It’s as if, I already know, what you’re thinking, before, you think, it. Call me, “what’s his name.” If it isn’t the dizziness, it’s the numbness, or, the coughing, is getting out of control. The stairs, lead up, to the place, we go, to rescue, ourselves. Just mark the pages, mark them, for later, I don’t know, get into a groove, do, whatever you, want. Don’t pretend, not, to be angry, at the fact, that your life, is going nowhere, and, will wind up, at less, than that. Most people, have, already, made too many, mistakes, to ever, live down, earn redemption, from. We can’t, do, whatever we want, in fact, and, kids, take extra, special, note, here, we can do, very, very, little, to change, the lot in life, that we’ve been, assigned. It is too easy, to fall, way, too easy, to fail, these days. If I hit my head, I hit my head, I don’t care, anymore, I-can’t. The sudden, recall, of old, school team, uniform numbers, is just the sort, of pathetic, thought, that has a common, tendency, to pop into, our heads. Cancer, is already, deep inside, me, just, waiting, for the perfect (in other words, inopportune), time, to render me, obsolete. Let your delicate, mind, be raped, by some hardcore, marauding, facts (not, fucks), such as, the sort, that you would, rather not, consider. Everyone, is restless, and honking their car horns, the bums, are out in the open, with their, not so, subtle, presence, alone, indicating, to me, this, is where you are going to, wind up. The traffic, will be bad, as it always, is. What was all that talk, about being, another person? Belief, is a garden tool, and we all, use it. What good, does any of…the margins (what we write, in them), tell, an altogether, different, story, than the ones, in the books, we read. We’re gripped, by diagrams, of elevator tripping, or, were they, escalators? We’d all, welcome, a purpose, some kind, of something, to, be, for a while. A full, and complete, page, turner, is part of the code, those, in the know, use. Do yourselves a favor, prefer, nothing, anymore, than anything, else. What happened to the strawberry, flavored, soap? In accordance, with our own, passing, whims, and fancies, as well as, to avoid, feeling like, Empedocles, slide across, elliptical needles, move boxes, provide, order. Our dismay, and dislike, of our jobs, the astounding fractions, of fallen soldiers. The eyes, have their own stories, to tell. Take that stupid, horse hat, off! I took the time, to point out a few, minor, ethical concerns, of mine, that really, didn’t matter, because, the work, was getting, done. You make me proceed, with caution, too much, caution. It seems as if, certain people, do not correspond, to either, good, or, bad, categories. Stand around the photographed, all pencils, sharpened, voices, carried, spelling bees, lost. As far as the fanatic people, who sell soap, and plastic products, damn near, door, to door, I’m sure, they’re still, out there, in some forgotten, and neglected, town. Politics, will play a role, in the election. Don’t you worry, about, infinity. We race, from one thing, to another. I’ll get to it, it’ll take me, forever, but, I’ll get around to it, eventually. They are called, herpes, I have them, and, now, you, have, them, too. Respect, and commend, them.
I got very angry, standing in line, for some reason. I’ve been dealing with it, all day, long. Blow up, the balloons! Someone, said something, about a cock ring, I was at a loss. Something, in here, will come back, to haunt, and work, against, me. We watched mosquitoes, all night, long. The dog, will attack, the other one, and bite him, if he can. What we have, will be taken, from us, right now, I’m trying not to get arrested, for what I think, which is not, what, “most people,” think, hence, suspect, dangerous. See, to get to where we want to be, we’d need to be there, already. Why is it, that I feel, such a compulsion, to clean, other people’s, apartments, and never, my own? The one day, sales, can be skipped, the everyday, low price, on oranges, maybe, next time. There is no time, to have favorite bands, go to clubs, be cool, hang out, see, so, and so, go, wheresoever, party, and, all that, all that (there is not time, to do any of that shit, at all, ever). Morons, with pants, are becoming, more, and more, prevalent. There never used to be a fear, of skin, against skin. The trucks, never bothered me, before. Advance praise, or criticism, is not allowed. De-emphasize, the rules, the order, and regularity, of all, this. There were always a lot of candles, placed, around the house. They retain, too much control, of us. Have the courage, to drown. Fake it! Everything’s fine, don’t you, worry, everything is progressing, satisfactorily. We love, controversy. Lo, I bring, glad tidings, and, false promises. Give us new flavors, and dance moves, hurray! It’s time to hit the road, don’t forget, to write down your mileage, this time. The weather, may, just, work in conjunction, with us, this once. Get this pig snout, out! Restore the carpeting, seduce the real, get drunk, and rattle off compliments, to girls, you, “sort of, know.” The epochs, are all cyclic, somehow, oh, there’s the boutique, of choice, for drunken sailors! I can tell from here, that, that woman, has arms, made of, lacquer! Let’s get, to, and, stay, at, the “cutting edge,” in regards, to, music? Ummm, no. Oh, my gosh, it’s that drunken, letter, to the ex-girlfriend! I guess, the employee picnic, is deep sixed, c’est la vie. I am fully aware, that there is a great deal of, “tension, on the set,” and I don’t wish to contribute to it, anymore, than I already, have, albeit, unknowingly. On one side, of the paper, is a crazy, clown, on the other, is a sort of, Zen master. I needed you, but, couldn’t have, you, wanted you, but couldn’t, fake you; or, tell you, such. Remember those, crazy, vagina sketches, you used to make? Nothing, we read, or, do, seems to get us over the hump, and out of these, shitty, particulars. We are our own, “problems,” both, the causes, of, and, solutions, to. In order to make ourselves feel better, we believe things, are true, that are, not. The traps, are set up, and ready, for us, to fall into them, despite, the fact, that, we, set them, up. Dare we, call, secret rendezvous? Disappointment, occurs, time, and again, until, it becomes, “the way things, are.” The dates, keep rolling, flipping, being torn off, started up, turned off. Is there even, one thing, in there, worth taking a glance, back, at? See, the butterflies, do, what they, do. We went too, far, with the carbohydrates. Our specific, everything’s, are getting in the way, of everything, else. I kept moving the wheelbarrow. Hoberman, is a research, slut. Order the butter, that, isn’t, really, whatever we think, makes us, stronger, in all honestly, has the opposite, effect. Man, it’s on a crooked angle. I, am, the spilled, chemicals! Use up all the leftovers, and extras, such as, that there is quite, definitely, no magic wand, to wave. We may, or may not, be busy, doing nothing, but, the facts, are, that, there is no time, for anything else. Anxiety, provides your energy, stay up late, aim at the (supposed) target, let it, flow, let it, go. I used to think being crazy, was cool, for some reason. You’re a real, hopper!
