061

I have no business, thinking, that I am, what I (really) think, I am. A dark shadow (it isn’t, extreme, enough), ran, past. He had, charisma. You are going to get, more, paranoid. Waiting to die, for everything to fall into an aligned, and perfect, harmony. If it isn’t, that, it’s, this, that’s, wrong. So, I’m a sick, fiend, so what? Pretty soon, I’m going to have to start, writing stories, this, “sort-of, poetry,” shit, is getting a little old. It is not the easiest thing, to do, cut a tomato, properly, and these diagrams, sure do, come in, handy. I have no power, over this bottle, of alcohol. My little, self-portrait, made me look, thinner, younger, and more attractive, just as, self-portraits, always, will. Thank you, and my warmest regards, to you, and yours, in the future. Who’s gonna’ cut the dope, now that Ed, is out of the gang? Well, it looks like, this year, Vancouver, is “the place, to move, to.” Don’t even ask, what is wrong with me, or, what’s, “the matter,” with me, I already, ask myself, those same questions, dozens of times, each, and every, day. The goals, at present, are to stop the foreign voices, screaming, inside my head, and…to kill that fly. I have a lot, of problems, I just wanted you to know this, in advance. We must take, action, pretend, to have integrity, character, intelligence, values. The results of my efforts, need to be, interspersed. Don’t let the clapping, they force, and fake, after electing you, employee of the month, reverberate around, too long, in your head. My ass, is starting to leak, some kind of fluid. All the cars, you see, on the street, need to be, slowly, paid for, and they all, have to have, insurance. If only, boredom, weren’t so, boring, maybe, it would cause us, to actually, do something. This could be, the end, I fell in the bathroom, earlier, today, collapsed, if you, will. No, naturally, there isn’t going to be any increase, in the daily output, given, that, what is currently, being done, probably, is quite, enough. That glass, is so delicate, and dainty, so, south, by northeast. What I am doing, or, what I am attempting, to do, rather, is just, exercising, my goddamned, head. We are designed, to just, finish, with no remainder, left over. Well, my philosophies, may be right, or, could be, wrong, but, none of them, matter. We’re, almost, where we would like to be, but, as you all know, almost, isn’t good enough. We only get one chance, to learn things. If I don’t make it, through this, remember, this one, line, for me, I told you, that I wouldn’t. The century, will begin, another one, will start up. We can’t get enough, of this, life, stuff, can, we (no matter how much, we hate it)? So many sensuous, fabrics, in which to choose, from?! The subtle sounds, of the therimin, just, tore my spine. Try something else, avoid the crazy, incline, there either, is, or, isn’t, anywhere, to put, our legs. Caustic truffles, slide down, the gutter, mince, your sorrow, scorch, the serene. Well, I am, definitely, out of fresh, and new, ideas, now. We should all, maintain, a modicum, of silence, for several minutes, each day, so as to allow the eardrums, to rest, get ready. No one is ever going to sit around, and wait for us, to casually, tumble our ways, through, whatever it is, that they’re doing. Dreaming, gets you nowhere, the wriggled out, sinks, of flotsam…the caresses, of a moronic, blue day, we’re muffled, and muzzled. What I would, not, enjoy, seeing, is my left, marinated, hand, being, char-grilled. The tennis match, is over, or, was it, basketball, they’re all, the same. I’m not afraid, of my own life, anymore (that’s a lie). The ting, tong, ping, of those strange noises…can anybody, stop, those noises? Ohio, had a puppy, one, can only pick, one, specific, direction, at once, in which to travel, in. The truck, is a sort, of a, fence! Twenty-two, dead racoon’s, littered the road. Towels, were used, to clean up, the mess. Add in, what you took, out. Something, flared up, in there. Violate, the rules.
