Honestly, who laughed? Not that I blame them, it's usually the honesty, though, that people can't handle. And no, there's nothing left to lose. Sure, my brain got chewed open, but it usually does, with many more to come, we hope. Cross out all of the A’s, and B's, no regrets, no remorse, forward march! Blimp, blink, follow, swallow, bitter pills. A strange sort of shame, kind of led me that way, a scar in, or on, the softest spot, an escape clause? An execution, a crucifixion, door knob associations, still, after all these years. I threw something onto the dance floor, trying to explain, or make some point (my hat). Acting disabled, actual disability? Sure, and yeah, I really wanted to figure it out. With Ypsilanti bus stops, always, skips, hello's, out of the side of my mouth, one sided, but valuable, correspondence. Some people can, some people can't. The way it works, not often enough. Gleeful, bottom of the basket, snake charmer, kind of dancing, hip thrusting. Thinking, over, and again, then, louder. Looking for dares, making proclamations. There is trouble, giggles, urine, I see some kind of genius in you, I smell some oxidized, chemical process, actually, the breakdown of the said, process. Sulfur being "given off," flesh webs, in the restaurant I don't go to, anymore. I may have overdone it. Animal spines, dried up corn on the cob, pens that don't work, condoms, I'll never use. Weird scenes in the what? Trees, squirrels, frogs, and whatnot? They mention eminent domain, I go and get my guns. The disconnection I feel, is the gravitational pull, of reality (odd?). Feel like talking? Beware retaliation. Somewhere along the line, I became an “oldies radio listener.” People look at me like I’m some kind of goofball, clown, when I mention that I’m a writer. Cover their version, make some artistic statement, beg! Offer is good, for a limited time only. Forget about whistling through the green grass, and flotillas of freshly cut women, for now, there are more important things to be done. Trying not to think, is like trying not to breathe. Oh, what a foop, what a flup! You know the drill, you’ve heard of this game, these kinds of intricate dramas. They can’t tell, I can’t “tell,” oh, but not about that. They will always be shocked, and surprised, when people get killed. What purpose does this serve? What you are reading, and what you are about to begin reading, is only a test. In the event of an actual emergency, get out your Bible, moan, and lament, along with everybody else. Tell me, please, what’s out there? I can’t even fold paper, now, there is still so much work to do, work, that death, my death, would just get in the way of, yet, it is (the final act) approaching, very quickly. Too much resistance. There isn’t going to be an encore. Have these sensitive areas, even been compared, and contrasted, to one another? We are in a perpetual game, of catch-up, with our relay members, who have passed the torch on down to us. I am no one, nothing. Scratch yourself, smooth out the paper, think about thank you notes, realize there’s no time for that, tie your shoes, look left, worry about the pen running out of ink, worry about your output, your lack of a life, worry about showing up on time for tea, tomorrow. It’s only in our dreams? Let’s wallow in a funk, for awhile. We end up with a half a page, a blurb, a small section, another instance of not having ever been phrased. Giving up again, never done, never half done, nowhere near it. And it always makes me quite sick, these futile things we do, religiously, I may as well tell you that, right now. Excommunicate me, now, before the scandal, and exposure, fallout, compiled facts, and figures, have been meted out. Talk me down, help me to get over this, crawl out of it, something. Pant, off to the side of the vortex; they say this doesn’t make sense, nothing does. Tilting, crossed experiments, words, tools; sell me, used, alive. Wishing I’d moved into the mobile home park, with the fly wheel, the aftermarket discount. Loose, loony, scattered, torn up. Pigs lie down every which way, finally, settling, settling. Cowering, alluring, azure, the aneurysm. Just beginning, obsessed, repeat, gone. Forgotten backgrounds, phenomena’s, the buzzing of a fly. Get out your guns, old man, I wanna see how the other half lives. People are very vacant, pretty incoherent. Essentially, I couldn’t wipe my own ass. Someday, it is hoped that all of this will have been turned around. Put on your gas mask, it’s about to begin.
