Glamour, is something, for rich people, not, us. Two, coach tickets, three, Latinos, a whole lot, of confetti. We want the weather, to, stop! Pablo, speaks his crazy, language, people, pay attention. Keep things, rolling by, line, by line. That’s it, so, start, from here, and get, to there, do me a favor, and don’t think about, Gretchen. The casting of the president, was superb. Last years, stuff, clutters up, this years, closet. That clean, slice, of purity, that was turning left, while I, was going straight, made me wish, it were raining. We tried, to report, for work! Don’t, whatever, you do, try to follow me, into oblivion. The same thing, goes, for the rest of you. Ketamine, blew my mind, away, I fumbled. Fuck the corporation, any way, you can, before they, fuck, you. There is a rather, overpowering, sense, of total, loss. I can’t think, of one more thing, that I could, possibly, do, in order to ensure, that this, is going to be, at least, somewhat, successful. Gargle, with your very, indifference, itself. It’s gonna’, cost, another, grand! That isn’t a real, handkerchief, you’re holding, in your left, hand, right now, is it? It went in, so easily, and naturally. It’s a real, slow – go. We need, one, good, chance. The crazy shit, upon the shelves, should stay, on the shelves, don’t you, think? Suck my tender, petals. Let them go over this, with a fine, tooth, comb, they’re not going to find, anything. So few, companies, own, so much, stuff. What is wrong, with my legs, now? The notebook, can’t be gone, it, really, can’t be…it, isn’t, even (though, it would appear, as if, it is), real. There may be some, horrible thing, going on, here! The more uproarious, the laughter, the less funny, whatever it was, that made whoever, laugh. The bowling alley, closes, at eleven, or twelve. There are no metal molds, that I, know of. I never questioned, the hook! I just, can’t take it, anymore, any of it. To not be able, to sit, or, be still, equates to, not being able to be, an actor? Our fears, lead to, perpetual, panic, if not, careful. The organ, blasted out, some, happy, happy, tune. Vaughn, where are your action figures? I see no reason, whatsoever, to schedule, someone, to work hours, in which, they have no desire, or, intention, to work. I’m not caught up, in anything. If your car, is leaking oil, add oil, more often. Too much time, on my hands, leads to, strange manifestations. To lose ones hold, on the twist top, to slide the pallor, into submission, or, sublimation. Correct your papers, alone, and make amends, likewise. See yourself, jetting out, and to smell, the part, that, is all. Two, Park Streets, no divider, divine, quarter, mishap. Into arm marks, alabaster, gossamer (?), turnarounds. The California incarnation, will teach us, not to fidget. As for the times, when nothing happens, they are always, going to be, there (and, it is then, that, everything, happens). Remember that dried, and flattened, toad, you found? The short wave, fuse, will allow you (chances), to say, thank you. The mayor’s, on the phone? Suddenly, it’s a letter, again, that, “needs to be mailed, right away.” The word, is, itself, the bizarre, is not what causes you, to belch up your dinner, all the time. Her hips, are placed, just so, my mouth, starts, watering, things, get, as if, cut up, and open, on the floor. I need to ask, you, are our, choreographed, movements, mechanical, enough? What you probably, failed to notice, was that my wrist, is bent, in a way, that no, human wrist, in the world, is bent, in, right now. Find your way, to the beginning, or, becoming, whichever. The dream catcher, is not a hairball, the cat, coughed up, obviously. Crooked teeth, cause, most people, who possess, them, not to smile, as much, as their straight toothed, counterparts. Time, and place (there are no such, things)? The psychobabble, of a neurotic, is easy, to forget. There are a lot, of, a lots, out there, to see. Fresh air, defies the laws of gravity, my senses, are scratching, at, or, near, the bottom of the cage. No repetition, dashes, ellipses, names of cities, words, in quotation marks, it’s over. The deceased, was at his happiest, when not, sleeping. What was I, hoping to accomplish, again? We look, out of place.
