Raid the peace keeping, headquarters. We have all sorts, of unique, perspectives (that don’t matter). Keep that early, sense, of mystery, alive. I’m an, idiot (I don’t want to be). Stop the manipulative, yo-yo, action. Guatemala, didn’t mean as much, to me, then, as, now. They don’t want their easy, cushy, jobs, to be threatened, or infringed, upon, in any way, hence, they will not hire, you. We only, act, busy. For now, that is, at this time, I am not wearing any, clothes. Salvation, is for them, the others. We will keep falling, getting up, falling, getting up. We’re, fine/not, fine, either way, none of us, will admit, anything. What flight number, was it, again? So long, as the jobs, get done, the check clears, and nobody, blows anybody else’s, head, off, what does it matter, how things, proceed? Do you need any, wax? There is nothing remarkable, special, unique, or interesting, endearing, or fantastic, about, me. Every job, I’ve had, has, sucked. This is for the skinny, the pardoned, the nuts, the nots. I was behind you, in the traffic jam today, I know, you remember, me. What’s wrong, with me, is, not exactly, clear. I was taken in, for questioning, again, it is making me, very angry. The workers, will become robots, machines, I thought that you, should be informed. Dreaming of voyeurs, at the window, not overstuffed, Persian, pillows. I don’t think, that robbing gas stations, will, or could, solve any, of my, problems. The graveyard, is simple, this, is, not. This is what it’s like, to be, very, very, tired. Straighten this, straighten that, dust, a little, here, a little, more, over there. We have, no real, idea, what we want, or, need. We will find, some, way… Knock off, the Perestroika, innuendo, Doctor, they can all, hear you. The last time, that I, did, this… We get conditioned, to having our asses, padded, thank goodness, he put down, the candy bar. Vigorous, study, alone, does not equate, to, intelligence. Three naked people, in a room, is dangerous. Please, do, what needs, doing. Relative unknowns, need more of a chance, than they’re getting. The banks, all lost points, in the stock market, today. There is never, anything, to do, we do things, anyway. A whole lot of people, want to be more, than what they, are. This project, has way more to do, with Bernadine Schantez, than I ever could have, imagined, that it would, at the beginning. A fax machine, kept breaking in, on some goddamn, party line, on the telephone. This is so, real, yet, so, false. My revenge, will be, so, total, so, total. We would rather, we didn’t have to, sleep, at all. They are so, young. My own, self, will, more likely, than not, be the ruination, of me. Did I, tear up, the neon sign? See, the invisible, hear, the unspoken (and, so on). Go into the true, geometric, shapes, of pain. The fact, that the amount of…mental illness, gets worse. This is the slow, form. The drawers, were torn out of the furniture, and upended. She started drawing my picture, I got very uncomfortable, and a little bit, pissed. It’s all routine, now. So dainty, so lovely. Don’t tempt me, with raw, hamburger, like this, I imagined, that I got a theater job, but, not cleaning the toilets, at the theatre. Eye on the excess, flattered, flattened. We like wearing winter jackets, in the summertime. Fine, then, we’ll invent our own, merry-go-round, repair service. I am a monkey, more, or less. The jury, is still hung, on just, exactly how, to sentence me. Scroll the cursor. The corporation, will not allow us, to be indispensable, to It. Asexuality, is sexier, than any of the other, kinds. This is the most important, thing, to me (for now), and, I’ve forgotten, what it is. We’re on good terms, with aliens. Spread harmony, like jam, end their lives, detonate the explosive, love, everyone, equally, tenderly. This kind of fever, doesn’t respond, to powder, engage in, caplets. The bottom line, is that Mr. Nobody, wants to be somebody, now. It is as if some special award, were won (fuck’n, A!). It shouldn’t be this difficult, it’s like we’re the only ones, on the target range, and notice, we’re the target, as well. It will be expensive, everything, worthwhile, is. You’ll never, really, know yourself. Hold on, I’ve forgotten how to, walk, I, uh, I am immature, yes, I know that, now. Now, see here… The conspiracy, is that, it’s all right out in the open, now. Farm some of your duties, out, there is nothing, whatsoever, to lose. We won’t know, what we are, until, we are, it, which, takes action, not, “thinking about, maybe, doing something.” Perhaps, our dreams could be interpreted, even further. We do so little, on a daily basis, that today, might as well, be, yesterday. There is such a lack of decency, little do they know, I’d pick up their shit, with my bare hands. Sharp tones, burped out, and fell over. They give the same, damn, speeches, every summer. Worry, not, the news, will be written, the bases, will be covered. My intention, is to work, forty years, or so, down there. Flush, those fears, those, insecurities! Don’t miss the interview, and the fact, that you did, anyway, just might mean, that you, “screwed up, or whatever.” We are not, amateurs, we wrote about arts, and crafts, for several, small, local, papers, we set classifieds, and handled phones, got lunch. These airborne contaminants, are influencing me. I’m tired, of being a peon. There isn’t going to be any love, for a lot of us. Stop listening to… just, stop, buying! Obviously, nothing is going to happen, with this.