I stared at her, as a proctologist, would, a distended colon. Taping up photos of serial killers, ex-Presidents, lead shop workers, quality control inspectors. The petroleum has leaked, the whorehouse blew up, the discussion is over. Did I bring my random, gluten, dance party; maybe, maybe not? Stillborn, still lives, ethically sinful, sinfully ethical. Emotional overdoses, yesterday fast, questions posed, while shaving, are answered, on the way to work, hypocrite! I ask you, when, will I finally have, insanity? Manipulated, contradicted, and no, ma’am, that does not lead to confusion, it leads to another bewilderment, that doesn’t go away. It’s pretty tedius, but isn’t everything? She’s the actress. Hey, I already died, symbolism is an egg based, breakfast sandwich. A burn this, or a smoke that? We are alone, indecisive. They want to keep you down. Give being the appropriate, old, heave-ho! Shame, malaise, savoir faire, firecracker, horny, high school girl, willow tree, the day, by day, job routines. Glorious manifestoes, on entropy, magnificent, and maligned, operas. To get to the point, is to trip over it, talk about avoidance. Cross stitch, go the other way, cross dress, deny ever having done such a thing. This is going to take forever, and I don’t have that long. Leave the closet of if’s, and’s, and but’s. What’s going on in your overalls, lady? Fools rush in, where, or who, no one knows. It’s a lonely, ride, silence, the long haul, the tough row to hoe. Share the small, plastic rodents, what was I going to say? Inflate the century, for the last time, what are those strange creatures, inside the light bulb? It’s better than a pummel horse, it’s rather Germanic, in origin. Well, it’s all over now; hung up on, dragged in, labeled, gotten to, at, etc. There may or may not be, a few bends in the road, that leads to the giant phallic symbol. The diamonds in the snow, aren’t really diamonds. The sky, water, stars etc., are not beautiful, eternal, divine, they are just there (like most people). To give you an idea, my entire life, is like scenes cut out of a movie, that has never been made, never will be made. Spread the dysfunction, all through these nasal passages. I died of three things. Do some good, egg, do some good. There is so little to write about, and so little of that, which is worth thinking about. I told her it was experimental, I really have no idea what it is. Singing songs about love. There are no backend deals, down at the plant. Let this be the ridiculing, slide rule, snake, of the whole thing. I’m feeling really scared and nervous, right now. There is no justice, there is the appearance, thereof. Well, to write, I need a guy with a gun, and several, topless, cheerleaders. Gasp, gush in, exasperation, extrapolation. Some sick gelatin, just flew out of my mouth. Shimmy down the paint, of the doorknob. Librarians shit, and eat food. The world would be a better place, if there were no sports. These are more, or less, “cutie kid, huggy,” comments. The banquet, took on grim undertones. Good things, still occur? Asking your partner to swallow, is insulting? Is that the only answer, the one, and only, solution, to this symphony of panic, and strife, waiting, and deadlock? There will be no vacation, again this year, nor, next year, nor, the year after that. Engrave your names, on the tree, on the fence post, on the handrail, on the roll top desk, on some other surface. When we, anyone, gets “too far out," they are exactly where they are supposed to be. Someday, the scars, and calluses, will heal, someday, we’ll be able to drive somewhere nice, and see pretty things. Blank, mute… whatever they shout out of themselves! ISBN, number, number, number, etc. We all want to feel better, and more at peace. Most collaborative efforts, are doomed at their inception. In the end, all of our “academic” passions, turn out to be just more phases, we passed through, soon to be forgotten; pastimes, interests. Much like being very interested, in a band, or in a particular style of music, much like love, it starts out all-consuming, and fades, completely away. Experts are in demand, we don’t want to know, who is on the lam, what was the title of that fine piece of work, that we examined, did, re-examined? Way back, when we decided to make something of our lives…to run to this failing, floundering, oscillating, now. Manipulate the confusion in your skulls, into meaningful wounds. Women, politics, celestial adherence, concrete, being poured. When you’re ugly, nobody wants to be around you. Three really long years, now! Hi, my name is fuckhead, and I’m a jerk-off. The pen came in handy, the chit chat, didn’t (insincere). There will be more shocking revelations, and revolutionary disclosures, as time wears out, it’s already, well worn, treads. At a loss for words, at a loss to explain? All I really want to do, is sleep. I don’t belong anywhere, I embarrass myself, everywhere I go, and with everything I do. I spend time counting the specks of dirt, on the book covers, alongside my bed, then, I stare out my window; feeling regret, guilt, remorse, renunciation. Much like our gas tanks, our lives, seem to move either quickly, or slowly, between empty, and full. There may, or may not, be a difference, between yesterday, and today, but I can’t see it. Of course, the cops were involved. There is a certain amount of pain, in just being. None of us will make it.
