050

Everybody, has their own life, however, that’s, going, for them. I think, that I, was the one, to cut, the cord. There is too much, eating. My right foot, feels like a concrete, cinder block, in fact, my whole body, does. What is this, death, is too easy, shit? If one more company, raises their fees, or, rates, I swear, that something, very radical, is going to happen. Nobody cares, and why should they, they’ve all got their own, problems. Once the outbreak, occurs, and people, start dropping, like flies, will you still think, that the big sale, at the department store, is such a big deal? According to the statistics, these, are the good times, I may be the only one, alive, who, knows, and I, know, that these are the worst, of times, in fact, that this, is the beginning, of the end. There was a definite plan, to radically, change my way, of getting through, each day, nothing changed, no pattern, emerged, no course, was altered. There is no way, to win over, the object of your affection, if they don’t want to be, won. I took a lot of flack, for lip-synching, my way, through, the marriage vows. We owe, more money, and last night’s, freeze, just destroyed next year’s, fruit crop, harvests. Do you, or, can you, remember, where you purchased your pumpkin, last year? A man, looking to steal, what little, it has taken me, so long, to save, is prowling around, and looking through the windows, right now, yes, there is a gun, nearby, I would kill, without batting an eye. A crazy, and corrupt, event, has just unfolded, like a newspaper. The dream, of all A’s, never materialized. Europe, is a myth, someone, said something, to me, about a vibrating beeper. Do you really believe, that there are no colors, in the world? It doesn’t seem like, whatever, will be, is ever going to, be, except, in our heads. Trashed, thrashed, rocked, soaked, join the club, get in line. Shitting, used to be very satisfying, now, it’s just another, in a long series, of endless, repetitions, that need to be endured. Well, my central nervous system, is gone, I don’t know, about, yours. Maybe, well, quite, definitely, we are all, far too interested, in what other people, have done. The candle, is lit, outnumber, the better equipt, don’t sleep, with a radical, anything. The forks, are all, tarnished silver, and the candles, are missing, though, there are plenty, of candle holders. Strike piano keys, with pieces of lettuce, swallow, every, .4 miles, there is a fast food, restaurant. The sirens, will be going off, soon. Stop living, too many, have tried, and failed, it must not be the way, to go about, this thing. We’re allowed no more, and, no less, than what we took, whether by seduction, or, by, force, wits, or, cunning, kindness, or, wickedness. Put down the silly basket, and pick up the broom, brother. Hum along with your typewriter, or, whine, along, with your computer, or bark, along, with your dog, or glitter, along with your spoon, but try working, with, something, anything, instead of, against it. The screen is torn, and the cows, have come home, it is time, for all of us, to begin our lives, now. We’re gonna’ go out, tear things up, by their roots, and fuck ‘em, we’re gonna’ get loaded, and piss, wherever we want, tear shit up, let loose, in an abandonment, of fury, and joy, mixed. May you, never know, what I, have known. Give me a gun, to fire off into the sky, there is no time for second guessing. The cut, and paste, job, didn’t turn out, quite the way, I thought. The government, is waiting patiently, for the big, natural disaster, so that it won’t have to pay out, all the money, it owes. Don’t accept, any of your friend’s, gracious offers, of their sisters, or, accept any woman, from any man, in any kind, of, card game. If we don’t get redemption, soon, we may as well, throw ourselves, in front of the train. The Wednesday, it could be, any, Wednesday, just blew by, like a blink, at a gust of wind. The messages, they send, are ridiculous. There are so many, warnings, forebodings; to heed, or ignore. Life, is too predictable, we’re too easily, controlled. There are no direct, references, to that, in here, none. Make it work, despite, everything. This is the final, distilled, culmination, of all I have, heretofore, written. By thirty, our personalities, are long, gone. Donuts, for sale! This is the, bang! Have an impact, or, else.
The apartment, is not furnished. Margin, to margin, for no reason, with, no, cause. Try to stay, as spontaneous, as a bike ride. Nothing seems, quite, right, to me! The weakest links, in the chain, aren’t a part of the chain, they are winds, that blow through, the chains, neither, contributing, to, nor, taking away, from, any kind, of whatever, that holds the chain, together, or, tears it, apart. The geniuses, are all criminals, and get busted, for it, through, merely, being, what they are, following, their own, highly honed, whims, and fancies. The smell of freezing, is tasting, Celsius. The cumulus clouds, are blocking, the only kind of warmth, we’re going to get, for awhile. The gala, to benefit, the whatever the hell, it was, was supposed to help, some starving kids, in actuality, as usual, some assholes, pocketed the money. Negligence, has been determined, it, looks like, things are modernizing, it’s all a silk screen, to hide the fact, that everything, is falling apart. Nothing on television, makes any, sense. We wander, there is no way, that we can ever see, the asteroid, coming, that will do us, in. This undigestible food, is killing me, some people, believed, he did it, some, believe, he didn’t. It I, were to get up, on that table, oh, this is a, oh, what is, this? Look, this has to, end, philosophy, all cancels itself, out, you’re left with nothing, quit, while you’re ahead. What winds up happening, to all people, like me, is going to wind up, happening, to me, don’t tell me, what it is, though, okay? If I stuff things, just right, it may be possible, to hide the fact, that the conditions, I’m living under, here, are the same, as an, insane, insane…This city, does not tolerate, vagrants, what is the problem, with the dishes, this time? Well, the downtown, is being “developed,” like an old roll of film, you find, in the bottom of a drawer. As for, you, whoever you are, who are you? In the old days, it didn’t matter, as much, if you hadn’t, “done anything with your life,” because, more, was, done, to you. I don’t know why I used to nod, and agree, so much, I never agreed with anything, that anyone, told me, I guess, I