It used to be, “Eric, get me out of here,” now, it’s, sit still, and deal with it! Plan…organize…control! Hollywood, is a virus, that’s spreading, and has got to be, stopped! Remember what happened, on 2/9/94! No matter what, happens, no matter what, happens, what I need to do, needs to get, done. Looking back, at what has, happened, there is no way to…it’s not normal. Our, oh, so, important, such, and such, isn’t. Duh, uh, here is a list of damages, that the tornado, wrought. We’re not doing a very good job, of sticking to our diets. The only stable thing, becomes very, very, unstable. We lost it, for awhile, yeah, we get it back, but it’s different, then. Please, don’t slam her on the table, like dough. Forget about, the vegetable burgers! We’re right at ground zero, there is no one, to help. The reverse of this, is going to start occurring, soon. It’s a race, something, is really wrong, and we’ve got to find out, what it is. Very shortly, it is going to be necessary, to do something, else. We get, what we demand. Hint-hints, are needed! Don’t keep looking at the ceiling! It seems like I’ve been in here, a really, long time. Maybe, I really did, belong in the halfway house, after all! Our attitudes, are what’s killing, us. There is wind, in my veins, all of the sudden. It’s about being ready for cancer, and out of cigarettes. Break the sticks, in the backyard, and put them in piles. We all hate each other, we’re always here. Four people, who can’t walk, are really pissed, at us. Someone, may yell something, to you, someday. Things of the utmost, importance, often, appear to be meaningless, on the surface. Being mentally ill, is not cool, or profitable. Boredom, is the killer, it comes from being sick, of oneself. There is always hair, in my mouth, tension, in the air. It’s not really, Saturday, right now? Check this, check that, create, a competitive edge. Not one word, that I uttered, in that diner, made any sense. Why is it, that after all I’ve done, I’m weak? Give me a pair, of cast off, hooks? How can we be of better service, to you? The next person, to undo, what I have done, will perish. Suck her pussy, until there is nothing left, to suck? We need, better lives. All calls, as low as, 1.99/minute! Crooked teeth, hide behind, strange looking, mouths. They can only lead us in, so far, at which point, it’s up to us. I’ve become, the kind of person, who incessantly, moves his legs, around. Why should we walk on eggshells, around these, troublemakers? Puff it all, up! Don’t reproduce! You got away with it, I can’t remember, one thing, that happened, yesterday. Train as a specialist, not a generalist, or, suffer the consequences. Try the same scene, with a nursery rhyme, in the background. Have a drink, for the tumors, within you. Super paranoid, of terrorism, my goal, is not to be sane. Stop arguing, about Golden Boy’s, future! What is the quickest way, to dive? Nothing is getting any, better. Were the 50’s, kind, to you? There are opportunities, that you better, take. That couldn’t be, no way! You can probably, imagine, by now, why I see so many, movies. The blue kite (long gone). Shove your computer/technology, nonsense, I’m not buying it (literally). Why is it, that so few of us, grow up? Do it, now, or forever, hold your tongue. Someone, called me a name, in Yiddish, another person, gave me a lawnmower, for free. See, one person’s, problem, becomes everyone, around’s, problem, too. Take a bowl, and throw it, into the yard. Two people’s, skin, touch, an electrical event, takes place. I noticed the bruises. Writing this book, has been an excuse, for my entire life, not, just the last, couple, of years. The tape recorder, is broken. I want money, in fact, I need it, require it. I have no one to blame, but, myself. It’s (was), only, jealousy. We’re all a bunch of fuck ups, up in arms. No, nude, cheerleaders, are allowed, whilst, editing. People, are going to push your buttons, if you’ve got any, to push. Yes, only Chris, can talk about, the cannolli’s. Something, is very wrong, today. Acknowledge your stupidity, and move on. What do we think, we’re doing? A fight, is about to start, there is always a fight, starting. For years, and years, I’ve worked on this book. Her neck, is too clean, or, at least, it was, when I knew her. We’re not interested, in your time released, dramas! The need to be angry, constantly, does not lead to contentment. This little project, just might wind up, being over, before it is, there is no money, in it…It’s too much work, to make absolutely, no money. But, it’s 150 miles, to Pittsburgh. All the order, went that-a-way. I am now, an asshole. We ned a lot ore, information. The beginning, isn’t strong, enough.
