How do you even, begin, this endless, game? The salad, seemed, so fresh, so crisp. My car, has been, bugged! So sleazy, so, so, sleazy. I never agreed, to be a piece of toilet tissue, for you, bitch. How many more years, is this, “struggling, thing,” going to go, on? Scorn, the insipid, boy! It all comes down, to money, or, the lack, thereof. You just fucked her, your own, daughter. Staining the glory, of time. The upper stratosphere, disowned me, jettisoned, my ass, out! Lost keys, will be found, only in the lapse, of eternal sickness. We’re not going to the mall, today, or, ever. Between shifts, so guilty, so sorry. On the one, hand, you’re sincere, on the other, you’re, the sheriff. Press the pedal, down, to the absence. The pain, we endure; go back, like a serf, to where the help, belong, are, kept. Make sure that tomorrow’s, flavors, are ground. The company, owns us, loans us, out, charges, interest, fees. Woman, starts loudly, screaming, in horror, and rage. I still, stand by, it. Ignore, what you’re, “supposed to, be.” Awakened, by the blender, why must we castrate, the emotions, of the longing? You raped me, over where the empty bottles, used to be, stacked. The bleak experience, has ended. Slink, in, and out, of the fetch, game. How can I, just, wander the neighborhood, seemingly, carefree? Rupture, softly. Shore up, the planks! Just my imagination, as usual. There simply, is no time, to do, most of the things, we want, to do. Flee the oppressive, forces, atomic. There is, worry, and terror. I’ve forgotten, all the terms, that I had, memorized (red flag). Violently, scratching ourselves, rubbing our faces, sitting, in traffic, pulling, at our hair, scratching, again. No honey, for the bees? Cooks, hate, crooked managers. Flag down, a pedestrian. Await further, instructions. They have my number. Take your Audrey Hepburn, necklace, and shove it, bitch! Ingrateful, sound, ungrateful, light, the existential phase, is long since, over! We don’t believe in ideas, around here. I’ve been a loser, long enough. A false alarm, of some kind, should be, sounded (any kind). Curdle, the sweet, ambrosia. Don’t vouch, for the, cake. The hanger, was bent, in just, such a way, a way, which indicated, that something, sexual, was done, with it. Lightning, strikes, notice, the wondering/ wandering, eyes. Radio waves, assault us, while we shower, eat our food, brush our teeth. This filthy mind, is getting old, and, perhaps, more importantly, way, way, out of control. Throw a couple of couches, in the back. Into the back, now! Anger, in traffic, so, it was, surmised. They advertise, the soup, they serve. You are going to pay, you are going to pay, for this, you fat, greasy, sick, sick, asshole! The boat, was auctioned off, after the raid, on the compound. Busted up, rusty, broken down, cars, trucks, pick ups, vans…Here’s your big chance, egghead. You should’ve, saved your money, back when you, had, some. Volunteer, to go, to those places, for…research. Why must greed, be the fuel, of pleasure? Stop cavorting, around the sock hop, pervert. Another year, and a half, gone, is all, that, was. Both, I kept saying, both, sides, were true, someone, said, “no, stop it.” The fork, is stuck, to the plate! People, with gold chains, walk slowly, down the hall. You know, where everyone, lives? Hunky-dorey, attitudes, start to change, slowly, at first. Don’t just sit, on the couch, like a lynx. We sat, in jail, waiting very, very, patiently, to be, released. Moths, pound, furiously, on the outside, of my window, at this moment. Put the whole, philosophical, argument, into a nutshell. This is so, crazy, so (clean kitchen), incomprehensible, that, it makes perfect, sense. Bullet holes, adorn, the side, of the car, a veritable, ghetto, fashion statement. It becomes, “how much can, I, fit in”? This is a detailed, price list. Not for my, ease, or benefit, do I ask, that parameters, be adhered to, but, for the shit – like, smoothness, of the whole, machine. Fuck, multiculturalism! There are no bigger, and/or, better, things; (none). You can’t control, much, after all, it, appears. It is time, for a cup of coffee, now. They’ll let you, be yourself, if, and, only, if, yourself, corresponds, to how they think, it should, be. The jobs, suck, like a vagina, analogy, backwards. Eat, shit, piss, tinkle, poop, and so on. The dandruff, came alive, there was a horrible, row, a scene. I tripped, over a thing, on the golf course, what, was it!? Let the fact, be known, throughout