What horrible thing, is going to happen, next? We’re all, an awful lot of people, at once. Do I want to make bread, all night, or not? I dreampt that I caught a fish, a real fish. Do I want to confuse the whole, messed up affair, with my stupid, parliamentary decisions? If you could only see me, now, just see, for a minute, how fucked up I am, none of these horrible things, that keep occurring to me, would surprise you, for a minute. Is there absolutely, any way out, that could possibly, apply? Is lying on a résumé, the only real way, that anybody gets a job? Is force, necessary, forcing people to accept this blob, this sick, pile of protoplasm? There is really, only one thing in the world, that I want to do, and that's fuck her, and she, is unobtainable. This is life, huh? Being sued, because you try to sue someone, for not paying the money, that they owe you? Our lives, are already, so complicated, that to... there is no way, is there, baby, there's just, no way? Let me say something, real quick, about starvation, it takes a long time, to die. Sure, there are shelters, but after living in a... would you, want to stay in one? Cover your asses, and get all of your contracts, signed. Do any of you, have any idea, what it's like, to live your life, good, and poor, honest, and in debt, smart, and dismissed, witty, and homeless, wonderful, and with one foot in the grave? Concentrate, very hard, and do not stop concentrating, run over anybody, who gets in your way, shoot to kill, take what you can get, and then some, take a lot, and give little, look out for your own ass, and fuck all the rest. Let's get into a deep seeded, power struggle, let's start a mafia, let's get what we have coming, plus a little more, for "emotional damages." Let's take, take, take. Who else is going to control the scrap yard, maintain the order, amidst the chaos, and the arthritis? Why not me, why not us, all this horror, is supposed to be for nothing, all my reading, work, education, has prepared me, to clean shit, out of the corners of bathrooms? If I were to write down, now, the extent of my rage, and anger, I would be arrested, just for writing it, just for thinking, some of the things, I think. No blue pencils, I’m warning you, now! Most people would look upon me, as a weak person, well, be assured, that they are mistaken, I will get the last laugh, and I will do everything, and anything, to assure it. Manifest yourself, kill yourself. Wake up out of your stupor, you pick-up joint, sissy! Total psych-out. Flashback, to sucking on nipples, in an alley, behind a convenience store, for ten dollars. I should go rob a bank, right now, chances are better than not, that I'd get away with it, at least once, as is the case, with all crimes. See, my intention, is to fight fire, with fire, here, I am going to redeem myself, in my own way, in my own eyes, I am going to get what's coming to me. Is that my junkie, pulling up into the drive? When I contemplate, even for a minute, all of the problems that I have, and how everybody around, seems to be living neat, clean, midas touch, kind of lives; while my stomach is growling, and cramped, and I'm sick, erratic, and desperate, there are going to be, ah, who the hell knows, what's gonna happen? Salesmen, are vultures, moving in for the kill, not the carcass. This is frustrating, all around, our jobs are so... these... this pressure. The inside of my head, is swallowing itself, the cash flow problems, are destroying us, nothing is as it seems, nothing is what we're told, it was going to be. For starters, it is important, to be rude on the phone, beyond that, well, be rude to anyone/anywhere. Why? Because the nice guy act, hasn't worked, won't work, shall not ever work, the more snarly, and mean, you can be, the better. Take on the whole system, destroy the entire thing, tear it apart. We can't imagine, what odd things, are going to go down. You will not use my air anymore, under any circumstances. Most animals are nocturnal, because they know to instinctly, avoid humans. I’ve been in the cheap cremation chamber. This is not some kiddy game, I'm playing, if I don't start to get, what I need, want, and deserve, heads are going to roll, people are going to get hurt. The bank is a big leech, attached to us. The first June bugs, appear in mid-May. I despise/hate, writing. Chewing your fingernails, is the best way to get the dirt, out from underneath, them. How much money are you willing to pay me, to work at the factory, this sorting room, this kitchen? As far as what's wrong, with whatever the hell goes wrong next, an almost violent, detachment, is best, at first, then, only later, attack. Most all jobs, get way more out of you, than they are ever going to be willing to give, to you. The more upset, you get, the less able you will be, to fight your way out, of whatever it is, that you have to fight your way, out of. Can you believe, that now, of all times, now, this shit, happens? There is no fear, anymore, and I don’t know (or care) where it went. Maybe you can, maybe you do, but you'd probably, not be able...ah, fuck it. Be able to handle, all of the shit, that there is, to handle. If it's the alternator, it's the alternator. We are not ever allowed, to do the things we want to do, to help other people out, because, we have nothing to offer, nothing to give, we shake, scream, cry, get embarrassed, get fried, and sucked off (not in a good way). This is not a life, for a human being, these are the thoughts, of a mollusk. Once you see, you’ll know. The next level might be a lower one. The one’s you love, will die. I’d like you to see it.
