056

I can only, hope, that I’ve improved, as a writer, over the years. My life, begins, and ends, with writing, and I don’t even think, I’m that good, at it. Viva, the naked! What is required, is some crazy, kind of, leap, into something. The problem, is that I don’t have any time, or, money, right now, to, write, despite, this, I will not cease, doing so, under any circumstances. Don’t pay any attention, to most people, places, or, things. The barroom, is no place, for me, having been there, I can say this, with absolute, certainty. Avoid the kindergarten, round up, sicko. Don’t just sit there, counting pages, get your finger, out of the animals, vice-like, grip. Get on with the blooming, wilting, and dying. Hype it, up. Fuck, “being.” The dead squirrel, that has been hanging, up in the tree, for weeks, is proving to be, an excellent, informal, study, on the effects of decomposition, in mammalian, species. There isn’t going to be any night-clubbing, tonight, nor, much, of anything, else. There is nothing, quite so, boring, as a literary life, you wind up so busy, writing, about life, that there is no time, absolutely, no time, in which, to live, one. The smells, don’t wash out, nothing, seems to wash out, or, get clean. The point is, to just sit, and wait, and never say, or, write, what the point, is. My vagina, is sore, I was born, in 1938, I am naked, right now. It almost, put us, under, whatever the hell, it, was. My ego, doesn’t exist, which, I’ve come to understand, is not a good, thing. Too many minutes, are passing by, the kilometer, there have been so many, delays, so many, problems. The essence, of some forms of inspiration, is to skip around, a lot. It’s, gassed. Digital technology, can change your life, and save you, a great deal, of time. The peep booths, need to be cleaned. This, is what is wrong, with me. It just, isn’t, good enough. You’ll feel the, hit, pounding into, your, face. Look on, as the bad, becomes, good. There will be, an end. It’s been awhile, a long, while. The drunken, Indian, bartered with us, to get what (they) he, wanted, without having to give up, any, actual, money. In our fantasy lives, all of our partners, are extremely, satisfied. Meet someone, today, get your seized merchandise, back. My notion, is unpronounced. We’d rather have a life, than an acting job. It gets a lot easier, to admit, the more undeniable, it gets. I’m worried, that I’m not doing, my best, that, I’m just putting, any old, kind, of anything, down. How is it, that I keep missing, all of the things, I have to fix? Iron your shoes, be aware, of the weather, interrupt, the regularly, scheduled, broadcast, with horse calls, turtle imitations. True anger, rage, and hate, is analogous, to sitting on your own, face, while listening to a broken phonograph, play, “la, dee, da,” over, and over (and over), again. There sure, were, an awful lot of drugs, in that bag, let us, go out on the town, now. Pik a new, font. At this poit, I am (tear it, asunder) a very, dangerous, man. Do your remember, Sheppy? All control, lost, we’re still, here. Most of what I do, is (you’ve had enough, excitement) inappropriate. Floor the (blow it, out your, ass) endless, gloom, into neutral. Try a new, excuse. Is that a pig squealing, or, a Bald Eagle? Give us some, equipment, and a clearly marked, starting line/finish line. Don’t you know, that those animals, have, claws? Flick it, over there. I’m still, embarrassed, to wash myself, six years after, originally, making this, claim. Well, I guess you could say, I’m not my own, best friend, I’ve got more than a few, problems, with myself. There is always going to be, a better writer, than me, currently, doing, what it is, that I’m doing, which is why I wonder, why I, keep at this, why I can’t, stop. It is as if, I am in competition, with ghosts, but, there are, truly, no such things, as ghosts, except, my own, which hovers, out, in front of me, like a goddamn, doppelganger, yelling, “hurry up, hurry up!” Give me a cliff, high enough, to jump off, do, significant damage, and, get out of my way. The temptation, to reach for a drug, whether, you do them, or, not, is something, that we can never, quite, shake, free, of. Someone, recently, informed me, to go to where the pussy is, and I’ve never been more confused, by anything, that anyone, had ever said to me, in my life. This configuration, our high times, are so, short-lived, what the hell, day, is it, anyway? I smell like an ejaculated, upon, velvet cushion. Is this it, hold on, is this, it? Call it, fly by, dissonance. The seat, was adjusted, and I, was gone. If it isn’t, very difficult, your not doing, anything.