the hierarchy, that you, are part, and parcel, of the hierarchy, now. And, why can’t I, be seen? The kitchen, must be kept, clean. Low, fixed, rates…All it takes, is a steady, stream, of lies. Twenty-four hours, of fascinating, complexities, torn tendons, unauthorized biographies, wrapped up, gifts. Off, we went, down some, trail, with binoculars, what the hell, has happened, to us? Call, toll free, now. Fool, let go of the steering wheel. Stay, somewhat, authentic, Bedlam, is happening, keeps, happening, and will, continue, to. The anecdotes, don’t seem, to add up, to any sort of, conclusion. Don’t fool yourself, into thinking, personification, has occurred. The crucifix, was hosited, and thrown. I don’t, know. Go with, the horseradish.
Don’t you dare, impregnate, that poor woman, she’s got enough, on her mind. I don’t matter, that, doesn’t stop me, from writing about my shithead, self, all the time. Bend the truth, a wee, bit, just to get things, started. In closing, again, thank you. You can begin, to reattach, your feet, to your legs, about, now. This must be, some kind, of peculiar, roll, I’m, on. We committed the crime, for the cash, alone. Open something, somewhere, pull everything, out, and, clean. Act appalled, everybody, act, appalled! I should go back, right now, and take out, the postcard, bits. Shotgun, good-bye, time, is fast, approaching, for yours, truly. We’re in for a long, long, wait. the extremely, efficient, and detail-oriented, amongst us… finish, this, just, bring it to a close. There is a kind of pressure, that can’t be, lived with. A wide berth, was given, to me, when drunk, in the middle of campus. I’m too good, of a person, to have, what keeps happening, to me, to keep, happening (trust me). He’s out to destroy, the towel. It isn’t him, it’s me, which, is always, the case. Art school, taught me, what not, to do, how, not, to live. There isn’t any reason, that I, can see, for me, to remain alive, at this time. Two pages, left (this is impossible)? It was going to be, “baseball, or nothing,” I guess, nothing, won out. Just slip it into, our new, and improved, Supermodel Fuckmachine! It wasn’t an article, it was a shit, stain. Consequences, can get, quite, extreme. Reveal your stains, to me, all of them. “I could put jelly, on your legs, and lick it off, of you,” somebody, said, to someone, yesterday. The kind of sex, we want to have, is not allowed. At least, when we’re dead, we can rest assured, that we won’t be missing, anything. Anything, worth anything, has already, been bought, and sold. The laundry, is piling up, again, to the point, where it’s time to do something, about it. How could I, not, watch the wicked, lesbian movie? Eczema, spreads, that’s just about, the extent of it, eh? The blood, is in more of a rush, than I am, we’ve sopped the gravy, with bread. Letters, written in the movie theater, are torn up, as we leave, it. A bad reputation, and suicide, have, at least, one, big, thing, in common, they are both, permanent. Man, yells, “my dick, is, shrinking!” Surmise, there being, a service, you could offer, or procure. I only wanted to tell her, that she looked great, well, if you’re out there, that’s all I was going, to say. Losers, travel in, clumps. Scene, from the side of the road: a man, pouring motor oil, all over his head, and body. This is a court of law, not a fraternal order. Sometimes, things seem to work out, too well, but, not very, often. Manifolds, cross purposes, keep the sexist, racist, comments, out, please. It’ll be a shame, but, what, isn’t, these days? Transmit the frequencies, directly into, my pia matter. She was, very, flexible. I am a drifting, floundering, failure, so, be it! Do lamb chops, spend their time, worrying, about sales experience? I’m just trying, to jazz it up, remove, the most offensive, parts. The weird man, threw his food, at the bartender, jumped over, the bar, and started grabbing, and groping, him. It must be, like sex, almost. Wave your tri-colored, flag, and smile, brightly. It’s a gaudy, kind of, wastefulness. It’s all, or nothing, at all. They won’t even let me, sell gravity, and space, in this town. He put on his uncanny, act, for the crowd, that gathered. My flute, is out of tune, sister. Practice, helps, nothings, ever, quite, perfect. It’s all, gotten away, from me, not just, part, of it. I’ve done nothing wrong, and am made to feel, as if, I had, by my inability, to gain employment. You, too, have the sickness, for this planet, is