060

Adults, are kind of like, kids, only, not as much fun. Most people, aren’t, standing outside the coffee house, for no reason. Well, it isn’t April, yet, at least, I don’t think, it is, and I haven’t been arrested, so far, this, year. The cops, are following me, and becoming, more, and more, interested, in my comings, and goings. Pretty kitty, come on in, here. You didn't get, nothing, no food, for you. None of my tricks, work, any longer, and there, most certainly, aren’t any treats, left. Flinchy, got groped, and grabbed, just like the bartender. Is she, goofy-cute, or, goofy-gawky? Put a cute, little, witch hat, on the skull. This doesn’t seem, possible, this seems like, one of those tasks, where we’re just, setting ourselves up, for failure. Hmm, my abstract mannerisms, would seem to be becoming (like a County Fair), interpretable. Steal, her/him, away, from him/her, it’s a lot easier, than you think. The orphaned, incest survivor, went on a killing spree, last weekend. There is not, one thing, that I want to own, that I don’t, already. If you could see, how deformed, I am, it would be easier, for you to imagine, why it is, I write, as I do. As it begins to get dark, I start wondering, where the vodka, is. The shadow, of whoever it is, we’re following, swallows us up, in it. I like him, I do, I don’t know, why. All, well, most of the trouble, we have, is of our own design, it’s our own, thoughts. Three dozen (the grits, were, kissed) badges, equated to, three palms, the backyard, is full of packaging foam, kernels. I thought that I heard, a loud argument, in the other room, but, there is nobody home. Everywhere we turn, choreography. I do not care, about any groups, rights, you know, the people, who so vociferously, voice their troubles, or, concerns, as a group, race, sex, etc. (this is, not, true) fuck ‘em, they’re just like, the rest of us, only, more, loud, at a higher, volume. The lesson, is that nothing, ever happens, that “matters,” is, “important.” Save me, from this. We’re, motivated, to sink in to the methamphetamine couch, and, be still. Staring at it, won’t get it, done. This is a very, very, short lived, career, but, unlike, say, football players, we get thrown pennies, on their, millions, and, are told to keep our mouths closed, about it, or else. Don’t count on the things, that you count on. If you believe it, you are, it (but, be careful), we don’t live, long enough, and, too long. The industry, has labeled me, insane, the insiders, can corroborate, this. The chicken’s head, flew off, in the melee, a young kid, seated nearby, started laughing. No, see, don’t count on it, don’t ever, count on, anything. No, I’m not going anywhere, not tonight, or, any other, night. See, all of the various, areas, of my life, don’t interrelate, they don’t go together, there is no sense, of things, overlapping, at all. Well, we all go through a ten, or, fifteen year, camera shy, phase. If only things, weren’t the way, they are…it doesn’t matter, which way…just, not this one…our lives. We are able, to psychotically, delude ourselves, into thinking, that an early, posthumous, fame, would, “be alright, with us.” It’s like seeing the, “Welcome to Wisconsin,” sign! Wear shoes, next time. How is it, that I wound up, so stupid, and unable, to do, what I want, to do? I speak, as if in a dream, if, at all. We went wrong, at some point. Smart, people, are the dumbest, people, out there. It’s too late, I don’t even care, about the… So simple, it always looks, or, seems, so simple, and, of course, it never, ever, is. Do whatever you have to… There is always going to be some (we are so, helpless) misunderstanding, or, the other, between, various, ethnic groups. My mind, has been torpedoed out of my skull, for, I am too, sane. All we hear about, is the business side, of sports. I would lie, and, could, in fact, I lie, all the time, all of this, is a lie. The bug, fluttering around the room, is not long, for this world. My own static, is what won’t allow me, to stand up, straight. We are all, too easily, entertained. There is no separation, you did it. It just, isn’t good enough, after all, of this. How can that, really, be that, way? I made too many, mistakes.