No words, ain't gonna say nothing, to nobody. Let go of your censor, tear your hair out, like a bunch of carrots. Let everyone drive by, and pass you, huh? There are too many places to go, and too many things, to do, I'm exhausted, and overwhelmed, there is simply no time, for this. You have lost your teeter-totter mind, you are a rotter, a stinky, a chubby, a loon. How can you shuffle, and rot, and say nothing? How did you ever become so fucked up? Get on that fork lift, stupid; if that's all you can do. It is up to you, to prove that you can succeed, that you're up to the formidable challenges, that are right in front of you. Scrape yourself across the room, get off the couch, stop "almost sleeping," call that number, send shit, from here, to there, via the Postal Service. You have to fake, do what you have to do. Don't even think about these miserable, sloughing off, scribblings. This means nothing, except, to act as a reminder, of all the other things. You've got such a long way to go, and so little time, in which, to do it, that, I, in all honesty, question your ability, to ever, get any of it, actually, done. Those spastic exercises, were supposed to limber me up, get me going, and moving, I'm still sitting here. Tomorrow, you call Marvin, today, you get a job. What in tarnation, is wrong with you, lad, ya' lazy, good for nothin'? Well, then, let's get out there!You think you're too good, to put in a hard day's work. Well, if that's the case, I'm awfully disappointed in you. You're lucky you can still scratch your ass. Nobody tried to rob me, car-jack me, and nobody would, down there. The valets, and waiters, are getting older, and older, that's a little bit, bothersome. See, I now, have to know, what I do not know, I believe this is only a phase, of course, the faster I write, the more illegible, it ends up being, totally unusable, not that it wasn't, to begin with. How shitty, can a first draft, spinning, sucking, and clucking project, be? I am afraid, of most everything, and I've got to get over it, now. I may never be comfortable again, not that, I ever was. There is no one, no handshake, no clue, no secret, no reserve. There is just the hard, and single fact, that I am a mentally retarded person. Cope with the doubtful, the maybe/maybe nots! Please keep your shoes on, stop that, at once. Plow your damn field, go nye-nye. Words can be found, somewhere, or the other. Thank goodness, this is the last page, and I can get up, and start doing the shit I should have done, two years ago. Blow that hair, off the end of the pencil, violently. It's still there, quick, figure something out, get an application to a graduate school, build a future, now, and have a place in it, bring a portfolio, then, of what you are doing, now. Don't drop out, don't be a ne'er do well, don't just sit there, getting fatter. Ask for it, by name! I can’t even spell anymore, I’m telling you, part of my brain, has rotted away. Your palms are sweating, what are you going to put on a dance card, now (nothing)? Censor me, and you will get to know me, that’s for damn, sure! We like the constant rubbing. Stare at them, secretly. Look at a fire hydrant, like it's the most crazy thing, you've ever seen, in your life. Shut those companies, and industries, down. Take the third turnaround. It’s so raw, so animal. All I want to do, anymore, is scream! The economic projections, are gloomy, this is an incredibly docile, and controlled, life, I'm leading. Asia has thrown me for a loop, there has been a heist, I need more education, and training (as well as a back-up career). The mistake I made, was in assuming, that I'd find my way, without having to prepare; my messy, goofball, life, wasn't planned. My grades, in any school, were not good enough. From now on, in a very different way, it will be done, to get me ready for it, even though, I should be in court, right now. Things could be worse, but they are, pretty bad. Is there any way, that anything I'm doing, will ever help me, in any way? I am a sick seed, immobile, and immovable, man/boy/child/infant. Get off of your ass, walk up to a telephone, create a one, where there isn't. You do not have any potential, you've got to fight. Sixty more years, of drifting, wishing, hoping, and failing? No, you have got to be the best, in a field. Make your life, into one, worth having, do not even think about, taking a bath, or a nap, or a little drive, through town. Don't pretend to be Norwegians, get out there, and make/force, the system, to work for you. Things are already, too bad, to even let us get out of here, in one piece, and feel the least bit, secure, about it. If you try to find your way to the top, you will never get there. You've got to climb over other people, on your way up there, do so. Do whatever it takes, this is too impossible, and insanely difficult (they do, it is nothing, it is nowhere)? I am so doggoned sick, of writing about not being able to find a… Find all Biblical references, and remove them. No last chances, allowed.