not, habitable. What you believe, to be true, is, but, only to you. That kind of frenetic, dancing, has got to be communicating, some kind of, message, some, deep, biological, warning. I’ve got to leave, baby, I have to leave, and, I am, leaving, tonight! Get off your high horse, Reverend. Lucky Jerry, lost, too far out, I guess. Don’t you get on, that plane (yelling)! The tulips, hid the gravestones. Someone, talked about sequins, I moved, to the next table. The man, started spitting, on the machines, picked up a lead pipe, started hitting things. Lord, what the hell, is really, wrong, with me? No, no, I don’t think I’ll be, back (is what I should have, said). Organize the free associative, feature articles, into a coherent, whole. What a lousy, beginning? Can you feel, the tension? Fetch us some, staples. There is nothing else, I can possibly, give up, or lose, I’m telling you, if it can, be sacrificed, I’ve sacrificed, it. Forget the Mexican restaurant, and what happened, there. One minute, the young kid, is crying, the very next, he’s, laughing. It isn’t going to happen, is it? It’s so, fucking, loud, so, loud. Late night, club, or bar, many patrons, strange music. An array, spread out, to be seen, from above. Believe me, with me, there are absolutely, no mysteries. A fat man, asks where the pussy, is, in a totally, bare, unfinished, room. I looked up sick, in the dictionary, lo, and behold, there I, was. Is that a joint? Put that out, at once! The grand, unveiling? The elderly woman, wanted to know, if the produce, was, fresh. Has anybody in here, seen, Ed? I don’t know what to say, any longer. Let me see your breasts, just, one more, time. Revive, and reprise, your roles, yourselves. Exclusive treatments, many, many, products. Please, please, uh, stop this behavior, at once! Now, that’s just about, enough. Hey, what do you, got? Hear me, what do you, got? Broadcasting, to Berrien Springs, and all of, Michiana. If you do, that, we, will do this, to you (the rack, or worse). I must’ve pissed off, the wrong people. I wish, I could, wish.
We need more space, to move around, freely. I’m gonna’ be trapped in this lane, all the way, down! The glitter, isn’t real, child. The rushes, were underexposed. This is a volatile, after school picnic. They scream, for facts, there aren’t, any! One life, is too many, Swami. The police, got a long look, at my little, “book.” So far, this year, (it’s June), I have made, zero dollars (legally).Give me a framework? So, these, are what are called, “the creeps,” I guess. It, is like a bear, with a beehive. It doesn’t matter, what you do, as long as it gets, done. My spark, and zest, have left me. There is no magical, mystical, ending. I am the kind of person, who kills, so, please, treat me, with kid gloves. I’ll be good, if, and only if, you put the sandwich, down. You get another chance, call back, later, or, next week. Stop yourselves, now, before things, get worse, or, the same. I rolled the dice, craved a party, now, my hair, is green! I couldn’t resist, I just, had to do it, you have no idea…Three year olds, know how to, live. There are too many people, the parade, has become a catastrophe, of epidemic proportions. We run the entire studio, by remote control, now. I lost a lot of teeth, that Saturday. Clench your softy, fist. Perky, fluffy, a little off, to one side, but, fine, overall. No more mopping up, after everybody has left. Miles, of paint. The reporter, made some inappropriate, comments. The remains of this world, will wash up, on the New Jersey, shore. I don't revolve around, percentages. That music, you listen to, is rotting your brain. The hamburger stand, was torn down. The deficit, overwhelmed me. She’s the queen, of the Radish Festival. Don’t stay behind the pig truck, too long. Spill, what does it matter? It’s, how, you know, this month. The effort, that is required, to sleep, is too great. Make history, by sitting there, just, doing nothing, waiting, waiting, for that, big chance. Forbidden, as it was, made it, irresistible. Dust it off, first, oh, dear, it seems like, some kind of devil, just walked into the room. Bite, the rolled up, socks. Roll out, the toilet, the beach, became a stoner, hangout. Ah, would, that, that, were, true… The kids, started screaming, about the, Rubber Bunny Movie, I think. Our minds, are reflected, in the mayhem. Attempt to get, on camera, like those people, in the background. Allison, had a series, of screaming, pseudo-epileptic, fits. The contract, is