“They,” know, too much, about us, there is no, way, they’ll let us, have the job. I feel like I disturbed the reunion party, just by standing, where I stood. Watch, what, you brush off, where. This is going to be another, long, night. There’s gonna be, some killing, don’t act surprised, about that. Eventually, what spurs us, on, stops, working. A rudimentary, marketing plan, was worked out, in advance. Let’s play, “threaten an editor.” I’m sick of sleeping, twelve hours, a day. You’ll take it, single spaced. Another weekend, is over, this is a little more, than, hard to believe. We felt, so, marrooned. It is going to be clear, and very cold, tonight. Go totally, alphabetical. Well, you cleaned, what do you want, a medal? Stay out, of the factory. Terror, is one of the raw materials, we’ve got, to work, with. My penis, wouldn’t fit, in her vagina, it was really, frustrating, and even, quite, embarrassing. As is, already, no doubt, obvious, I am all out, of inspiration. This is to notify you, of my intentions, to resign. Education, provided me, with more problems, than solutions. Acting, is work, see? The crazy, wild, and brilliant, amongst us, wind up in asylums, jails, or prisons, not, on the covers of magazines, where they, belong. We avoid, thinking about, our own, mortality. He mounted, a wooden sculpture, of a head. Just imagine yourself, in a tropical setting, away from the shattered windows, broken down, cars, fallen branches, and recycling containers. Perhaps, they’ll be able to look past, all of this. I can’t leave, my own, head, and it’s tearing me, apart! No loitering, underneath, the emergency broadcast, sirens, whether they’re going off, or, not. I don’t like, to keep reminding myself, of how fucked up, I am, but, since nobody else, cares to, do, so, the job, is left up, to me. Forget about bundle theory, I want to talk about, napalm. These drugs, are driving me, crazy! In order to be competitive, we need to, fight. Ofttimes, the squeaky wheel, is just a sign, of defective equipment. Thursday, and/or, Sunday, entertainment, just might, work out, swimmingly. I am, personally, going out of my way, to provide, excellent, customer service. The letter, that I mailed, was half, happy, half, angry, disturbed. Maybe, I’m mentally ill, and this, is the proof. Hmm…where did this, come from? All ideas, are good ones, and need to be written down, immediately. Huh? Yes, there were a great, many, nasty, nasty, things, that took place, in my past. We need confidence, even if it makes us, look, silly. The boat, exploded, the man, bought the farm. I am a double sided, double density, dullard. The…uh, ultimate, self-exam, is now, complete, not very much, of anything, is very different. “The time to die, is now,” was what I thought, I heard myself, say. I said, a month ago, that I would never work, for anybody else, I may have been a little hasty, with that judgement. I forgot, the post office box, number. Soon, things will become, so bad, that it will be too late, for them, to ever be, good, again. I don’t know where this came from, but, I sure am, glad, that I found it, when I did. Your, immune systems? I’m angry, and I don’t even know, why, anymore. Risk, and risk, big. Tear off the faces, of your enemies, smear the faces, on their torsos, spray your secretions, on the homing beacon. She kept doing, those, “exercises.” It tastes like, strawberries, at the end. Just like, yeast (don’t worry, about it), it, lives. All the confusion, is what, strangulates, us. Borrow, steal, beg, while, making promises, that you’ll repay, the money, knowing, in all, honestly, that you never, will. Be a little more careful, in choosing, what you get into, than I, have. Over time, as we continue, to do, such, and such, a thing, you would think, that we would become, better at it, but, that’s not, necessarily, true. Did I spit my gum, out, or, swallow it? My dark secrets, will never be revealed, they will remain, known, to myself, and myself, alone. The taste of paper, seems, to get better, and better, the longer you’re deprived, of real food. Listen, I don’t enjoy, sitting in this jail cell, but, I don’t want to write about, the jail cell, right now, no, I want to write about, how I wound up, here, what, caused, it. Everything, sucks, and now, back to the, music. Embroiled, in media controversy (not the real, kind). Blitz me, fluffy. The revisions, went, totally, out of control. It’s up to us (oops, yawn)! They refuse, to pay attention.