They “zap,” him, again! I can’t let myself, be controlled, by, what, I can’t, control, any longer. Don’t shout, out, at little boys, or girls, passing by. Shimmer through your privacy, until it comes into, real, brass, isolation. Think, small, changes, albeit, dynamic, ones! This is incredible, there was an awful, lot, on there! The same tape, the same songs, all I felt, were, smells! Forget the chaos, how fast, your head’ll, swim, the fear of fear. Don’t bother, trying to hide, your pornographic literature, wherever, you should choose, to hide it, would be the first place, anyone, would look. Take the warm-up, exercises, one step, further! Where was, I? Man, what have I, done? Her remains, were found, in the meat slicer. This is, absolutely, unbelievable (what it takes, to, do it)! Wipe down, any, and, all, shelving, until it, shines, go on, from there. We care, not, for anything, hi-tech. Keep an eye, on people’s heads, in traffic jams. It smells like, ammonia. Missed it, nostalgic, but, I never knew, what it, was. Call yourself a killer, at the International, border. Momentum, will take you, where you want to go, but, you’ve got to, start! I’m starting to think, I’m a new kind, of whore! Like, ice, down your spine, we figure out, early, what makes us feel good, and what, doesn’t. All of this, well, most, has been, previously, used. Try to cover up, those initial, grandiose, notions. It’s funny, how things, go. There are a lot of people, who don’t ever think, I’m going to get, there, wherever the hell, that, is. You have a beautiful, skeleton! Married, ten, or twenty, years, of lying. Ask the right questions, of the right people, at the proper, time. We are trying to sell, slightly used, cars, here, give us, cash. Will you not, go home, satisfied? My foot, fell asleep, she just sat there, smoking pot, all night! Bring on, the unpredictable! It’s gone on, too long. What was I, saying, as I sleptwalked, to the kitchen, this time? How to lie, there’s a thesis, for your college paper. Doggonit, morning, is over, I was even there, for it, this time! I dig coal, in both meanings, of that phrase. So much, consumed, so quickly. What the hell, happened, to you, at the laundrymat? The dead fish, were huge. There is nothing, unconscious, about our problems, unless, we’re the type of people, who need to stay, one step, ahead, of themselves. Bleed, for the (get angry) right, reason. There is no safety, or security, anywhere. The book, is, done? Sing a little song, for the torn off, corner, go, out of order, turn it up, sing along. We are required to repeat ourselves, reinvent ourselves, explain ourselves, constantly, to so many, different, people, that, we stop, we stop, doing those things, or, even, attempting to, anymore. After the eggs, are cracked, they must be put, in the pan. Do not tolerate, foolishness, office politics, editorial, nitpicking, violence, authority, due process, of law, state, or local, statutes. Your earnings, are low, the stakes, are high, something, better happen, fast! Sleeping too much, could be the sign, of a lot of awful, things, worth, worrying, about. Let the rich, and famous, rise, and fall, on their own, we’ve got our own, problems. It’s all, pretty easy, when it comes right down, to it. The same mistakes, books, about movie stars, lost drives, through uninhabited, neighborhoods, or, worse. Stop, self talking, your way, into the hole. All, any of us, want, is to be left alone, with enough money, to survive. I should change my underwear, a little, more, frequently. I am upset, and don’t know, why. Run up the stairway, to the clouds, shithead. I can pick people up, and drop them off, at various points, throughout the community. The crow, indulged. We’ve got to learn, how, to make life, work! Would someone, please, design, and build, a car, worth owning! The funeral flowers, are all dried out, and, for some reason, I can’t conjure up the energy, required, to just (I’m so, dull), throw them, away. Keep ideas, flowing, format, them. The dog, could have run right out, the sliding door, which was carelessly, left open. We want to do, only want, to, it’s, put off, it’s, suspended, relegated, to a, “maybe, someday,” like, everything else, truly, worth doing. No more, late night, evangelists! We’re gonna’, shake our asses, and try to look, buff, fly, dope, etc. We’re not, fine, but, we’re getting off, on an even, keel. There are a lot of reasons, for why, I will never be, an actor, in all senses, of that term, there’s a list, here, somewhere. At first, people, will not like me, for all of those mysterious, subjective, reasons, that person A, does not like, person, B, but, after awhile, there will be total, harmonious, love, and crazy, sharing, of office supplies, everyone, will be singing, and dancing, and then, someone, will wind up, standing on a table! Follow the creed, send the query, ask the questions, meet the deadlines. Most of us, should’ve been ready, by now. If they had only, left the historical park, where it was, initially, all the waterlogged, Spanish, couches, wouldn’t indicate, any new, sort, of obligation. The rumor mill, is out, in full force, and regalia. Who had, who? We all, want the centrifugal pull, to yank us, in. The window washing, voyeurs, are essential, and extraneous. You’re so, neato, butter. Startled, by the surprise? That’ll cause, major, disruption. Keep your leftovers, fresh. Maybe, some day, we tell, ourselves.