My philosophy, is put oil, in the car, wipe your ass, take off, like a, balloonist. Soon, sweat pea, our time will be coming, real soon. There is so much, I want to do, so many people, I want to help, but, can’t, because, I’m powerless, poor, and helpless. The next-door neighbor’s, girlfriend, is better looking, that I imagined. Look, the negative, bitter, cynical, things, are the only real ones, so, if you’re one of those, who like soft, silky, stories, about fairies, elves, boys, and girls, kill yourselves. My biggest wish, would be, that all of pop culture, would just, go away. My anger, is a joke, maybe, I’ll punch myself, from time, to time, but, I’m a weakling, and if I did so, it probably, wouldn’t even leave a mark. I am disturbed, by these phone calls. They say, sex, sells, but, they, are wrong, it’s raunch, and filth, that really, help an audience, connect, with the material. That time, that one guy, almost killed me, with a gun, was, perhaps, the most real, that I’d ever felt. We need, only what, or, who, doesn’t want, us. Turn the audio, down, create some outcry, from the moral, make up your own, limitations, and stand by, them. Go ahead, disturb the class. There is a lot, of, over yonder. Cocaine, will eat your, daisy’s. The President, can lick my bunions. The injustice, keeps happening, the corrupt, get, more so, the shit, starts to stink, more, and more. If it happens, at all, it happens, very slowly. Not this, way… It must have been, an abandoned, drive in, theater. In 2028, grave digging, will be the only career, worth having. Reel, from injuries, check your batting average. Right now, you’re almost done, with a couple of pages, not even close, with several, more. Only the best, should remain, but, in most cases, once, you’re in, you’re in, for good. Nacho chips, are the cause, of excess, scalp scratching. Just because we’re doomed, is no reason, for any of us, to take any kind, of special care, in washing. Never, “tear down,” your act, whatever your act, may happen, to be, and whatsoever, your props, are. Fear of death, is nonsense, but, it’s a good, kind of, nonsense. Everyone on the plane, died, in the crash. With one turn, of the wheel, things could be different, but, we don’t, turn it. My head, is too large, my penis, too small, my this, that, and that, this. Sure, I’m full of rage, hate, violent urges, so what? Don’t go cheap skydiving, do the double jointed, thumb thing, again. There used to be a little hill, over there, it used to seem, like a big hill, to me, now, it doesn’t even seem like a hill, of any kind, at all. Four years, are gone, what’s, next? Your, and my, “relationship,” was based, solely, on how many funny faces, I could make, for you, how silly, I could be, how entertaining. All the conclusions, that I finally, came to, regarding, such, and such, a phenomenon, or, problem, etc. have been, forgotten. I’m not a weirdo, I’m just, misunderstood? There is no holy grail, no answer, no solution, no nothing. Your mouth, resembles a gulch, stop singing. We never could, get that, right. Float through, the drive through, window. Stud man, fell ill, which was the end, of his, little song. We are not there, we’re, here. We need reefers, joints, pot. Get out, oh, my stars, get out, get out of here, right now. Someone, had the Statue of Liberty, tattooed, on his, penis. I’ve got to leave, baby, I have to leave, and I am, leaving. We’ve been rung, around the rosie, enough. Who am I, to have an opinion? I’m, him! Who will be on the front cover, of the glossy, now, the sex, of the month? Did you anger, all the people, who want to axe murder, you? There are so many things, that we could do, together, if we knew each other, but, we never will, which is, in a strange way, probably, for the best. There is absolutely, no way, that what I want, to have happen, ever, will. There is nothing, quite so, cool, as watching a cat, slowly, fall asleep, open their eyes, slightly, reposition themselves, and then, finally, fall, fast, asleep. I believed, that I thought, too much, yesterday, of course, I don’t think, enough, the right, way. My greasy hands, want to grope at tits, but, that’s just my libido, churning. There wouldn’t appear to be, any continuity, over time. The horns, bells, and whistles, of whatever the hell, sports meet, is on television, right now, is really, driving me, insane (like sticks, in salads). This is not quite, the ramble, I want to be known, for. What is he, talking about (me)? I got wasted, yet, again. We’re out of, information…
