a hand in this (the girl, not the state). Try to drown out the sounds coming from the next room. What came over me, those “tittie twisting” incidents? There is no excuse for this, yet. We were told to settle down, or keep it quiet, or something. I’m one of the typical, boring assholes (that I used to hate). No photos were taken. Twenty nine, twenty nine (immortalize it). What do you suppose it really would have been like, if I’d have stopped the car? Moan, as if on a back ward gurney. I’m keeping up the pretense, apparently. Oh, what is happening inside of our heads? Isn’t she ah absolute scream, a hoot? This is my senior thesis, asshole (my dissertation). Oh, I’d say that I spent quite a bit of time, drinking? And this, is like being drunk in an unknown backyard, in a strange city, no idea how you got there, the whole nine yards… All of the recently departed, seem to want to have words with me. Mention you’ve made your first million in the wrong company, and you’re liable to get stabbed. I’ve never been on a date. Save me from the wind. It will take next to, forever. Compel someone to do something, and they’ll be forever in your debt. There wouldn’t seem to be any kind of solution, possible. All our dreams get thrown away. Oh, we’ve been told. Tell me if I’m doing something wrong. The check didn’t come. I lost what I couldn’t afford to lose, beyond my mind. It would be so easy, if we could only do it. Show off your “stuff.” We’re jones’n! Must escape this trailer park. Hard, greasy sex, was what everyone was looking for. This is now, my own fault. Clobber, with clapboards. I’m in the wheelbarrow. The pulsating creatures, can only wait. The project was unmanageable, and made my life, so. At the beginning, distractions were killing the book, now, the book is the distraction, and the book is killing me. The order in the complexity, is chaos. The owls are communicating with me. I will not stop writing, until I’m rich (it may be awhile). Gym fears, something about throwing a softball. We listened to the whole album, the way it was initially conceived. It will never be optioned. It was like the live fish in the toilet bowl, after the straining and grunting. I didn’t think I’d miss the stuff I threw away, either. See the cigarettes, reflected in the icicles. You have to get it fixed. Cop choke holds? They are there (how can this part, “save the book?”). I think it was something about reeling in extremis, and happy, unhappy! Shitting in my pants (ooh, la, la, feels like gold). Everything will be fine, once I stop eating food. Make it work, anyway. I just do, too many regrettable things. You must use the cover, that I designed. So many people, so dead right (that shouldn’t be). There is no/are no, solutions, at all. It isn’t even all that clever. I won’t sit and stare at any rock star, ever. I loved, past tense. Too much, too much, at this juncture (so arcane). I got all tied up in the minutae. Daftcunt! Have a sunny, sunny, turkey. Those were some things that I neglected to bring to her attention. Mutilate the headset. It is not really a possible thing, to write a book (hence, I guess, I’ve done the impossible). My life is missing a lot of things, like purpose. Follow the voices, all the way to the end.