Click – this, after I finally fall off the chair, for the last time – off. Stay behind the velvet rope, there is nothing going on, inside there, anyhow. The basket of cheese, is for you. We’re a bunch of moist towelettes, being used, and discarded. Is there any plan, that I haven’t, subconsciously, nixed? We talked about high wire, trapeze artists, playing, ding, dong, ditch. Observation, entails, watching the world, pass you by, and, it’s what writers, do. It takes a lot of energy, to be a loser. I had cramps, and just (went the sleazy, route), fell out of the observation tower. Cringe, now! A whole new wardrobe, is just, not financially feasible, right now. Bark out, like some kind of deranged, animal. Of course, she looked just like my ex-girlfriend, but, better, how else, could she have, looked? Even the school, was just a dream. Take the curve, at high speed, deer, or no, deer. Give me the keys, to, “the secret.” Who do I think, I am, breezing in, and out, of rooms, as I do? I try to say, what I can’t, I don’t say, very much. The “foxy favor,” returned, our melons, became spoiled. We’re lost, in the fade. Too much fussing, and fretting, leads to frustration, anarchy, forewarning, of some kind of space, or the other. The struggle, is essential, unless, it goes on, way, too long. Delicate, and sensitive, won’t get you very far, in life. Four, sixty second spots, by Friday, no problem. Caught, busted, do you still, suppose, they’ll, “just let you go, this time?” It would be too much, to ask, to get, shit canned, now. Having already done, the other thing, I am trying, very hard, to appear, normal. The events, or times, are quiet, still, noisy, pointless, distracting, nothing. I’m told, that I’ll never get a job, with this skrimsish, on me. Using your brain, at your job, usually, means, that you observe mold, and bacteria cultures. In the end, could it be, the big, black, zip, will comfort, us? How many times, we have to go through the same shit, until we, learn! For ten years, now, I have frothed at the mouth, and twitched, like a bird, with a broken neck. Exhausted, by having nothing to do? Another love object/distraction, from what I really, should be, doing. Let Little Miss, Show Her Tits, blow her money, and turn in sub par, slop a year late, what should it matter, to you? The teller, took a half an hour, to cash a two hundred dollar, check. Curling, effervescent, new candy, floods the market, and people, who don’t know any better, buy, buy, buy. Lift off, has been postponed. There is never a lack, of anything to smash, on the soap opera. I was dismissed, from jury duty, for having no recognizable, peers. It’s like a switchblade surprise, in a parking lot, one of those, “how could it happen, to me,” things. I thought that I’d surprise, everybody, what will really, happen, is that I’ll wind up, embarrassing, myself. I stumbled upon the grain elevator, which was an absolute, thrill. The songs we, wrote, are not recorded, ever! Humidity, longs, to attach, to us. I got the look, today, it brought back, unpleasant memories, of many other, such, “looks,” that never, lead to good things. Label, what it is, as the same, as what happened, before. Circle the guy with the beard, in the insurance agents, group photograph. My shame, over too many, things, won’t let me leave, this poverty, destitution, this miserable, life situation. Can you see, what I’m attempting, to do, here? Boneless, skinless, souls, revolve, around the town, in a hurry. Narrative, is a wet sock. I used to pretend, that she was already, my wife. We are not quite, able. They will invent, many more things, to waste our lives, with. As a typist, my skills, are not very, sound. I remember watching my hair burn, in the campfire, it turned into burned cheese, curls, plastic things. He grabbed, blue corn, he knew, it was blue corn. Slammed, we get the urge, to slam back, and must, resist it. What makes it wrong, per se? Hesitation, at the turnstile, is a sign, that you don’t want to do, what it is, that you’re doing. It’s a good idea, not, to want to be, a movie star/rock icon. There isn’t going to be any quotation, to pin on the wall, out of here. I think, I can figure out the hoist, pretty, goddamn quick, on my own, but thank you, for offering, “training.” Salute, gradually, don’t let them, make you, hurry. The more television, we watch, the more useless, we are. It’s so funny, how we trip, and fall, and can’t get back up, again. We’re gonna’ jump up, and down! After the next witch hunt, who will remain, to fold the flag, neatly? The wait, for a yay, or a nay, when entire lives, depend on someone else’s, decision, is just about, too much to bare, or take. I’m more radical, in person, which means, the opposite. Smear the shit, onto the page, with your foot. Don’t go, too fast. We live with the terror, now.
