053

Without you, I am, no one, the trouble is, that I don’t know, who you are, or, if you even, exist. Once you’ve said, all you have to say, say it, again, in a slightly, different, way. Whatever you do, don’t, fuck her. Take a second, here, to jot down, exactly, what it is, that needs to be done, as well, as to establish, a starting point, of sorts. What the hell is the matter, with my brain, honestly, what has happened, to my brain? I had some kind of a, tantrum. The small, clay, figures, started moving. There are too many distractions, it’s too easy, to slip, in-between the cracks, and just, cease to be a part, of whatever it is, that, perhaps, there is, to be a part, of. My ridiculous life, will not titillate, or, excite, you. We want to start a new kind, of Mafia, as it is, we do, nothing, we are afraid, to do anything. Mountains, are for falling off, of. One vision, I had, was to move the big tables, to the back, and have, only little tables, up front, I’ve got hundreds, of such, ideas (none of them, do myself, or, anyone else, any good). If we can have things donated, to us, keep things, on loan, or consignment, or, however it works, we should take advantage of it. With your blessing, I could go out, and procure the objects, you desire. We can’t control prices, “they,” control prices, and all we are allowed to do, is, put up with it. Last February, arrangements, were made, those arrangements, fell through. Drifted, shattered, lost, sheltered, found, floated over, to? Deaf, to the hits, blind, to the latest fashions, and, so on. We have cockroaches, we spent too long, doing things, we shouldn’t, have. Most all, of everyone, is going nowhere, being, no one, and none of them, no one, is happy, or content, with this. I get flustered, and exhibit, panic-like, symptoms. I shoot, without thinking of the consequences. Hatred, is like mercury. A heart, in a box, beats God, in a cloud. It has all, been ruined. They still, come around. Lunch, with a juggler, brunch, with a judgement, if there is such a thing. Make a random, threat. The pilot, was incomprehensible. You’ve wasted, another half hour. A great many, of the rich, and famous, are not deserving, of their riches, or, fame. Express yourselves, like a kaleidoscope. Would somebody, pleasure me, using, coal? Frolic through, the geranium greenhouse. Keep your pussy, then, I don’t really, want it. Some years ago, something happened, and it’s as if, it’s still, happening (but the results, aren’t the same, to say the least). The radio, is always on, despite the fact, that I despise it. The circus, was just through, here, or, was it? Geeta, is the only mime, that I can trust. If I use a frying pan, will that make me appear, to be more sexy, than I actually, am? Sometimes, all that is required, is to watch a gymnastics, meet. I missed my appointment. There aren’t too many women, that I wouldn’t, fuck, of course, that’s my vulgar nature, talking, in actuality, I wouldn’t fuck, any, and it’s because of my perceived (probably, just), shortcomings, that ensure, this. I have already, failed, I’ve, “missed the pep rally,” as it were. I tried to do, all of the right things, but, I never tried, hard enough. My glasses, are broken, I remember things, too clearly, which is only, to say, that I’m haunted, by too much. Revel, in the terror. The song, remains, the same, now, more than, ever. Run, to the door. I mean it, stop it. The crazy, have their own reasons, for either, doing, or, not doing, things, and, as little sense, as these choices, make, to normal people, the more, the lunatics, think they’ve done, the right thing. Nobody else, in my age group, and weight class, is currently, getting offers, for jobs, changing diapers, and digging ditches, I’ve got, such things. Melissa, I love you, and it doesn’t matter which one, because there were, at least, three. I can feel my fat, congealing, things have fallen apart, fast, and they don’t pull themselves, back together, again, after awhile. How the hell, did I wind up being everybody else’s, keeper of (fossil evidence) memories? The dizziness, that I am, currently, feeling, could, very well, be, the result of being, so insanely, horny, but, it’s probably, the vodka, and beer. I would pay, to be his understudy, and he is not even, an actor, I don’t know what that… Swallow the verbs, whole, like a sponge. Too many, damn, words. The dishonest, learn to be, so, early.