To attempt to gain a different perspective, is wise, maybe. Pleasant thoughts, lead to disappointment, disassociation, discontinuity. The blind fumbles, through the fields of our own detachment, can get us into trouble. No, I don’t believe that now is the time, for any kind of ice cream cone. The modern era, is decidedly, old fashioned, to the point where the now, has to be dusted off, and the immediate, is merely an intermediate state, between the past, and the future. Should I go out to some store, and make a purchase? The nervous system, is in a state of entropy, all around. There exists a kind of compulsion, for a body, someone else’s body. Possession is not a spiritual, or a demonic, quality, but a symbolic word, that stands for our desire to get crazy, until we are, in a sense, unfucked, possessed. So, you want to be taken care of…hmmm? Live as if life, were one, long, continuous, masturbation, in private. The abyss, is inborn, the changes that wind up taking place, are imposed upon us, from the outside. Zen is about many things, but a big one, is to know that meditation, i.e. doing nothing, is completely contradictory, and diametrically opposed, to what needs to be done. This knowledge leads one, to do some things, to do such things, completely. Uproot society, with its strangulating falseness, its blind artifices, blank strands, and obstinate declarations, policies, procedures, expected behaviors. A small revolution, is in order, without our own beings, a new kind of anarchy of being in the world, needs to be established. None of know where we went wrong. Tear it apart, viciously. So much is past tense, right now. All the people are interested in, is what? I am only afraid, because I do not want to be inundated with their ridiculous dramas; my kind of theater, doesn’t have a stage. Fair game, is unfair. Don’t become too interested. We’re archtypes of nothing. Do without salad dressing. Sports statistics are known, not what life is, etc. Pay a little bit more, to get it done, faster. Wooden, essentially. People, couples, are having children, starting families, and there is no reason why. It seems like yesterday. Oh, you remember her name. This is all going to be put together, just like the other stuff, this will all happen. The preparation, has been much too detailed, and precise, for any kind of anti-eventuality, to leave in, at any place, down any drain. Someone started chanting at me, “I know you’re a nerd, I know you’re a nerd.” Try to be normal, I dare you. Our perversions make us sick, not the other way around. Many a girl, was lucky enough to dance with their chaperones, before the end. Predictably, we learn. I write to find one word, or a series of words, a catchphrase, perhaps, that will allow me to keep going, to keep living, essentially, to continue writing. I lean into obedience, I lean towards an existential surrealism, I spray the woods down, with fire extinguishers, when there is no fire, anywhere. The film of the way things should be, a lot of punching, screaming, fucking, and strange, grave behavior. Ordinary people, are not. Air bags for airplanes, new kinds of foam. The cortex is lobbed, the skull horned, the leper, guaranteed. The major sources are all those things that got us all fired up, riled up, stirred into a lather. I want to acknowledge all of the people, who have aided me in the quest. Hallucinations are real, interpretable, events. This is the prolonged adolescence, on paper. There are no levels, or stages, that I can see, there is a murky, muddy, pool, that no one would (or should) want to swim in, but dive into, nonetheless. Popularized, semidramatized, civilized, conditioned, well suited to the demands of post collegiate, atomic movements. Switch the floor mats, throw everything into disarray (order it, control it, softly). Cry at the photo of the clown, with the cancer patient girl. Do not be the same, from one day, to the other, ever. There is nothing in there, the manuscript, though completely filled with words, is utterly empty, vacant, bereft. Warped wood, may just get us through the stormy seas of this voyage, to a greater degree, through the planks, which you described. Silence is the intellectuals, stop gap, and the fools, hiding place. Plant your seeds, run in terror from the woods. Collaborative sins, victims, and perpetrators, being the same. If the sin says, one way, I say, no way. It is in the craziness, that we should feel any kind of pain, at all. I don’t much care, the glum, will ream the asses of the glum, the dead, will suck each other off. Bugs will overtake me, imaginary, or not, it makes no difference. This is going to be a very serious undertaking, indeed. Thought will make you dizzy, but it’s something worth enduring.
