I am a writer, with nothing, particular, or specific, that he wants to write, about. The trip, goes south, on you, right, quick. I am some kind, of creature. Double your incessant, demands, for cuddling. I should do a couple of loads, of laundry, take a piss, do, some, other, inconsequential, things. All I would seem, to do, is what I do, every day, with no variations. The smell of potpourri, reminds me, of rich people’s, cottages. It would appear as if, I have bitten off more, than I can swallow, but, I don’t know, how things, appear, I don’t care, about anything, at all. It’s what you make of it, they say, but, is it, really? Is it…does, it, really, have, anything, to do, with us, at all? Life, is worth, about, the price, of a stretch, and a yawn, and that’s about, as good as it gets, right there, peanut. Pee in your (clams) soup, like that guy. Slouch, your fat body, around, seek the dead, in living things, go on, to the next thing, dive, the next thing, bathe, rub your head, worry about finances. Listen, you guys, I know you don’t care, but, I am really, unhappy, and way more, than, crazy, now. The slippery conditions, the lack, of any jobs, worth having, all these problems, and so many, more; that we’re not supposed, to recognize, or, consider. What we scribble, in the margins, tells a very different, story, from the one, in the book. Well, now, my troubles, are whatever, they were, plus, two. I want to, sleep, not much, else. Taut, and tense, we leave, work, and, go, in. My fingernails, as they are, now, prove, that I exist. The energy, is so gone, that I can’t even turn the pages, anymore. Show the new bottle rockets, to Ohio, boy. Loathe the horrid, not, that it, will, in any way, subside, or, cease…ahh-chooo! If only I’d have gone to Holly, at least, that “nap,” wouldn’t have, happened. Not only do I not want to answer, the phone, but, I can’t (right now). There are so many “keys,” that there couldn’t be a door, that could possibly, accept them, all. So much, wasted, so much, wanting things, to happen, that, didn’t, and wanting things, to not, happen, that, did. These opera stories, are so, simplistic, that I’m no longer, surprised, that the performances, are sold-out, every evening. I’d like to say, that I care, and that I’m making a difference, in somebody’s life, but, no, I am, not. Where is my car, and, if nobody, knows, how am I supposed to get to work? We attack each other, at their weakest points, because, we’re weak, we’re this, and that, it doesn’t matter, what we are, but, a lot of people, think, that it, does. I want to attempt, some kind of auto-erotic, maneuver, and, have something, go away. Our denials, will not stop, by any means, our crumbling bodies, will fold, the pen, feels heavier, than usual, today. Get done, charge the batteries, answer the incoming, call, look through the file, of what’s coming up, next month. Man, spray some kind of, product, to hide the smell, that would appear, to be, permanently etched, into my skin. Draw a sieve? Inflation, interest rates, thirty-three years, of premium beer, used cars. The best, shit, has been left out. It’s like the 90, and 10. They don’t need, us. Let’s put them, together. Our plans, never get turned into, action. How in the hell, did everything, get, so fucked up? It’s a lot easier, to look, or, act, so, and so, than it is, to be, it.
Not every day, can be, a good, one, not every page, can make your bones, tingle, and sway, from side, to side. There is no fundamental, worthwhile, way, for us, to live, our lives. These things, that we think, are such a big deal, are, not. As far as I am, concerned, nothing matters, in this world, it’s all meaningless, there is no God, or, all that clap-trap, that comes with it (that’s a good, thing), there isn’t anything, at all, there isn’t absolutely, positively, anything, at all. What you call “negative,” I call, correct, the only, correct, way, to view things. We are, fucked, we can pretend, everything, is okay/pretty/covered in laces, and bows, but, it, isn’t, and we know, that. It takes so much, lying, deceit, treachery, horror, pain, guilt, and scheming, to live, that we’d be better off, if we, didn’t. I’m terrified, of loud noises. Did you bring the stamps? Salvation, takes a long time. The drive in, movie theater, has been, long, since, abandoned. My scrawl, is getting worse, and worse, becoming, more, and more, impossible, to read. As I get older, it’s getting easier, to fool myself. Patty cake, their asses (spank). All these disruptions, are so harmful, to my already, weakened, if not, decimated, drive, that I’ve decided, to die, of dehydration, rather than, gossip away, in derelict motels. It’s an infinite, whirlwind, cycle, of misery, and doubt, corruption, and resignation. Why should you care, about, me? Because, I’m, the, you, that you’ll find out about, later! Well, money, yeah, that would help. How the hell, do these gigantic, leaps, from one, sad, sand dune, to the other…the loneliness, is the good part, about doing, what we want to do, with our lives. The easiest thing, no, there, are no, easy things. Moving on? Was it a kind of a holler, we heard, last week? We want, steel! Leave us, to our split ends, leave us, to our