I don’t want to tear out, I want to, add in. It is the year 2098, everyone’s dead, what’s next? What little freedoms, I have, will be preserved. Erections, squish, squish, squirt! What have you been up to, lately? As crazy as it seems, the harder I work, on the qualities, and properties, of my mind, such as memory, the worse, they get, the more stupid, and absent minded, I seem, to become. The farmland, will protect the Earth, for us, sinners, she will also, make sure, that the produce, is fresh. Well, there is certainly, some interesting, shadow play, on, and off, the paper, when you’re forced to drive, while writing. No turn on red, again, as usual. Since we can’t work together, it is our intention, to go about our own business, separately. The crazy, nightclub setting, didn’t allow…the basement, of the mobile home, looked like, it was in the process, of being, constructed, when I fell down the stairs, and saw, what I saw. I take you, I take you, these perversions, are working, against me. Would anyone here, mind, if I looked upon their sisters, closely? My penis, works well, that is not anything, that I need to worry about, at this time. There is more than one glitch, in our system, but, at least, we’ve got a system. Six party stores, in a row, no parties, to go to, at all, ever. I relish, my first, heart attack, like a hot dog, I remember, Indochina. No one is going to throw us a hook, there will be no mercy, for us, we need to be salvaged, taken in, and sold, for our parts. The absence, of sunlight, needn’t, dissuade us, the bills, piling up, well, I am a man, no longer, in direct, or, indirect, possession, of himself. It may be time, to sneak off, and swim naked, in the swamp, again. Victory, for others. This is not a dump truck, exactly, but it is, pretty, darn, close. The fire, reams, around the rim, are all we’ve got, to go on, for now. We’re going to use every dirty trick, we can, in order to win over, the audience. The cleaner, I get, the less milky/ wholesome, I look. High gloss, orange, isn’t in style, this year. The more you dick around, the longer, whatever project, you’re working on, is going to take, to complete, take my word, for it. Somebody, said something, to me, about my shoes. Pretend, that you’re on your death bed. This is your brain, on words, or, mine, at least. The final word, will be, oops. I had so many, great ideas, way the hell, back, then. I’m just, not feeling very groovy, anymore. Beautiful days, make some people, more miserable. It is a solemn, affair (not quite, that, solemn). Well, it always seems weird, at first, but, it’s all, so normal, that it just, looks like, it’s weird. All the people, who jet off, to exotic locales, what is the point, of all this movement, and urgency? Eliminate your mysterious, fly beat, binge-hole, hypocrisy. Alright, so, there are, from…the allergy to alcohol, that I have, is starting to kick in. Don’t leave me here, to rot, in this asocial, environment, of one. Let me, at least, try, to buy your love, please. Perhaps, this is normal, but, I don’t think, so, but I’m sick of blowing through, all of my mental energy, defending myself, against my own, vicious, attacks. Success, is for a different type, or, kind, of person. It all needs, what it needs. The recycling, clipping, picking, and saving, cannot continue, it’s like how the cat, meows, before you have even decided, to poke her. It needed, a few more, things. Don’t be, average. When the tears, well up, in your eyes, it can sure, get hard, to see, or, maybe, I’m just drunk, I’m not sure. You think, that I’m a loser, you would be, correct. I want to fuck you, whoa, wait, I’m sorry, I meant to say, “anyone, for badminton?” Some people, flunk, but, don’t, I was not, one of those; I passed through, like a weasel, but, shouldn’t have. Apparently, I’m drunk, or, at least, I should be. One, only imagines, having been, “known.” Well, now, a cleft chin, in/on, a woman, is very rare, good, but, rare. There are no two ways, to go about it, one must, press, with all of their might, against the immobile, brick wall, and not let up, under any circumstances. Just because, I have admitted (perhaps, too frequently), my many (you, are terrorizing, me) shortcomings, is no reason, to giddy-up, away, on imaginary, horses. We read, too much, and, not enough. Complain! Make it, work!