I’m living in some fantasy world, that I thought, was strict, reality. Things are going to get, way worse, you are going to be there, to see it. For now, survival, is possible, despite this strife, in ten years, it won’t, be. Don’t let this fascist regime, get away with its democratic, front. Turn off the radio, whatever it spits out, is enough, a part, of the inside of your head, already. What passes, for education, in the colleges, today, it’s like four years, with a plump babysitter, that spoon feeds you, facts, designed, to be, forgotten. Whatever the hell, strange, psychological, disease, I have, is getting, worse. Our roamings, take us to some barren, lifeless, grey, areas, that time, forgot about. We’re down to the scabs, maybe, that ride home, from being lost, three blocks away, from your house, should have been, some sort of, sign, to you. Years of struggle, no support, no…let’s have a big, group, hug, on second thought, with the sexual harassment, laws, as they stand, now, let’s jack off, in the bathroom, instead, with the door, locked. This is not quite, half, yet, not quite, half. Don’t pay any more attention, to commercials, we’re down to our last box, of halogen bulbs. Life, only happens, apparently, if you, really, want it, to. Our done deals, are ourselves, as we stated, in our last (too, low-fi) correspondence. It pains me, to see you, talk about, angioplasty, stop it. See, it’s already been, an hour, there are no more hours, to be pissed away, literally, or figuratively. Being ignored, hurts, but, so do lots of things, over time, they hurt, less, eventually, you won’t even notice, anymore, what people are, or, are not, doing, for/to, you. Lots of people, don’t jump off the desk, even when given, permission, now, this, is a sad, state, of affairs. What is this crap, about smooshed down, faces? As we all, slowly, part ways, it, see, people, are afraid, they just want to do, what they want to do, and, they’re, restricted, on all sides, from all angles. My whole mechanism, is no longer, plugged in. Of course, it repeats itself, doesn’t, everything? Anoint, the aloof, blackball, the frustrated, massage, the blessed, please, pass the yams. The whole enterprise, is unsavory, wouldn’t you, say? It will happen (no matter, what). The fruit cake’s, are being prepared. The intent, was nefarious. It was raining, placentas. All that, is, must be, destroyed. Even if, most of us, find, what we are looking for, we wouldn’t be able, to afford it. Well, the pen, has ink, this time, so, I guess, there are no excuses. No one will ever dictate, to me, what I, will be paid, again, always, poverty zone, wages, by the way. To the best of your ability, try to enjoy, the stress, because, you know, it’s going to be, there. Perhaps, the policy, should be reconsidered, but, it won’t, be. These events, are continually, changing, everything, is gone, smashed, or, rocked. Find out which way, the wrong way, is, and do not go, in that direction. The unemployed, do not get compensated, for their trouble. I hav been, over this, so many, times… Dude, press the damn, button. There is potential, always, a potential, for something, to happen, and, it takes effort, an effort, of (it actually, works) transcendence, to make these things, occur. Stick her head, in it. My version, of step one, usually, involves, skipping it. It’s you, did this, to me… The things, we’ve got to get out of our systems, are best, to get out, sooner, rather than, later. The dancing lady, lost her teeth? Shovel fist, decided to throw, some elaborate, extravaganza! Finally, done, or, close, to it. Diarrhea, now? Crepe paper, was perfectly, used, to achieve the desired, effect. Act as if, you had a chance. It’s run it’s, course.
People have stopped saying, hello, or goodnight, to me, after I’ve said, as much, to them, giving me, yet, another, indication, that I’m either, dead, or, very close, to it. I can’t even afford, pens, and paper, anymore. There are very few, options, available, for us, we shift, and sift, through, very, small, holes. The general, ruddiness, has come back, the notions, we call up, and recall, no one, is going to come looking, for us. We are waiting, for the grave, sometimes, patiently, sometimes, not. I want to dive off the board, into the empty pool, like that druggie kid, in that one (ventilate it), commercial. There isn’t going to be, any, flash of light, or “sign,” that so, and so, is what we’re supposed to, do. Avoid the invisible, confrontations, and passivity, avoid, any, of those goddamn, games, that we play, with, “vibes,” in the air, that we all know, both, are, and, are not, there, and, never, think, about. I hate myself, and most, all, of you, and it is most important, that I not, forget, that, last, part. You are going to blow it, aren’t you? My concepts, and commitments, are like the smell of burning, liver, on a backyard grill. We act like, people, we’re not, in order to manipulate, people, to our own, sinister, ends, this goes on, for as long, as however, many, parties, involved, allow themselves, to go on, pretending. What are your, plans, that are never going to happen? As the end, nears, draws, ever, closer, we wind up, losing cognizance, that it’s even happening. Sugar, sweet, buttercup, could you get me a life? Most of the time, when I actually, do, something/anything, it is highly, and