I guess that didn't work too well; enough experimental crap? Disordered delirium, the tension of double entendre, and insanity, amidst order, who's feeling a little fishy, now? Well, all the ideas are in place, about how to get out of these conundrums, I'm in, I guess, I think. No showboats are going to be docking, just for you. Well, draw your circles, engage your sponge, complete your foray, into the plain drain, of the crab cakes. Remember the pillars in front of the old house, and what it must have meant, with a bat in one's hand. Do your lollygag, print. What the hell is this fishbowl side of life, supposed to reflect, off of the bowl's subtle contours? How much is any one man supposed to read, before he stops being an idiot? My hair is tied into a bun. We used to be better at hiding who we were/are. If there is nothing to lose, if you have nothing, nothing is going to happen. Do whatever you have to do (including this), to get free. What kind of fish are you planning on throwing my way, anyhow? No, this it not for the money, it's for the chance to showcase my excellence, if indeed, I even, have any. How to mix positive thrills, and sexy feelings, into dust ridden hallways? No, I will not clean your office, I've cleaned enough. Tape recorders, eh? Index cards, visions of being on the front steps of some court building, a la, some 50's television hero, for truth, and justice. It seems pretty easy to me, and I am lacking in certain endowments, I could go without news, or media "knowledge," for years, it doesn't matter. How in the hell is writing about quilting, arts and crafts, going to possibly make me a better writer? No, all or nothing, I am angry, frustrated, dissatisfied, ugly, not thrilled, not cute, or funny/chubby/sexy, I don't honestly know, what it is, I have to offer you. A perspective, no more unique, than that weird guy at the market. I'm anti- but want to, with all of my being? Let me spread love all over, and walk to that one restaurant across the street, from your office, confidently, and not looking like I just dropped off flowers. Writing is easy, it is the other crap, the rules of publication, and the time, that all this crap takes, that has slowed me down. Let me ask the mayor what he's hiding, with all this. Downtown is still like the freaky fun house/spooky mirrors ride, at the amusement park. Everything is a matter of bare survival. Do not be content. They torment, and tease us, torture, and taunt us, for no real reason, except that, they can. What comes out of the horn? The antidote to pain, is failure. How did it get so late, so fast? Turn the crushing, out. Well, I refuse to start small, or think small, or take "baby steps," it's all bullshit, most of what we're told, is. It takes quantum leaps, and a lack of ordinary physics, to get the heck out, of what the hell, we're in. My interests are nil, my skills, honed, some sharpness. I do not get along with everybody, but I do drive, and sometimes, break out in song, randomly. I am the best, I no longer care, how many résumés you receive per day, by so, and so, what's her face. This whole solemn process, is not so high falutin', as we're conditioned to believe, it is. Let's see, write stories, check your facts, your spelling, punctuation, talk on the phone, type, what? I am not some pretentious, fancy, person, I am not an asshole, or "difficult," or a social anything, or a butterfly. I don't care about myself, or my face, or whether my name is spelled correctly, I want, and need, to do a job, that matters. I cannot wait, slowly mature, be patient, start small, I am an old man. I'm not encouraged by this, no, this is not appropriate. My enjoyment threshold, my ability to win friends, and influence others, my stock market ideas, my peculiar sensibilities, and insensibility’s, what do any of these qualities, really matter, when looking for a job, of this caliber? See, I am shooting for the top, on purpose, I won't be spun around by creeps, and told to sit down. I am imagining all these things... imagining them, as if they really happen. Not in a dream, wishy-washy way, no. I'm sorry, I cannot accept being a contributing writer, or no, I want a real job, with a desk. I cannot accept wearing the “outfit,” and wandering around, in front of the new theater site. I'm in conflict within myself, I have enough issues, problems, tensions, of my own, I cannot accept anything less, then super, good, happy feelings, crazy sexiness, happy thrills. Let's do this thing, correctly, let's not duck into any alleys, and have any crises. What I need at this point, are readers, every one of whom, are my saviors. This smells good, I like the smell of the ink, on the paper. I can do everything, I could be a genius, or I could be a complete moron, I'm unsure of which way, on the teeter-toy, I'm tottering. Ask about the radiation, don’t mail this. They provided us with a dumpster. Be negative, it’s closer to the truth.