We have no desire, whatsoever, to be fed, through tubes. The tapes, play, in our heads, on continuous, loops; no, pausing, no, fast forwarding. Something, was being yelled, in the backyard, about perverted, sex. To wait, patiently, drags things out, longer. We will never be, the smart people. Throw a log, on the fire. Window girl, was at the damn, window, again. You smell like, steak, but, you work, at a bakery, please, explain. Get this fucker, done, turn it, out. Out of this world, pies, are being baked, and eaten, as we speak. Small, subtle, and seemingly, inconsequential, changes, can have, profound, and mesmerizing, results. There is, feasibly, no possibility. Why do we do, what we do, to ourselves? Take your shit stained, panties, off. The race is on, to get to the leftovers, before, somebody else, does. For some reason, the phone numbers, of long forgotten, people, are not, thrown away. We know better, than to think, that anything, would be, better, anywhere, else. Try to prove, that there is any love, left, in this world. You, and I, deserve, every, grand, or, degrading, thing, that happens, to us. The animal, didn’t know what it was doing, but, it did it, until it, was done. A lot of times, a thumb, is all that is required, to get the job, done, and, get it done, well. Scream, the things, worth screaming, if there are, any. Where is my diagnostic, manual? Virgins, are the most, highly, sexed. All of this, crap, is like writing, what someone else, wrote. Hide what’s true, in all of this. Push me, schizophrenia. This is the real reason, why we, smell. It smells like, urine. It always ends up, being memorized, when it wasn’t your intention, to memorize, anything. Don’t shy away, from the ordeal. The whole package, needs to be wrapped, and unwrapped, so, don’t pay much heed, to your, reaction, to gifts, you give, yourself. The grandkids, all undergo, and understand, the sadness, of, leaving. You survived math, a toast: to mathematics! People get haircuts, generous, “happy”, raped. I sell, biscotti. Soften yourselves, soften! Let’s get tattoos, and try, “tit fucking”, after, only, after, setting up the tables, and chairs, that we’ve, rented. Are you going to huff, reality, or, puff, it? For real, now, sir, let’s collaborate. The sexual fury, with a deep, deep, sense, of loss. Spring, only arrives, for the pretty, hibernators, and migrators. My thumb, looked like a small penis, if only, for a split, second. I’m so tired, angry, and frustrated, right now, that I want to clap my hands, and spin around, in circles. If I were to float, through the sky, look, knock it off. We are not going to, make it. To look, and see, to contrast, or compare, even slightly, is just, too painful. Don’t sing, in the kitchen, nobody wants to hear, it. Submit to the town, bite, don’t listen to their reasons, for, or, about, what you’ve done, or, things, along these, lines. If you wouldn’t mind, focusing your attention, for just, one minute, they, were, taking cracks, at you! Well, well, ink, on the hand, it’s, about time. For starters, make the stock market, unconstitutional. Every day, we wake up, feeling sick, and our, mouths…something, is wrong, with our, mouths, and, whatever it is, is getting, worse. I’m sure, that the version of the mini-series, that that guy, was referring to, was the tragic part, at the end…oh, shoot, I…there is a thing, that, was, and even though, it wasn’t, much, it was, and, it isn’t, anymore. When I walked through the art gallery, all I wanted to do, was play leper, with, what’s her name. Most of the things, I want to do, are illegal. Expect, nothing.
That tingle, behind your left ear, could be, the tumor. More freeway problems, to enjoy, this afternoon. Is this all, someone else’s, idea, of something crazy, that I’m, living through? I read, his on-set, memoirs. Well, it doesn’t, really, make a whole lot of sense, does, it? Motifs, leitmotifs, patterns, and heads, in cars. Fly by, what you used to be, follow the vomit, from there. Is this, it, or, was the last, one? What if I were to pull, some kind, of stunt? Be confronted, by my, E.S.P. Bland, bodily functions, bore, people, when discussed, at length. Our aims, and intentions, involved, picking our noses, and eating, our boogers. It’s all, in your head, right now. Watch your time, and don’t let yourself, get all caught up, in trifles. We’re always, sorry. Remember, being nervous, to walk up the air (not that, kind)? The air, has no discernable, smell, now. An hour, and a half…it takes an hour, and a half, to find, the, “lost,” notebook! This is the second time, that I have found, the word, “dance,” written, on private objects, I own. Your period of probation, and most, of the wickedness, of the past, is over, maybe. So many, check stubs, so little, money, lying around. Hide the blank, notebooks, leave the writings, out in the open, to be discovered, read, digested, spit out, or, thrown up. There is nothing, as thrilling, as ejaculating, on an exposed, midriff. After you’ve started, vomiting, stop drinking! I am the fat man, that I, hate. At the bonfire, or, the scene, it’s just, another, whatever, day, it is. The lobby, was literally, flooded, with rich people, and there was only, one exit, which, rich, and poor, alike, had to, share. We want to present, our examples, of the new system, and how it, will/could, work. We fall, so fast, and, when we notice it, it’s usually, too late, like, right now (what the, hell!). Squeezing blood, out of stones, doesn’t, work. The ease, with which, we fall into grooves, of just, watching time, slip away, from us, is criminal. So, I’m a nihilist, so what (no horses, get ridden)? Take the head shrinking, pill, get your helmet, readjusted, move the card, from here, to there, and back, again. Throw those socks, a little further, away, from where you, sleep. When I speak of my troubles, I’m not, serious, I never, am. The feeling of hot air, being blown, in your face, when you’re already, highly, uncomfortable, doesn’t lead to, super feelings, about the condition, of your belly. The window, was of the type, that invited people, to peek in. There is not going to be, a trampoline party. Do not titillate, anyone. We need, a soul, we don’t, have, one! Life, is all about, what I don’t, do, and, wish, I did, I guess. It’s going to be me, in the hospital room, grabbing onto the rails, on the bed, and, soon, probably. New York, is a dream, of a poem. Stir up your miserable…oh, what the hell, does this, matter, any of this? These are the outpourings, of a very sick, man. I’m taking on an old form, one, that I thought, was abandoned, long ago, never to, return. One more, peanut butter sandwich, and I’m going to slit my wrists (this is, not funny, anymore). The divots, that have formed, on my hands, are from doing things, wrong. These are not, any, early morning, happy, moments, involving grapefruits, or, anything else. Please, try not to act clever, and play, with vowels, and vowel, sounds, publicly. The smell, of that skunk…no, it was coffee, I’m sure, that what I smelled, was coffee…with skunk-like, undertones. When I…the, uh…broken harmonica, reminded me, of…oh, my…when the puppet show, is over…This is what it’s like, to get ready, for the huge, letdown. Slot me, into the virus. Quality, and value, like a mantra. It isn’t, amazing.