The points, we try to prove, to the world, are the things, that we know the least, about, ourselves, and, so on. Throw yourself, over the edge, there isn’t, one, don’t worry. I’m in a foggy, sort of, sleepiness, but, there are still student loans, to pay back. This could be, the end, but, then again, I’ve said that, a few times, before, didn’t, I? The more pep, zest, and verve, that you lose, the more apt, you are, to claim, it’s, “depression.” There is nothing I could do, on the road, that I couldn’t do, right here. Things, odd things, come into our minds, at strange times. Is there a chance, that chance, could manage, some changes, around here, that are positive, for a change? There’s a lot of action, in the (wigwam) supermarket, today! What the hell, is wrong with my feet, now? By hook, or by crook, we’ll get there, wherever, that, is. The whole song, just popped into my head, when I was the least, exp…Is there any way, you could clean out, my mouth? I’ve got to force myself, not to look, or act, like a carpet licker, at all times. Meanwhile, much, is amiss, it always, is. The cylinder, and the funnel, were drawn, many times, we think, we’re ready to move on, to something, more challenging, now. What’s her name, wasn’t the only one, to go off the deep end, back then. The script, about the behind the scenes, or the surrealist dream, all the scripts, are lying around here, unfinished. I am not so enamored, of what, or, who, I was so enamored, of. My voice, would crack, and I’d scuttle off. It hurts, I’m telling you. Be around, get over, whatever it is, you need to get, over, right now, because, other shit, is going to happen, to knock your socks off, quicker, than whatever it is, that did, last time. Look, he’s got his feathers, all rustled, up. Too much talk, about computer crashes, could, very well, cause, one. Do yourself a favor, do not get popular. It would appear as if, they’ve got a good photographer, on staff, this year, but a lousy, overall, designer. How did the teachers…oh, nevermind, I was thinking of something, else. The river, was dredged, we found a whole lot, of strange things, at the bottom. Let’s pretend to be foreign exchange students, in our own, countries. Maybe, you didn’t know, or, maybe, you didn’t care, or, wouldn’t admit, that what happened, happened, but it did, oh, it did. We are not content, to wait for some, union, fringe benefit, to kick, in. Ten days (no way)! We aren’t going to, make it. People seem to be born, with computer mouths, head gear, not included. You’ll just, have to, wait. Proofreading, is the killer. You turned it, off. Your suspicion, is, justified. Simbo, you’re no, fake. Everyone, is waiting, very patiently, for the mementos, to be passed out. I fell, into, an open bag, of chips. Do one, at a time, no matter, what. He, is not, a sissy. People get nervous, and don’t know, what to say, thus, they say, quite, horrible, things, perhaps, directed at, you. Would you, act as my surrogate, Russian pillow? Who ejaculated, on the pages, of the middle school, yearbook, causing all the pages, to stick together? I’m still, very much, afraid, of stumbling, into the phone booth, and through some, abracadabra, reemerging, as something, else. Maybe, they are right. Don’t be a statistician, or, one of those, assholes. Well, no, it’s not like a nifty song, you can listen to, hum along, with, it’s not supposed to, be. It’s criminal, how easily, I can be ruined, by some snitty, successful, rich, asshole. These days, people, have less, and less, chances, and choices, things, will get worse. Just, last week, feels like, a year, ago. Cackles, from another room, heard, through walls, can be misinterpreted, if you’re so, disposed. The lightness, with which, this pen, is touching the paper, right now, indicates a great uneasiness, has come over the writer, of the words, you see, before you. Position yourself, possess yourself; click, click, cluck. So, in short order, too much, comes to mind, these are the days, to hang around, for. Those pillbox hats, they were selling, down the way, are all the rage. The lepers, loners, and fetchers, all