It all seems so ridiculous to me. She claimed to have once fucked a doorknob (got it around, and, uh, so on). I can’t get the taste of cheese out of my mouth. We do what we do, until we have to stop. My face is covered in sterile gauze. Our thumbs resemble Manatee’s. Try to stop thinking! The ambience will be trash cans and broken glass, soon. I can feel my head, slipping away from my brain. Did he say bass, or perch? We want to quit, forfeit the game, lose – but we fucking, can’t! Orchestrated still life’s, attack! All hope is tarnished. The radio tower (I loved)! It was all just a fashionable movement, a trend, a ruse, a farce, a scam. Survival is impossible. Take a bow, fuckhead. You’ve got the flavor. Do more than just try. We’re useless, as a part of their schemes. Some people actually engage in sexual intercourse. Shove your puppet show! Rig up an apparatus! What’s the use? He was dancing on the courthouse steps. Be chased home. It’s very odd, being out of your wits. Make an effort, out at the Sarasota Flats. Don’t be a goddamn diva! Charles was a Eucharistic minister, in the parallel world. The manikin got it, right up the ass. Stuck in Clio (oh, boy). There is a shame that is not discussed. The flesh between your legs, it titillates you? Push down the plunger. Life has taken on a more tragic dimension. We picked the raspberries. Biofeedback reaches back and slaps your ass, above the fallout shelter. Misuse the denture adhesive glue/paste. A marketing whiz, a coup d’etat. Smooth the ruffled feathers of the dead bird, back down. Go to the office. Life is a lot less of a gas, since you left. The levels have shifted! Grumpy gets the magic egg. This is the final chapter. The images are subtly changing, we need great gift ideas. Host a fondue party! Argue about bologna! My feet hurt, this is not what we wanted. No one buys milk at the liquor store! It’s easy for them, not us. Write a crazy, abstract scene. Don’t hurt her, don’t hurt my lover. Casino losers hang out downtown, now. The sexual tension, this needs to be arranged. Try it without a net. The beverage will be spilled, Ms. Mulchey, it will be spilled. I’ll never be able to live this down, these will not be a second book. That ain’t got nothin’ to do with becomin’ a man. Shit, it’ll never be done. Try to be even crazier! The machine will toss you off for about five bucks a throw. None of us are ever going to be normal, again. Make them feel some of your fear. I’m talking about rolling around in the dirt, with my clothes off. I drank too much, like a frustrated supermodel. Some sort of injury was incurred on the slide. Beauty will find it’s way to the beautiful, eventually. Too many generic thoughts are being broadcast. The eighteen grand, is gone. The day for action, will dawn. Oh, so lonesome, in the truck, by the side of the road. Little goofball, sure can run! Too many pitfalls, “someday,” seems pretty distant (at this point). Don’t dare dip into my Dixie! Nobody talk. The roses have wilted for the year. One life, we repeat to ourselves, over and over. He died back when I died, but me died with more money. They will no doubt, rub you the wrong way, kitty. We must have decided to drink as much alcohol as possible. The points we’ve got to make, will never be allotted sufficient time in which to be proved. You can always get a refund, so they claim. The lonely shoplifter, who they made an example of. We’re just not strong enough. Never give up (be defeated). We don’t know the shit we need to know. If it isn’t good, don’t put it in. It must become something worth putting all of this energy into. My delirium, is getting a lot worse (a lot of shit, is). We hope against hope, that nothing else goes wrong. Visualize the outcome (it’s all I can do). We’ve got to know what we really want, now. Death is happening now, for sure. No entity is going to help you get started. It’s like that vague, fingernail pain (kind of). Piece of shit (what?) record? We don’t have any work. Listen to maudlin music, at top volume.