all drawn up, the movie, about truck drivers, fondling girls, will be produced. My mind, is an exploding, cauldron. Hey, I fucked that girl, I just saw, driving by! This is a long, slow, form, of burnout, you’re witnessing, now. Take things, more seriously. Choose not, to disable the garage door, opener. The sky, seems just a little bit, bluer, today. The inside of the house, is going to be painted. The drive in, got too violent, to go to, anymore. It’s this, music, it’s good, and it applies to everybody, this doesn’t mean, people, will like it. I’m gonna’ talk with a lisp, about self-destructive, things, and you, are gonna’, listen. Go find some duckling, mate for life, fantasy. The mailbox, keeps saying stuff, to me. Your hair, gets you into more trouble, than anything else (no fair, for nothing). Hand signals, were used, to orchestrate, the kitchen staff. Dishonesty, will orange you, right into the grave. Rent out a place, to throw your shit. It’s a big deal, a big, big, deal (unknown, exactly what, this refers, to). Quarrel! Fly a park ranger, into hysterics. The elderly, live in the downriver, communities. Get her out of this, T. B. room. Have too much work to do, to waste valuable resources, like you’re doing, now? No fear of neon, silk plants, semi trucks. I’d gladly work for nothing, to be able to be, over there. Relapse, film, relapse. Scratch, chalk, rails, words, were recited, a part of a thing, was constructed, she agreed, to star, in it. We are more than, alone, rest assured. My leg, doesn’t work, anymore. Punt the pundit, squeeze, the pumpkin. Our idea, of pleasant, doesn’t involve, boats. A strange sound, was made, if you crap in your pants, one more, time, I am going to start worrying, profusely. Leave the glory, behind. Draw a nice, sausage, on your folder. It’s going to be getting robbery, dark, out, very soon, here. Briefly, the contest, was rigged, fixed. The font, and typeface, were secretly, changed. You can’t fake, perfection. She is all I can think about, I love her, and she will love me, when I finally, meet her. Was it like a fish? I’m not going to let you hurt me, anymore. I can hold that thing…and probably, do so, on my head. Shrink into the wax canisters. They get more, and more, perfect. Nobody sat by you, then, nobody’s, going to sit by you, now. Get upset, just, get, upset! The divorce, turned, vicious. We are worried, about our credit. The way things are, it looks like some crazy, pyramid. An unknown disease, has got me, laid out. There is too much grease, on the floor of the car, pick up those paper cups. I don’t care to see, the chemo chair, no. We must create this, this is something, that must be, done, completed, started. The officials, chastised me, for my technique, but, the overall scores, didn’t reflect, that. There is no hope, for most of us. Blow on some, kind of celebratory, horn. Let Erasmus, sue me. The dinner party, was a gas! Fry up some eggs, and put your party hat, on, we’re going over, there! Inflame the Jesus, on a stick. I’m warning you, take that shit, out. Put this, on your wall. Someone shouted, “divorce!” Maybe, I’ll blow a few, other people’s, heads off, before, my own, but, this is, unlikely. We’re gonna go, “totally country.” Misconceptions, will abound. There will be closure, redemption.
Nothing but the nonstop sound, of grasshoppers, now. Once again, I must apologize, to you all, about the content, of this, “whatever it, is.” The good attitude, you walk in, with, is gone, way before, you walk out, of that place. Time, we shouldn’t be doing, what we’re doing, with it. Just wasting, and waiting, shallow, and bored. Hung up, on, uninsured, unemployed, scattered, shattered, lonely, helpless. What could I, do (she put her feet, up on the goddamn, table)? Forgive me, please, um, that did not go well. They are heartless, because, they’re set, and settled, they just work out the fine tuning, and details, of their perfect, beautiful, lives. It’s good to know, that our pantomime exercises, are paying off some kind, of dividends. Occasionally, I have to chuckle, at some crazy thing, I think, write, or say, especially, the “serious,” shit. Prison, isn’t that, bad, we’re told, and even if, only, hypothetically, we start planning our, crimes. They took me off of my medication, recently. People want experienced workers, not, people, who think a lot, about the role of work, in society, etc. Darling, we are now, divorced! The next book, after, that, one, will be called: Leftovers, from