wait, patiently, in the backyard, for bones, and other scraps, to be hurled out, to them. As for the sound, of scratching, and clawing, on linoleum floors, just, having a snack, as opposed, to a, meal, and other, sharp things, we’ve got to say, all of this, and more, has been, forgotten. We knew, before the semester, began, the grades, we were going to get. Stop talking, sayin’ stuff, ‘bout me, let me pull the fuzzies, off my socks, in peace. Circle around, in order to get a better look, at the sex act, while it’s, going on. We thought, that we would be doing, what we were doing, for as long as forever, was, without (can this, be?) knowing, what that, meant, I guess. No more, “follow the leader,” if we do, for even, one second, we’re through. What we didn’t think, was really, that, important, sure, was, wasn’t, it? Our careers, are on hold, always. Perhaps, deliverance, from the emptiness, of ourselves, would be a context, in which to work, out, of. The cold, barren, workaday, world; anything, that may, or, could, happen, that would force me, to embrace it, having, done it, it’s too terrible, a thought. We figure it out, sometimes. Tonight, we will open the letters, we mailed off, to ourselves. Anger, may be, all we’ve got, left. It depends, on how much, changes. Why must you pretend, to mispronounce, or, forget, all of the actors, actresses, and astronauts, names? Blend it, mix it, fake it. Slime, seemed to be dripping out, of there. The new band, will always, copy, the old band, the ones, who got, to whatever it, is/was, first. Our bodily functions, are having mercy, on us. Two summers, ago, it rained, it was sunny, then, it rained, again, and, so on. The dream of the roshi, in the black robes, handing us, cactus pears, switched, suddenly, into some, really perverted, thing, with altogether, different, dreamlike, princesses, only, more so, leave them alone, to consult their flow charts, or whatever it is, they do. Show outrage, at cars, who dare, drive behind, or in front of, you, at certain hours, of the night, when you really, must want, to be alone; more alone, than alone, I guess. Death, is happening, subliminally. Belch me, immobile. There is no, actual…get your hands, off, those make-believe, lesbians. That substance, came out of me. There is no time, to sit around, writing books, not anymore. The real thrill, consists, of looking through filing cabinets, or, spray painting, five rocks, ah, which, is which? Chalk it up, to grammatical, mistakes. Make it, do-able, don’t stop, thinking about it. It blends, together, cloudy.
There is nothing worse, than the feeling, of having wasted, one’s, life. The trout farm, was too easy, it was too easy, to catch fish, unrealistic. Three days, feels like, seven, this, can’t be, how things, are going to be. My ability to engage in, small talk, is evidently, improving. If only writers, could count on, the occasional, occurrence, of a, “second wind,” that the runner, enjoys. More people, than can be, imagined, fuck up their lives, right when they finally, get them back, on track. The next time, that we think we’re in love, it would, probably, be wiser, to make some indication, or, say something, anything. More months, pass by, the pains, get worse, we sit around, more, get tired, sooner, other things, worse things; seem to happen, with greater, and greater, regularity. Skim your appetite, shiver with guilt, get under a quilt; love, does not exist, maybe, that’s what bothers us, most of all. There are ideas, to throw around, there are solutions, to discover, people, to hire, salaries, to pay. Do we really, deserve, the high praise, we secretly, lavish, upon ourselves? This syndrome, of staring off, into space, must be, extinguished. The dining room, cannot be put on hold, for long. We threw out a lot, of old boxes, the lining, is coming out, of our new, sport coats, any time, I say, we, in anything I write, I mean, I. Snooze buttons, are like escape hatches, on caskets, they just, shouldn’t be, there. Kids, use tools, don’t just sit around, with funny hats, on. The foreign languages, you studied, back in school, didn’t turn out to be very useful, did they? A deranged dentist, crashed the party, his fingerprints, were lifted, from the refrigerator, using hi-tech, procedures, we should know who he was, by morning. Exemplary specimens, could have been experimented, on, operative words, could have, been. One for the ages, is always, only a shutter click, away. We don’t have any trademark moves, to speak of. Ain’t no fuckin’, been, done? What? This is a really uncomfortable, position, I’m in, this is not, unlike, the way a drug addict, feels, his first thirty-six hours, in jail. Before he died, egghead, was a treat, to be around, an absolute, treat. It is unlikely, that