A head start, on tomorrow, I called it. We’re looking for more free reign, than we have, at present. What the hell, is it, that we spend all our energy, searching for? This book, most likely, won’t even be, finished, much less, published. I honestly, can’t take it, anymore, this is some kind of pressure, that I, just, can’t stand. Nothing about the experiment, can be recalled. To live an entire lifetime, without a candlelight dinner, isn’t as big a deal, as you might think. Leave it, blank. Chart, and graph, the creative environment. The biology teacher, was an asshole. Someone, to make things, happen, is a difficult person, to find. You’ve spent too much time, trying to perfect, your character. We’ve got plenty, of, rags. Cross the appointment, out of your book. Act polite, and professional, and all that. We imagine, that if we were only, so, and so, until we achieve/get, that, then, it’s something else, in the way, or, to be achieved, before, etcetera. I’m an absolute failure, as a father. Maybe, it’s just a Midwest, thing, but, I doubt it. I got kicked out of the restaurant, again. I am not suave, debonair, sexy, pretty, I can’t even, fake it. Accidents, cause lane closures, go along with the crowd. The form, has been left behind. Make yourself, make it. You’ll be mortified, of something, some day, too. The state line, strip search, had me hopping over, barbed wire, fences, hiding, in oil barrels…Please, Sir, or Ma’am, could I have a job (any, job)? It actually, works. Time, has passed. Stunt acting, downer frenzies, suckers, yes men, floaters, losers, psychos, freaks, put down the cold cuts. In the name, of human stupidity, stop, just, stop doing, what you’re doing. The painter, painted something, that didn’t necessarily, need, painting. Books, don’t end up telling, the whole truth, or, even, part, of the story, all told. We could be geniuses (or, something, altogether, different). Dull, lifeless, insane…Wherever I go, I’m there, one of those antsy/artsy, types, but, not even, really. Maybe, someday, our warped sensibilities, will work, for us, rather than, against. Be more Chinese, than most Chinese, people. We chant, and eat rice, act the part. Come back to that, in awhile, for now, we have to invent, new things, that will be completely, forgotten, in ten years. People, will get on top of tables, and jump off, but, so what? What sells, well, today, will be in the half off, bin, tomorrow. This is a stretched out, flake, of something, that fell out of my head. We have to act tough, but, we look so ridiculous, in our attempts, that we just go back, to being the schmucks, we are. Take away my car keys, make me live life, differently. It’s so hard, that it’s easy, and easy, that it’s hard, to do, most all, things. Slide into, and out of, the driveway, make it look like you’ve got places, to go and people, to meet. Is it all we thought, it would be? Our brains, aren’t, real. Pick an industrial park (any one, will do). People, see right through, the masks, I thought, were, translucent. One more round, I suppose. I will soon, be rich, and none of that crap, will matter, anymore. Sleep, wake, hour, minute; companies, are looking for someone, just like, you! Will we ever, have our own, lives? Our hero phases, of… who the fuck, cares? Wink, like, Shalom. It needs, what it, needs. The fake, digital sign, amused, most, everyone. Our fascination, betrays us, our intrigues, are faked. Blink, and life is over, there simply, isn’t enough time, to jack off, and fuck around, which is all, any of us, really, want to do, anyway. Messages, sent? Get into, the such-ness! Testing… operational… too many springs, have passed, to even care, what year it is, anymore. Tell them what it, is. I’ve painted my last, bowling alley. Mr. Newell, I’d like to apologize. When does a warning, become a threat? The truth, of my fat ass, bothers me, a great deal, but, I’ve got to keep that secret, being male, and all. My spine, is, not working. Mouthwash, makes us cheat, on ourselves. We are punching bags, for the violent. This is what it’s like, to be “sick.” The night janitor, has emptied all the trash cans. Not caring, at all, what the score of the game, is, we ask, anyway. On paper, there are way more, qualified people, sure. We can work out the details, later? The VP of marketing, is very, pissed. How many years, are left, on my seven years, bad luck, mirror breaking, sentence? Put the crucial information, in brackets, not that anyone, will look at it, anyway. Modern, myth making, of a particular kind, is simply, not occurring. Don’t resent (we lost the games), graciousness. Informality, the sponge thing, for instance, has been overplayed. Silk, would seem to be oozing, out of the worms, ass. Seek as much money, as you can, in as many different areas, as possible. The stage, collapsed, there will be no more plays, this season. Look up the address, now, what is this, “I’ll do it, later,” shit? Cogs, aren’t seen, as all that, important, in the running, of the machine. The truth, flashes into our heads, too fast, and, not very often. As for the usual categories, to fill in, fuck it. Avant garde, is a nice word, for crazy, or, insane. Whatever I fear, will not, go away. People, walk up to the everyman, and say things to him, that ordinary people, wouldn’t say, to anyone. We call the dog, baba, for lack of any other name, to use, for him. No one, will throw you a bone, when you need, a steak. Naturally, we have no control, of anything, whatsoever. Interests (passions), must be included, on your list, of practical, philosophical, concerns. The forest, is a highway median, we’re very confused, this is the telltale, sound, of pressure. Destroy the mechanism, not to put too fine a point, on it. We find out how stupid, we’ve become, “all of the sudden.” This is only, pretend. I’ve long, since, lost it. You will, no doubt, face a lot, of obstacles.