Stop pantomiming, finger fucking, with photographs, in magazines! My testicles, are, “acting up,” again. It’s all, coming together, in a bland, formica, pattern. It’s not even up to me, if this book is successful, or not. The visions, I used to get, of “finished product,” the thrills, don’t occur, anymore. Being unsure, is no crime, yet. Start at the top, and work your way, down. Money, should be, plastic. It is now time, for most of us, to forget all about our childish childhood, wishes, and dreams. The buses, are absolutely, positively, screwed up, beyond comprehension. Why did you let that bitch, cut in? Get into the habit, of something, else. Why is there some other band’s, set list, in my guitar case? This is not like a pageant, at the retirement home, I can tell you that, for absolute, certainty. Try to censor me, you’re liable, to get, shot. A life, out of one’s, own, control, may, just be, the most difficult, if not, impossible, thing, to go, through. Blow, Crystal, for mescaline, the title tune. I try, yes, but not hard, enough. We don’t need a thick bolt, to lock? We’re all, a bunch of crazy people, we just, don’t live in asylums, yet. Complicated, and convoluted, bravo’s, feel the tension. Her first name, could, just as easily, be a last name, or, the other way. We will slather, at the altar, of easy. This inertia, must cease, and desist. Other people, won the rights, to you. The aria, psyche, mythology, wait, the dog, is trying to bury his shit, by scratching some dirt, on top of it. I am terrified, absolutely, terrified, of far too many, things. We’re wetting our lips, and making our lists. Thinking big, makes, small people, not in all cases, of course. The longing, is gone. We need more things, that disturb us. Hold up a minute, hold up. The real world, does us all, a great, disservice. No notes, were kept, on the art of unfucking yourself, once, derailed. I’m telling you, I can’t take another, high stress, heavy workload, minimum wage, job. Long forgotten, Tuesdays, come to mind. The highway billboard, was, in flames. Don’t you ever, look at me. Please, no, don’t get up, yet, I have a surprise, for you. Shirts, are lifted, pants, are dropped, shrieks, are whispered. We learn, so, so, slowly, a person can only tread water, for so long. I want to see it, when it’s clean. Sink your teeth, into the air. Try to be a necessary, contingent, being. No, I do not want any cheese, on that. Luxury, isn’t what, we really, want. The hens, are trying to fuck, each other. Join the team, there is nothing else, to say. We’re phony, we can’t be trusted. Drifting, aimlessly, may be too easy, of a thing, to stop doing. We enjoy ourselves, a little too much, as it is, while claiming, never to be satisfied, by anything, in any way. Once you realize, you actually, won, we will go into the yard, and rake leaves. People, are all, ga-ga, over the very, latest, in tanning, technology. Three miles, wide? I’m sure, our complaints, will stop. The more ridiculous, a person, or situation, becomes, the more useless, his legs, are, to him, you, may find yourself, with no neck. Fog, over the hymn, chime, into an altogether, different, tune. Hyperventilating, sorrow, this is some magic trick. Everything good, has been, destroyed. There is, no thing, else. Just, leave it. Give me, an, army. Forget, the clam. Living on the edge, is great, until you fall off, which, you, inevitably, will. It’s in your, head. There is a whole, other side, that needs to be, explored. Cringe, through the soft talk, bullshit, and foreplay. Liquidate yourselves, think about things, more wonderful. Funny, was my mask, for fear, as it is, with a great, many, people. The lack of courage, is a problem, for a lot of folks. The outdoor, patio set, was a victim, of my vengeance. When you think, what you just, thought, you have to write it down, man. Four years, nothing, has changed. I don’t want to get in any trouble, again. We have so little, freedom, and it’s so easy, to lose. No, no, really, you only think, that you’re, hungry. The whole city, is affected, we’re all in trouble, now. I am available for bachelorette parties. Duck’s, walk right up to the back door, and squawk, for bread. Discolored testicles, could mean, cancer, but could be, a lot of things. The rule, is to not break, any rules, it’s too expensive, dangerous. Sometimes, what we think, surprises us, but, not often, enough. Corruption, spreads, to these… as you’ve probably, guessed, by now, I have no idea, what I want to say, here. High doses, have been consumed, a special place, has been created. The sweet smell, of charcoal lighter, fluid, makes my day, complete. Babylon, in its heyday, would appear to be, wherever, I, happen to, be. At this rate, it will be twenty years, until anything, of any kind, or sort, ever happens, in any way, at all. It’s just one more, gash, in the wood, as it, is. This book, is dedicated, to all those, who toss it away, as meaningless, for the right reasons. Sixteen hours, of screaming, at people, who, “told me, so.” We have no idea, where our ideas, come from. The ghosts, are disturbing, the haunted house, divine. Our qualifications, have been put on the line, are ignored. This shall not, be in vain, despite, myself. This is terrible, completely, unacceptable…