Why is it, when we do things that “aren’t right,” they sure do seem to be? Oh, no, not again, please! Try a new, hole. Despite the environmental changes, it is imperative, to start, right back, in. If she, so much, as, winked, at me, I’d dive on her; no, I don’t know, how old, she is. The worse, your system of filing, the better off, you are, in that, you’ll be surprised, at things, you find, more often. The batteries, are going dead, the dildo, doesn’t work, as well. This is a joke, I’ve been sufficiently, trained, to rebel against, my own assertions, laugh, at the profound differences. Chewing on a pen, I conjured up, some conspiracy theories, that would blow your minds. There sure is, an awful lot, left over, after we think, we’ve exhausted, everything. There are too many, old, and unusable, shoes, and boots, over in the corner. Every day, every night, everything, seems alright, until, the attack. No more snippets, these fantasies, must, end. There is nothing to, “prove,” you will write, against everything. Control the rapport, the television. My fuzzy, recollections, would indicate, that the whole street, has been, shut down. I don’t want to get wasted, in the forest, again. There is danger, in self-obsession, and self-centeredness. There is something else, I meant to, corrupt, I mean, say, convey, state, claim. Sesame bagels, versus, poppyseed, which, is which, and which, is, egg? Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Boris, takes the stage. This job, is not easy, nor, is it, extremely, difficult. Bleach the silverware, as a madman, would. Well, from time, to time, I move my lips, and make noises, but I never, say, anything. There was nobody, within six feet, arms, tight, stomach, gnarled, face, contorted, and staring, at people, nearby. That fuckable, neck, wet, with pseudo, perspiration. When I close my eyes, I see a beautiful, garden-type, setting. The tricks, I attempt, never work out, in my favor. Not with, you. We’re all alone, and dealing, with it. Click: total, and complete, dedication, there is no one, to read the books. The only barriers, are self-imposed. Writers, are, first of all, boring. I don’t give a shit about, Foucault! Bitching, about months, becomes, bitching about, years, that have gone away. Learn to dance, properly. If you’re not enough, before, you won’t feel, enough, after. There are no laws, that compel me, to use, underarm deodorant. Don’t look, at how far you still have to go, if it depresses you, so much. It’s the same thing, each, and every, night. No one is going to be impressed, but that’s okay, because, it isn’t really, for them, anyhow. There are no, backyard barbecues, glad handing, handshakes, nose picking, clowning, nothing is, as it used to be, and it’s getting worse, all the time. We get our culture, from cans, there isn’t anywhere else, to get it. Life, isn’t as good, as it used to be, or, enough. The role playing game, of being ourselves, has been, lost. I shouldn’t be embarrassed, about my life, I should do something, about it. Pitchin, Dolly. Finish this, no pressure, per se, but, do, finish. I am finally, cured, not like pork, please, please. The newspaper, will not go out of business, because of anything, I do, or, don’t do. My simple, little, plan, became confused/confusing, it all fell apart, got complicated. Don’t become too deranged, to still, be, in some way, useful. Hate, gets stronger. I want to finger fuck myself, for some strange, vacant and vapid reason, or the other. Sometimes, the urge to succeed, can cause, failure. Why am I considering, my total, and absolute, failure, in life, right now? You’ll have to live, with, what you’ve, done. It will all, be lost. I was, at most, unsuccessful. What is it, about, now, that makes such trivial things, so abundantly, clear? Point to the bass, and treble, knobs, that’s it. Give us meaning, or, the other… Once you find out, that you are stupid, you will start the inevitable, slide (down). Aren’t we, all, just, biding our time? Falter, more wisely, use the skin, on your, teeth. Why do you insist, that I suffer, so much, now (after all that, other, unbearable, shit)?