Force the unit, to function. I want the stainless steel. I've no experience (to speak of), save, this overwhelming passion, for... I don't even know why. This may all seem, a bit silly, I assure you, it is not. I am, however, concerned about my weight, recently, and don't really see what place that has in a letter. A position for which, I may not be qualified (in fact, which may, or may not, exist). Listen, if you let me in the cave, I'll promise not to reveal your, or anyone else's, identity. I will swoon, croon, and try to keep up with appearances, I will obey most of the rules, and I will get in trouble for that. We need stability, tradition, concrete, or steel statues, down there. Larger than life, grandiosity, tempered with shyness, and humility, greatness, with self-control, paramount of this, and that. Knowing which way to turn on the highway, not for me. I'm not perfect for this role, I may not even be good. But this is an audition tape, of some kind, and I, myself, concede, that it is indeed, a little screwy. What does it matter, what I've done before? I'm no longer there. I can do anything, but need to be able to prove this, I'm doing my part, in the destiny crap shoot and beyond that, I really don't care what happens to me. The sound of hair, synapse of crawfish, brain soup, nocturnal punk, real audio. Delicate prose, is for leg scratchers. Wee hours of the night/morning, surprising, sensory bouquets? Wild, destructive, nocturnal, icing, cool, oh, so cool. This is contentedness, this is wordy, and she knows it, concentrate on toxicity, enjoy the damned, emphatic nature, of the meandering process. Porter street was grim. It must have all been an act. Smell it tumbling down. Whoa, free t-shirts! How many of your friends, charge you for their time? How am I going to pay for this? And if nothing should ever come of this, we'll at least, get our letters read, on the air. Don’t tell me what to do, or how to do it. Figure out the partially formed, connections. Tenacity, and plain English, and is any of this, significant? Her husband leaves her alone, in her inverted, warehouse home, and I forget her rank. What kind of letter could I ever hope to write to her? Interrupt the two questions. What has happened to my legs? See, she used to ride horses (wink, wink). A cornucopia, of what? The virus is humanity, it will destroy itself. We’ve lost all of our abilities. Senses, and earlobes, scientific verbiage, aside, please, write something better, than what is commonly, written. We grow weary, of our jobs. Anne has tried to tie it all back, to the underlying me, what is this shit? The static, seemed to be communicating some kind of message to me. Discipline, is sorely, lacking. AIR. Talk, of the door, or entrance. Acknowledge no false witness. Our laws, are for the most part, automatically followed. Can honest critiques, even be bought, these days? Sometimes, you go out, and buy new shoes, and have nowhere to wear them, don't let this be you. I observed that there were aerials, up on the top of the buildings. Quiet, and self-contained, manipulation. Nomenclature, frames per second, don't make yourself too beyond, beyond. This entire neighborhood, this entire town, is going to be like the parts of Rome, you tour through, with binoculars, and funny hats on. What true words, am I attempting to hatch, on this particular, egg cracking, glance sideways? There weren't any famous actors, dying to play any of the parts, that I have gone into such detail, designing for them. I've done very little with my life, so far. What about the people under thirty? Something must have happened to the original bassist. Reclusive people, get haggard, and wiggly. Dirty, bent, contented, technical details, I am just taking dictation, from some guy on a boat. Anxious, unamused, sick, of being sick of it all? Was it tortellini? If you do not fit in, you are doing quite well. The film school jam concepts, may mark you, as a friend, of a fiend. Ponder the moniker, you could very well wind up stuck with it. Keep your filthy paws out of my… ouch. Some things never change, unfortunately, for us, it’s usually the things we wish, would, that never do. Muscle up the sounds, get a grip on what there is to see, and do, around here. TA-DA, TA-DA, and I'm asking, very nice. Something horrible has happened, and it has happened, too fast. We need clowns, nightclubs, open all night, with the pleasant remedies, cranked up amplifiers, quick dry shoes, order, a place to put all our stuff. I don't know if I actually have a computer, I can't believe in what I am experiencing, currently. My spice, has drifted away. My pictures were never developed, or lost, of course, I have waited so long, to move so slowly, forward, only to be sent to the back of the line, again. It would be different, if I had a nice figure. See, for now, there's no use in wishing things were back, the other way. My confusion, is oh-so-thick. How many more years, can these things, occur? Healthy, or sick, proper, or improper? When we lose, we are lost, when we wish, we are (maybe) going to get? Mourn your losses, publicly, worry about the next book, before the first one, is done. Try to maximize space.