we are, these same, themes, this process, of “selecting out,” sifting, and sorting, my mind, is not working, properly. That hair, that I just brushed off the paper, looked exactly like a question mark. Listen, the streets, are not for me, I’d like to stay, “off the streets,” as they say. Put your spandex thing, on, silly. We didn’t pick, them, they, picked us, thus, improv, fooling around, alcohol, page eleven. The people who have the money, get more, the others, do not. The travails, the mechanisms, the poems, the forgotten images, some kind of Japanese, licensing deals. Some victimization, seemed to take place, but, alas, we had a lot of fun. I went solo, which would appear, to have been, a big mistake. I will enact some sort, of revenge, stay tuned. Speaking, crazy talk, to the dog, and getting a little carried away, with it. I can’t take it, anymore. Get it, started. Everyday, I write, but, nothing, comes, of it. They’ll get you, to testify, and use, that testimony, against, you. We just want a life, a decent, quality, life (not, this, partial, look, in). My hands, cannot stop, shaking. I’ve got that deep, kind, of futility, that doesn’t go, away. They will continue, to hurt people. No anecdotes, will be transcribed, to interest, and/or, amuse, the reader. There are no more, dreams, to have. All goes, quiet, hope, goes away, get it, while you still, can. There are going to be more bombings, murders, sexual assaults. The pens, at the bank, are leashed, the song title, that was chosen, was the “mystery question’s,” correct, answer. I don’t think that I’ll ever wear that gigantic, Mexican hat. The newsreel, informed me, that I had an awful lot, of staring at the wall, left, to do. Sit down, and write down, words, there is nothing else, to do, remember, you’ve tried all, that. Three year anniversaries, are never…when do you discard, the current paradigm, and how do you know, if that’s the right, time? The paegeant, is, over, the travesty, has just, begun. All of my letters, to the editor, contained, swear words. Well, yeah, I am distinctively, small time, but, I’m working on that. Felix, the race, is fixed. Would you like a biscotti? If we don’t keep moving, it won’t get, done. The hope, we have, is minimal, there are no days off, forthcoming, we all want to quit our lousy, jobs, and do what we want, but, we, can’t, and know that, all too, well. Everything, worth saving, seems to get destroyed, and the other way, around. Most angst, was wasted, focusing on, and obsessing over, objective issues, when the real problem, was far more, subjective, personal. Things got all flip-flopped, we did, indeed, collide, but, it wasn’t the kind of collision, either of us, hoped, it would be/could have, been. The freezing rain, pelts, Johnny Serious, with alarming, frequency. You can bag, the whole scene, but, give us surrogate haircuts, first. Bingo, no, Alice, bingo, no, Alice! I’d almost forgotten, that guy on the island, with his arms, going everywhere. What are the very latest, statistics, regarding, dancing? Why, all of the sudden, is everyone, wearing sunglasses? The alleyway, was strewn, with rusted shopping carts, prosthetic limbs, used condoms, and other trash, and/or, garbage, some of which, stunk, some of which, didn’t. A little softness, would be nice, just a little (don’t say, no), softness. No one knows, how ridiculous, they look, until they look at old photographs, a decade, afterward. The blinds, on the windows, appear to be, blinking, or winking, at me. Give us the whole history, of young, pixel/tong, Formacre. We want, what we cannot, have, all of the time. All the fir trees, began to, sway. Continual, shifting, of the legs, back, and forth, as well, as, incessant, playing, with pen caps, in your mouth, imply, anxiety. I performed a whole series, of very complicated, dances. We’ve got to clean off our feet, more often. Squeal, on the spit. It needed wholesale, restructuring. Whisper, made up, words, after you get off. The tears, we want to shed, don’t have any reason, to fall, we’re not good actors, we can’t do it, for pretend. We would like, a motorcycle, and some kind of, destination. I didn’t make a very good, anything, that involved, other people. We are attempting to wash, anything, that moves. The unbelievable juggling, that needs to take place, in order to get to the point, where nothing sucks, anymore, is, to put it, simply, a lot. We clear our thoughts, and we see no connection, between the meditation center, and what we want to be doing, in ten years. The advertisement, didn’t include any instructions, or a number to call, in order to cash in, on the tremendous, savings, maybe, it’s just as well. Blame the oxygen, inhalers. Lord, follow me down, to Idaho. Nothing, at all, is, as. It should, be.