factory jobs, just, let us die, here, with our boots, on. That crumpled, wrinkled, and sweat soaked, suit, the useless kind, of Sundays, we stagger, and shamble, through, in the middle of the week. Seeing as how, I’ve never been, anywhere, perhaps, I should travel, in a kind of, circus, way, just, ramble, through back wards, on a bus. All I, well, shit, see, there isn’t, so keep your kite, up in the sky. Aim for the flow, and your aim, will take care of, itself. A shower, would mask a few things, help, a little bit. Dance in the bingo parlor, use your dry, wit, without knowing, that was the type of wit, you had. My world, is totally, falling, hell, it’s, fallen, this is it, this, is what I’ve got, to work, with. Well, it would be nice, if I could tell you, all sorts, of shine, about where I’ve been, and where I’m going, but, I can’t, and I have no adventures, in store. My sick, perverted, communist, orange grove, the temptations, to want, temptation. Everything in the blueberry room, began to, spin. Flakes of my skin, are all over the blanket, the cells, are drying out, and the mitochondria, are drying up. My mind, may be part, of your plowing mechanism, man. We hope, we can endure, but, I don’t think, we can. Presume, too much? Some, will never change, at all. Never before, have I experienced, such an intense desire, to sneeze, and had it, stifled, somewhere, and, somehow, up in my snout. We went out, and, we bought, groceries, I wish I could say, just, state, for the record, that there isn’t going to be a puppet show, or a baseball camp, this year. Hang up your pictures, on the wall, of the shavings, in the sharpener, wood, paint, and lead. Smell my finger, I’m pre-approved, for a credit card. Don’t think about, what you’re supposed, to. Sixty two, minus, twenty five?
The product, will/must, remain, hidden. Laziness, is not an attractive, quality. Try not to “double check,” things, thirty-six times, in a row. I would like to be a male prostitute, a good one, who works with neglected housewives, and such. We’re so individual, and unique, that, we’re all, the same. Bloating, aches, and pains, will come, and go, or come, and stay, there is never going to be a lack, of things, to complain, about. This is going to take a long, long, time, and they say, the journey, is what’s important, but, I don’t believe them. Our fears, of ridicule, all the toil, and struggle, the dusks, and dawns, sleeplessness, stilted, and stifled, ambitions, the suffering, in silence, ah, I forget what I was going to write, about all that. Wu-wei, Al, wu-wei. Would somebody, please, get me a warm, washcloth? The party, is cancelled, the phone call, is just another, one, of the usual kind, why is it, that I can’t do, the very few, and far, between, things, that need to be, done? It feels, so much, like I’m dying, right now. We should have thought of things, and acted, on them, long ago, it’s too late, now. Shame, on, me, for letting, them, fuck me, over? Yup, that’s right. Things, can be, upsetting, you know, sure, we probably, make them more upsetting, than we should, nobody’s happy, here, there, either, drop it. The excitement, that we used to look for, is never, going to happen. Get the carcasses, out of the driveway, help us, get through the days, faster, we’re sick of hanging on, to, “every, precious, moment,” we want to be dead, for a change. All signs, point to there, being, a great deal, of trouble, here, there, probably, everywhere. We’ve been lied to, robbed, deceived, led astray, we’re going to have a really, really, rough time, from now, until the end, aren’t we, captain? My illusions, have played out, their ruses. Feeling so fat, ugly, and greasy, while looking at rainbows, feeling, soft breezes, smelling, burning leaves. Death, is something, that occurs. Some, crazy, homeostasis, must have been, reached. Cash your check, your miserable, check, earning the kind of money, high school students, get. I will soon, come to regret, all of this. We should have bowed to, and thanked, him. Is there a way, that I can just, fly out, and not be bothered, by anyone, for the rest of my life? When the syrup, of death, starts, at our feet, and begins, slowly, dripping its way, up, well, what can be said, at that point, anyway? What we, do, know, doesn’t help us, it never has, and it never, will, and, if that’s what makes a genius, I’d rather be, an idiot. There was a punching bag, in the basement, and I don’t know, what we were doing, down there, but that’s, where we, were. Watch what you say, about certain people. The tide, will turn, and a crazy thing, will happen, something, we could have never, expected, now, I don’t know, whether it’s worth, hanging around, for, but it does, happen, from time, to time. The flight, took off, and presented the trees, in a perfect symmetry. Very fast, speeds, were gotten up, to, then, a long curve, and, liftoff, I mean, I made it, nothing happened. The usual, chain of events, does not, always, apply. Should we just, park here, in the… where is my, chin? My chin, is gone, it has disappeared. Fly into the darkness. The basics, that they teach, are too, basic. There will be separation, a lot of it. A lot of these, are not my fault, or, doing.