used to be, too polite. Do another monster turn, in the mirror, tell the stories, that are okay, to tell the kids, don’t mention, that there isn’t going to be any future, for any of us, leave that, out. It is still necessary, for me, to assess, where, and who, I am, from time, to time. Before you skip, to the loo, you’d, better know, exactly, where in the hell, it is, that you’re going. The veneer, has cracked. The smell of shit, and the dead bird, outside the window, with its ribs, sticking out, from underneath the feathers? Please, let me scratch, all I want to do, is, scratch. What was your high school, story, who, ever, knows? We don’t want, what we think, that, we, do. The problems, were, structural. Ask, swing, both ways, establish, AC/DC, contacts, this, doesn’t mean, let’s just say, that a decapitation, is the fiercest, form, of accident. It’s the neo-baroque, era. I want to, punch, punch, punch. The inventor of Haiku, gave the lecture, about plagiarism. So, when does school, begin? The sluts, are all used up, we know, about the shame. I’ve got a tongue, i.e. a mouth, which is disconcerting. The disgusting, make themselves, that way, which is, the only thing, pathetic, about the whole thing, too…Why was that woman, looking at me, so strangely? Wait a minute, we want, the hands on, technical training, now, it’s not too late, is it? I can’t tell, if those are butterflies, in my stomach, right now, or, starving wombats, but, something, is going on. The only thing, that can get me out of this jam, I’m in, is someone to pet, someone to lick, at will. Bee’s, are dying, it’s happening. We must rub out, this sloth, and torpor. The woman, sang a long, song, about sunshine. We need more, room. The affair, ended, badly. Soon, the reasons for my breakdown, will be made, known. Self help books, just, don’t, work. Well, she’s a movie star, now. Hear different, voices. It feels, weird, but, very, very, good. Let the momentum, carry you, forward.
Happiness, is one, elusive, corn hole, to butter. Something, in my ear (help me). Bung hole, the high school. Keep checking, and re-checking, up, and down, these pages. There really, isn’t anything, to worry about, we do, only, what we have to, do. The flashbulbs, on the cameras, could damage the costumes? Aliens, ought to be, the least, of your worries. Rinse away, your troubles, keep track, of what you haven’t been, keeping track, of, that you should’ve been, keeping tabs, on, all along. Who is going to take care of the chores, once their older selves, die off? It is so hard, not to think about donuts, right now, having told myself, not to think, of them. Everything, here, is so minimal, sterile, clean, and organized, that I can’t believe, that anyone, can actually, live, here. The simulated, wood grain, cabinets, aren’t fooling, anybody. The radio towers, which lie, just, northeast, of here, not only, look, ominous, but, are. Tiptoe around, the telephone pole, crucifixes, the immigrant workers, are the only ones, who will put up, with, the dangerous, working conditions, and low pay. Around, March fifteenth, you start to see, heart-shaped, balloons, in the trees. There are so many, fewer calories, so many, fewer calories, in the diet, brand. We’ve got to give ourselves, a head start, because, we’re fucked, before we begin, we’d may as well, take advantage, of every advantage, we can get. There is no kind, of…there is going to be a lot of screaming, and yelling, there are going to be more dreams, coming true, other people’s. The phone, the sound of the car, attempting to start, the unpredictability, of specific, wind direction, the thrill, one gets, from smashing a television, into smithereens. There is a trampoline like, effect, to our spinal fluid’s, behavior, at this moment. When already, defeated, don’t double the agony, by beating up, on yourself, afterwards. Write down, what you think about, but, would never articulate, enough, to, say, or, write. Fake, exception, to your own, stupidity, and foolishness, or, live, to regret it. Don’t be afraid, of young hands? There are already, more than enough, stores, to supply everyone, adequately, with whatever they want, and/or, need, until, 2036. Our physical (not to even mention, mental), wellbeing, is being threatened, we’re past our expiration date, as a race. He died, thirteen years ago, today, most of you, are probably, not too interested, in that, fact. The more, and more, screwed up, we get, the harder, it is, to enter, back into, whatever it is, we left. Start looking through things, you’ve forgotten, about, in hopes, of running into, some buried, desire. What we’re attempting, to do, is rediscover, areas, in which, we have blocked, ourselves, in the past. Splice it, together, the way we talked about. What do you, know? Fortunately, we die. Automatically, very little, happens, without, at the very least, a lot of buttons, being pushed, first. Listen to the sounds, of your digestive tract. Another song, of longing, another pointless, curse, at the chill, of the wind, we are certainly, quite adept, at presenting ourselves, with challenges. A long, last, look, at what we’ve left, is going to floor us, in its profundity. These are the wrong kind, of crayon. I don’t think I can do this scene, in one take. There is going to be a line, out the door, in a few days, down there, just, trust me, on this. There was, evidently, some kind of problem, with getting the proper change, or, something…long ago, the problems, were easier, to solve. Well, it started out being depression, now, anxiety, what’s next? The cap on the soda, is missing, the fillet, was swindled, out of its butter. Cross over, into the next booth, with your insanity, drunkenness, and passion. I need to borrow, from you, the wisdom, and energy, of the spheres, that you stole, from the Napoleonic ballroom, at the Louve. Don’t sit there, waiting, don’t sit there, “just a little bit, longer.” This feels, like a, gallop, but, it’s really, a trot. Don’t just stay, where you are, do not attempt, to relax, there is no excess, there is no excess, with the weather, being what it has been, lately, all we can do, is warn against, certain types, of exposure. The glamour, will quickly, be sucked out of you, that’s for damn, sure. Many years ago, the derailment. Now that you know, all there is to know, about where you are, leave, go someplace, else. What is there, to find? I went so crazy, in the portable toilet, that it tipped over. We play with ourselves, but, shhh. Make it, less, stupid…