Sensory malignancy, exploitation, dread, anxiety, a forlorn isolation, dress codes, mopping up. Cutesy pie, has her advantages. Do your catwalk turns, show it off, find the right person, the person who will really, wang dang that thing, that selling point, or points. People are throwing octopii onto the ice, at the hockey rink. There are no points to be made, there is nothing to say, or do, or perform, or pretend; by this, I am attempting to explain certain difficulties, inherent within existence, that need to be transcended. Andy’s film, will be post-apocalyptic, and it will be produced. Some stamps, are bigger that others. We are known, when we are paranoid. In general, the paranoid, is someone who thinks (sometimes), that people actually give a shit, about him/her, one way, or the other. The cat-calls of our pain, always fall on deaf ears. Here we are, talking about nothing, to no one, wasting our time, our lives, our breath. An overview is in order, to be thought to yourself over there, in the corner, alone. Your ex-lover, is currently fucking someone else, and they are way, way, over you. Tap the paper with your fingers, move the pen over the paper, tap the paper again, cut the paper, eat the paper, tap it again, write some more. Who I love, inadvertently, always, hates me. When the bodies start to drop to the ground, who are you gonna’ believe, me, or them? We’re hated, as much as we, hate ourselves. Pleated and deferred; there are just far too many secrets, that are never revealed. It’s like playing dice, without being a gambler. It will kill us, yet. All I have to show, for all my efforts, is a thousand dollars. Maybe that is the sunrise, who cares? She annoys me, they all do, I need to have it in front of me, to even/ever, need, what I need, at all. Throwing up on the side of your own bed, the dizzy feeling, the stupefied, dead, retching, feeling, so tired, I can’t sleep. There is no cure for an ugly face, I discovered. What kind of salad dressing do we want? Shall we cover ourselves with gasoline, and light ourselves on fire? I pay you hush money, to keep you quiet about the utterly embarrassing nature, of the relationship we had/have. Sure, from time to time, I star in a jealous rage. Because it’s too late for me to be a normal, healthy, happy, productive, and interesting, human being, like you. Load me, like an old truck. All I ever really wanted from her, was a cheap, and easy, orgasm. Baw-chicka-BAW-BAW. Something is wrong here, very, very, wrong. No vocal effects, wrong shutter speed, the blandest, and most dark colors, the eye could ever hope (not) to see. Butter it down. They were here, when the Indians came. Pointless indifference, theatrical, and dramatic, joy, and suffering, some peanuts. Ah, the illustrious marks of circumstance! Smash the cordless phone to smithereens, with an a far off expression, on your face. Scrub the inroads, clean, Sally. Yes, life is the greatest of philosophical problems, the actual, day-to-day, living of it. To accept the unacceptable…what was I going to write about that? Oh, well, rub your face off. She will never call, visit, try to find me, think about me, or ever give a flying shit about, and she never did. This is the grand concert waltz, i.e. the march to the guillotine. I thought I needed her, like I needed that invitation to the XXXmas bash/party, thing, over there. Smell me, like butter frying, literal, and figurative, ozone holds. Fong-Li, where are you? In, or out of it, and…knocked up, and…if it were discovered that I…the testament to all things humane. Fig leaf worry, seraphim betrayals, strike three, card games, governments, lost children. Impromptu, in neutral, I don’t care/I care too much. It’s for the most part, obsessive, yet, thoroughly compulsive. Give me your opinions of it, we don’t got no talent, ‘round here. What is all this shit? Skip around the lake, with the blue skies, etc. This is embarrassing! Our guts churn, loudly. We are some sort of pointless, ridiculous, race. We just, need more time. We are trying to find excitement, and carnivals, with giant neon arrows, people holding signs, with our names on them. Laugh inside the air conditioning unit. This tiny piece of cellophane, used to shrivel, as would candy. Soon, there will be no such thing, as something you take for granted, now. Be with the eggs.