grossly, inappropriate. Everybody, works, but, very few, get paid. The spiders, manage to stay busy, without worrying about insurance, rent money, or, car problems. See, inferior people, have superior, ambitions (here I, am). There aren’t going to be any magic, liftoffs, the marmalade, will be stored, on the window sill, from now, on. We need new, wastepaper baskets. Our anger, is not going to go away, until, it does. Displaced, and misplaced, bricks, knives, and butter knives, nevermind the beard, and the backpack. We need tampons, for the bleeding hearts, amongst us. It’s a long, highway, drive, to, and forth, work, every day, pulling into, you, cutting you, off, and, so on. It doesn’t make a difference, who, works in the office building, particularly, as long as there are X, number of bodies, to do X, number of jobs. Thrilled, by the call, form, skip this part, go back, to that part, about there being, emergency shelters, in the basement, of the middle school. The parking lot, was a, sort of, midway point, between where, the tar pit fires, were burning, and where the vacant, convenience store, used to be, before it was torn down. There were no psychics, at the shopping center. Well, feel free, to experiment, but, don’t expect, results. I filed, for hours, grew tired, of it. Too much scary, wrongness. It’s funny, how a totally, naked, body, fails to elicit, any physiological response, in the beholder, these days. We bust our asses, for those, bastards? Wait, no, there is no way, I’m going to allow, a future, pillow buddy, to be waddled off, into the abyss, of secret messages. Society, itself, is a (stain) trend. Be a new, efficiency, model. It seemed as if, we were drunk, at our most, sober. Was this the…oh, yeah, the idea, about the struggling, young, female, composer, I’d almost, forgotten. No more filth, sex, talk, will be allowed. I’m out of context, on the outskirts, of my own mind. The mysterious, mind pulls, pools? Protect your womb. My appendix, is complicated. Sex, is a toy, that can be, rather intimidating, and threatening, from time, to time. Dive into the suitcase (open). The dream, was of a much better, outcome. Please, try not to miss, any, this time.
Maybe, I should pawn off, all my stuff, again. Thicken the formula, if you don’t mind. I keep reaching down, for this, it means, so much, to me. What page, are we on, why is this, so exhausting? The trick, is to avoid food, of any kind, at all costs. Hang up your clothes, now, you may have to walk the streets, all day, with them, someday, soon, so, make sure they’re in, as good, of shape, as they can be, in. From the start, most of us, are doomed, and, things get steadily worse, from there. It’s as if, we were scouting, for movie scenes, but, no, we were bored, and just, sort of, wound up, over there. The dog, and cat, smell like fresh, roasted pecans. I feel sorry, for being myself, a lot of times. The gifts, we give, are never appreciated, nothing we do, is ever, enough, we might as well, just say, “fuck everybody,” and be selfish, assholes, like, everybody else. If the floods, earthquakes, or, mudslides, don’t do you, in, the tornadoes, hurricanes, and fires, will. It looks like it’s gonna’ be a long suck, on a short stitch, for us. I’ll see you, at the tin factory. Huff your ass, to a star, forget about those aluminum, wheel covers. Broken ankles, hurt, don’t let this happen, to you. Create an automobile, innovate, some new way, to play cards, suggest a different way, to, walk. The swoosh, of the golf club, and the supermarket jingle, were designed, to tie you down, to what you’re doing, and to keep you doing, it. As usual, I think I’m further along, than I, actually, am. There isn’t anyone, that I need to pay back, there are quite a few, who owe me, money. Don’t allow just one side, to get the nice, neat, treatment. Put down, whatever, it doesn’t matter, anyway. It would appear, as if…does it…to drive, and clean, and…There aren’t a lot of good feelings, going around, right now, are there? The bulb, must have burned out, on the lamp, directly, behind me, this means, that there is one more, thing, that needs to get, done. You inflame, me, utterly, with your starchings. Go ahead, open, and close, the cupboards, the refrigerator, the, oh, I’m so, horny, the spilled, spaghetti sauce, on the left leg, of my pants, is giving me, an erection. Almost, only, counts, in horseshoes, and, one, other, thing, that I’ve, forgotten. It almost seemed like, I wasn’t welcome, at the wedding, again. She-man, let go, of my hand, I’m not gonna’ do those things, with you, again. There is, a rush, there, really, needn’t, be, yet, there, is, and I don’t know, why, that is, exactly. Write about walking the dog, and all of the ridiculous things, you think about, as you do, so. Phone sex, just, isn’t enough, it lacks, that kick, of the real thing. Another, totaled car, another sideways, glance. All of the sudden, you’ll get, an erection. I guess, back, then, the trouble, was in choosing to remain myself, without knowing, who, or, what, that, was. Oh, man, did I ever, fuck that, up… No one, ever made, any overt, claims, to me, that life, as such, was, like this! Don’t count on regularity, or, consistency. We lean, right, and then, left, according to antecedents, that are not, our own, other people’s, perspectives. We made a lot of funny faces, back in the day.