Events are coming up. How quickly can this be done? So, the court, and insurance troubles, are now, officially, over. Now, get motivated for what's left to do, on your to-do list. It is more than time, to get started, now. Fear not, don't look back, go forward, do all the shit, that you've got to do. Everything was forged, on the A train, on the insurance side, he took care of, and paid for it. I did eat in the middle of the night, and I called the cemetery, I made purchases I shouldn't have, and I am taking too much time, doing frivolous things, such as, this. Something has got to give, be cut out, be forced down the pike, into waste, tubes, slop heaps. Put down the first, true, word. Long ago, ridiculous, becomes absurd, to think of, now. Keep in touch, with what you're doing, versus, what you should be. No more blank spaces, in your take action, thought mode. Wow, this guy is really crazy. The partitions must come down. The fire consumed me, totally. Nowhere to run to, no serpents to ride, no more help, about, in regarding, getting a pseudo-résumé, out, and into the mail, today. Sometimes, I stare at the lightbulb, for hours. This is just, what it takes. I have noticed, my face, is becoming as bloated, as the rest of me. Let us gather together, and hold hands, sing songs. Look at all those unlooked at, newspapers, feel the unemployment, fetch a fix, of a grandiose sort. My thumb is causing a great, many problems. I need more education, time, to figure shit out. Plan better, and do more. Don't keep going over them, don't stumble, from ditch, to ditch, don't tour homeless shelters. It takes a lot of effort, to avoid, or shirk, responsibility. When I look at my self, I see, nothing there. When I think about where I'm going, from there, I see nowhere. I have become a "not particularly attractive," sort of person, who's gonna’ help me, to become someone/something, else? Loans, are not made to homeless people, grants, and fellowships, are not given, to people who don't apply for them. Get a bubble kit, and blow. Repent, recant, get sane, wake up, don't slide, don't fetch, don't stumble, or squeeze, jerk, or flame broil, anything. If I could have a few, uninterrupted hours, to squeeze my zits, in private... Woe is he, who has fallen into the realm. Mark my words, so far, this is, pointless. Now, that is the smell of human shit, flushed, the water, the scent is in the air, the sounds of opera, all these things, intermingle, to cause nausea, and vomiting. If there is to be a famine, let it be a new kind, an on-purpose kind. You don’t want to know what they say about you, behind your back. I feel so fat, and ugly, and greasy. My shoes feel plastic, I'm horribly unorganized; for the time being, stop waltzing, so incoherently. Ways, ignored, new advice, consent, help, messages, interstate phone calls, useless. My will is gone, my heart, nonexistent, my sloppy pail, has tipped over. Don't assume that you're going to be pleasantly, surprised. My desires, will no allow me to talk on the phone, for eight hours a night. Look at how far you've got to go, and then, get moving. Don't throw keys around the no-name room, wear clothes, rent space, keep quiet, rebel silently, don't be a moron, a beer drinker, a prodigy. We may giggle, giggle, ha-ha, but, in actuality, we’re not really laughing, or even, amused, at all. Keep your emphasis on one thing, at a time, dog-ear the pages, forget about your discontentment. It doesn’t take a lot of observation, to see, that things are fucked up, everywhere. Leave the food to the eaters. This is all so stupid, yet, it's all standing in my way, of doing other things. I've got to get back in school, got to re-regulate my life, rise early, and all that. There is no intermittent, falling, now. Now, I can smell my own discharges. Definitiveness of purpose, money, laying her down, taking two dollars, to avoid being broke. The older, the worse. This is a different tour, a process, so prolonged, they want quiet people, to sit, and do their work? Oh, oh, huh? First of all, I am not applying to your organization. I must set myself apart, from the thousands, per day. FAX it, fuck it, be a maniacal, nut. The readership, cannot drop any further, we must cause it, to rise. I have no desire for any spotlight/showcase, but I will perform, on your stages. You need fresh voices, that will attract readers. I had thought (wrongly) that all aerials, had been removed. How in the hell can I ever get syndicated, if I don't do a good job at a local thatch hut? New ideas, instead of sexual fantasies, and redundancy. Pack that punch, swell guy. It is important, to grab people off the street, and be astonished by their opinions, on a wide variety of subjects. Only one Mozart, only one, anybody. I know nothing, myself, only slightly. What's it like to get drunk, in these places? What do the doormen, think? What the hell is it really like, to be loved, at work? Everybody who used to work, in most of the now abandoned, factories, are dead, what would they, have said? I have none! Don't emulate, any plastered ballerinas. Not a day goes by, that I fail to think of her. Try to get that/these car/cars, out of the driveway, today. A disembodied vagina? Courage, is the real killer. I used to clean, for a living. Tell the folks down there, which pants, are which. Why should I change, to make things easier, for people, to understand? Not feeling tight, sexy? Shachle us to the sure, with x-rays, broken promises.