some Asshole’s, Steak Dinner (as viewed, by the dishwasher). We stand to lose, what little, we have, and, what isn’t, ours, but, we hold onto, for now. It doesn’t seem like, the Earth, moves. See, things go through the mind (crazy things), normal people, edit them, out, I, do not, for some reason. We’re gonna’ go out, something, mellow, nearby, cheap, if you don’t mind. No, no, honey-bunny, I’m a good guy, I’m for, you. Hot, and cold, flashes, I am, in no way, even close, to being, the kind, or type, of person, it would seem, that I would be, by writing this book. To be revealing (honest), I don’t reveal, anything, about myself, through writing. Tumble, rumble, man, something, must be done, about this. I don’t even believe, that Beiko province, exists, yet, I made up stories, about it. I stood at the highest point, of that bridge, and for reasons, I still, can’t understand, did not, jump. My sonar, is related to my gonads, in inexpressible, ways. You read through the newspaper, in a very, dangerous, dangerous, way. I will be more, aggressive. Don’t worry, young editor, this book, will be PG 13, in no time. Safe sex, isn’t, there are some things, that are too animalistic, or reptilian, to allow yourself, to think about. There is no such thing, as a small business, anymore, at all. All pornographic content, will be duly, removed, at once. They don’t want a babbling, idiots, résumé, from someone, who can’t explain, themselves. Throw everything you have, at them, just, get me out of here. The trembling, is constant, now, take it out, on your boss. Why do I insist, on doing things, the same, old, way when that way, has never, worked? When a person, can’t get work, in good times, he/she, doesn’t want to imagine, what’s going to happen, during the, bad. Isolated, wholloped, whoop-dee-doo’d, we’re getting even. If anyone ever, asks, I will deny, being, myself. 1988, became 1991, within, seconds. We’re supposed to get all excited, about the fact, that three types of cheese, are used, in some dinner special. Very fair, behavior, and nobody around, to observe it. Thinking, is what has gotten me, into every ounce, of any kind, of trouble, I’ve ever been, in (this is the true, Ballad, of the Thinking Man). This whole story, may, very likely, end up, with someone, either, getting hurt, or killed. The wood paneling, is plastic. My voice, is still, strident. Go back, to the refinery. Take it in, with you. Kittie, spilled so much, milk, it isn’t even, funny. Things, seem, overcast. My pathetic attempts, to get a job, aren’t going, well. For someone, like me, it’s DIY, or die. Why, you have a lot of hate, inside, there is no telling, what horrible things, you’re capable, of. They will continue, to poison us, with chemicals. Don’t ever, think about, that. The morning, slowly, fades, into day. People, can be so rude, on the phone. I pissed on the seat. Make it work, out! Noone can accuse me, of wearing, fashionable, pants. It’s getting late. It’ll be different, this time. I’ll see you, in Zendo? The discussion, about what, brilliant cinematography, is, won’t take place, for awhile. This crap, shit, product. What good, is knowledge, if it’s, forgotten? You just, gotta’ hit, play. Going around, the clipboard holes, we decided, to acquire more territories. Weapons, were fired into the ground, directly above, the grave (hence, had they been alive, they’d have been, shot). We will, keep going, won’t, we? Don’t sit there, thinking of all the brilliant things, you wanted to say, but, didn’t, it’s too late, now. Some people, somewhere, are making a big deal, out of things, which, do not matter. My handwriting, is melting into the pages, and this, is not good. Kindly, keep rock and roll, out of this. No, we, don’t, is what I think, she said, very quickly. In our grand efforts, to avoid, certain things, we, very often, attract them, like a magnet. The “fresh,” food, is, fake. Look, you’ve got to go about things, much differently. No good-bye, from that end, of the phone. Getting up, earlier, in the day, wouldn’t seem to change, what is done, with the day, all that much. Let him, wait, I am, simply, not in the mood, to see clients, right now. Who dares, to qualify, for the grand prize, around here? I can fight, just fine, but, is that, really, the kind of skill, I should be honing, and polishing? The afternoon, disc jockey, was drunker, than a tarred, and feathered, pederast. This is in, color. My letters, went too far. The savants, are like, prodigys.
