051

I have plenty of motivation, too much energy, but, for the wrong things. The library, is, acrylic! My entire life, has been wasted. It’s much harder, than it looks. Everything that I do, I do, for no reward, or recognition, whatsoever. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, enjoying themselves, carrying on, etc. The spinning, is getting more severe, the vertigo, has made me unable, to keep track, of the granules. All of the material, that I have been using, to augment my writing, previous writings, mostly, well, not only, don’t they, apply, they are the kind of materials, that can’t be, used. Violence, is going to increase, all over the place, things are going to happen, that make our present day, problems, look like such soft, and billowy, fluffiness, that no comparison, will be able, to be made. A giant barn, fell over, the plumbing, is backed up, people, are fucking people, every which way, imaginable, and I’m not talking about, sex. Shit, nowhere near anything, totally, and absolutely, behind the eight ball, no secret way, around, any of this. Every scam, gets run, food, out, every weakness, you’ve got, will be your undoing, the whole, Egyptian curse, is hovering, around here, now. It doesn’t have, any, meaning. We like the way, that things, used to, be. The support, is in the back (we’ve got to get our asses, in gear), so, the front, just, sort of, dangles, there. Most people, win, their, millions. I am concerned, and nervous, upset, and angry, and, of course, there is nothing that can be done, about any of these things, or, anything else, for that matter. Like a waxy substance, in a hot tub, we, recoil. It won’t make, any difference. Even during peacetime, the war, wages on. The tingles, are coming on, I want them to continue, so, they go away. Hmm…perhaps, running the dryer, in the middle of the night, or, early in the morning, will, disturb, the tenants, above, I hadn’t thought of that. Pull one more scam, and you’re going to get busted. Just, sit still, and try not to act too, unique (if you’re, not). Too far behind, just, too far behind, to pull any stunts, now. The sensitive, die, decades, before the, callous. Zone, into code blue, this is what we’ve been waiting for, right here. Too much shit, means too much food, has been consumed. Exhilarate yourself, be the achiever, in the group, smash your glass head, into smithereens, there will be another one, to take its place, much like, how several varieties, of lizards, grow new, appendages. Not this way, we whine, and/or, scream, after it’s too late, to do anything, about whatever, it is. Right now, and that’s no small, inconsequential, statement, anymore. Be transcendentally, ideal, but, empirically, real. The relations, and properties, of/from, universals, are interconnected. The prose writer’s, forum, have all (each, “member”) been evicted, from their apartments, for non-payment, of rent. One piece of paper, with a corner, torn, can start to really, remind you, of a piece of bread, if you haven’t had a decent meal, in a week, or, two. Science, and religion, it can be, argued, are ultimately, one, and the same, thing. Stop presupposing, a prompt, is a gestural, or verbal, instruction, to a type, or types, of direction(s), to participate. Intercede, in our apparent, sophistication, we don’t know, what the hell it is, that we’re doing. The less emotion, that we let show, in photographs, the better an assortment, of psycho snapshots, the news crews, will have, later, to establish our guilt, before the trial. It is important, that the public areas, of the hotel, be cleaned, thoroughly. The inside of the guitar case, is done up, in a pseudo-velvet. No more freaky, funny, silly, or, extreme, mascot, for you, fuck you. This secret kind, of invisibility, that occurs, just like, old times, should not occur, anymore. What will eventually, happen, to all these people, who are trying to be, something, that they are, not? Escape, somehow, get out! The stability, is eroding. It’s more than nine months, every time. Her edge, is apparent. The scheme, is inoperative.
This is like some clammy, English, grey, tickle torture, going on. The disco ball, was miniature. Wow, everything shows, it’s all happening, there, this is a real phenomenon, I’ve got to come back to this, later. Finger her, uh, I mean figure it, all out. This is small town, wetness, and absorption. These days, it is becoming too easy, to predict, and control, the ebbs, and flows, trends, and, fads, and what will go, out, what will, remain. People throwing food, plates, and chairs, and, I guess, what I’m slowly, making my way, to say, is that not enough, is getting smashed, people, are not angry, enough. Poised at the brink (call it, decay), of madness, I teeter. My fantasy life, is stronger, than my real, one. If you commit crimes, any kind, you may get away with it, for awhile, but, not long, believe me, it all, will catch up to you. It’s the same, refrain. The jurors, don’t deliberate, long. Buddha, skipped rope, with some children, from the village. The analyst’s, look like…is it really, any wonder, we all wind up, so quiet, and keep the shades, and blinds, drawn? There is nothing like, a great pair, of eyebrows. The public record, doesn’t take, very good, ones. There is going to be a crazy scene, we are going to create, a crazy, crazy, scene. Oooh, the rapture, is going to throw me down, onto the floor. There is no left turn lane, when you’re dead. As we measure, and re-measure, our contract extensions, well, we pay less attention, to what we should be, paying attention, to. Some, are lucky, most, are not. A huge crane, fell down, on all of us. It somehow, happened, a dozen pairs of shoes, none of which, match. This needn’t, have been, written. We could have used a cycle, in an extractor, everything, here, is wilted, nothing, is crisp. Perhaps, the general public, will have mercy, on me. As soon as you find yourself, forcing open doors, to locked cars, to steal the cassette decks, in order to get money, to eat, stop writing, that is, stop thinking that writing, is going to be how, it is, that you’re going to make your money, in life. I don’t think, that my head, really, itches, I think, that I’ve become accustomed, to scratching it, just, to scratch it. How could it be, that a 134 page, journal, can come in the mail, that contains, absolutely, positively, nothing, either, worth reading, or, even, to, read? No one is alive, anymore, by this, I mean, that enough, big sharks, have gone, that the minnows, that remain, get all the choice, pieces, of plankton. Other, unpaid citations, could “exist,” oh, you don’t, say? Stop paying, five dollars, for things, that aren’t worth, one. We see, what we want to see, usually, in detail, and, of course, whether it’s actually, there (whatever we want, to see), or, not. I don’t think that anyone, would be very interested, in my expository essay, on the temporal fixation, of poets, in the late twentieth century, vitriolic, scene. Why did we choose, to eat those two pizzas, with everything, underneath those pine trees? For crying out loud, be, a cold, reasoning, beast! The cynics, led the way, to, and flourished, after, the fall of the city-states. Everybody’s, differing perspectives, are not working, in conjunction, with one another. We’re busy, accumulating data, and don’t have time, to keep track of the advances, in technology, that would make our legwork, easier. Towards the end, there should be a blowout, a strange, unexplainable, flourish, of energy, work, output. The closer we get, to spring, the colder, it gets. Crazy, be more, so, most, crazy people, aren’t loony, enough. It varies, quite a bit, which meetings, we attend, what days, and times, etc. Well, we’ve given our depositions, now, we wait. Nothing in the pile, is indicative, of who I am, all that is left, is a hope, for synthesis, later on. Quit, entirely, just say, fuck it, and get the hell out, of wherever you are, wherever it is, where you just, can’t stand, or take, being, anymore. The hatred, that I saw, on that, face, made me want to get the hell out of that bank, and never apply for another loan, again, as long as I live. Leave the gas stove, on. Eleanor, had the chicken, or, so it, seemed. Sleep, is pleasurable, preferable, to being awake? It’s the loudness, of the scratching noise, that got to, her.