Let me, bore you, as much, as I bore, myself. The flourscent lights, are malfunctioning. The moisture, comes alive. The maelstrom, of absolute chaos, will envelop, you. Be an accountant, or, a lawyer, anything, but, a writer, please, take my word, for it. No one, talks, or, lets it be, known, that they’re looking, furtively, around the room. We are going to go, up some highway, to some place, or, the other, that we don’t want, to be, at, then, we will stay there, for too long. Why is it, that people, are so stupid, and inconsiderate? The only reason, that I think, and talk, about suicide, all the time, is because, I’m so, homicidal, I want to, kill people. You know, I really, don’t care, how many parts, you sell, or contracts, or whatever the hell, it is, you do, it’s stupid, it’s pointless, I do not, give a shit, and can’t imagine, how anybody, could. It’s not, okay, none of this, is, in any way, shape, or form, in any way, okay. I could pick my nose, here, for hours, inter-exchanging, saliva, for boogers, and thinking, to myself, that there has got to be, a better way. What you expect, you get, huh? We, well, I, need to get on, with the growing up, processes, that, somehow, stopped, a long time, ago. I don’t have anything, to say, I can’t seem, to ever, say, the common, daily encounter, sorts of things, that we are taught, to say, to people. Don’t ask me, to move out, not now, I can’t even move, from the bed. The perpetually, sick, don’t get well, by definition. Was I, always…did the errors, of several decades, ago, really, throw me, headlong, into what I’m doing, and being, right now, that there is no way, out? Scratch anything, get it, ship it, fuck it, go on, and on, with it. Don’t underemphasize, the la, la’s, in the background, they are important. No laughing, trouble, nothing, but, trouble. I’ve smoked enough, cigarettes. Fuck your (so much, rage) precious, princess, ass, what, is your “atmosphere,” poisoned, again? Perhaps, I look sick, sick, as someone, your mother, warned you about, well. Oh, yeah, I’m a shmuck, and there is no time, to be, one, now. I need to have a business, I need to create a business, and make it, work. Enough, with being a disgruntled, loser, nothing is going to happen, to me, that I want, to happen to me, that I haven’t, made, happen. Oh, sure, I’ll drive an hour, and dick around, wherever the hell, it is, I don’t want, to, but, it’s called, work. There is frosting, all over my face, and I’ve got a lot to do, that I’m afraid, to do, there is nothing, out there, I don’t know. The details, have ruined me, I’m in a great deal, of pain, I don’t know what else, to say, I don’t want to say, anything. What the hell, has happened, to my life, it is truly, gone, truly, gone? What I want, doesn’t matter, it’s all about, what’s left, to scrape up, like a rabbit, off the street. We need a meeting, to address our concerns, we need a knock down, drag out, fight, but, all the fights, been socked, out of us. The (it is all, fake) sophomores, don’t know, who supplied the landmarks, question marks, leg scratchings. Stay away, from where, they are. The great, were all considered, losers. Give me some medicine, give me another ball, and chain, to replace, the one, I finally, got off. Use more descriptive, words. Most of the space, at the end, has been, used. There will be, no more, summers. The movie star, wannabes, were shifting, in their seats, at the frat bar. I never used to get, tired. There was some, embarrasment. The misfit, shook it off, ten years, too late. It is just, not worth it, any of this. I am so, so, sick, of myself, I can’t even tell you, how ill, I am, and, yes, I think, it’s, contagious. Jumbo, got up, on the table, and lifted her skirt, high. I talk, nuts, but I’m, not, you can’t make me, snap. Mirrors, are terrorism, the much, ballyhooed, commission checks, are never, cashed. Other people, seem so much more, engaged. Love, is nothing, but a manic, deception. This, has got, to, stop. You are a, fish-face. Try a new, stronger, pain reliever.
