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This is really not, 1955! We need a good deal, now, no confusion. Looking through the newspaper, for anything, could prove to be, an exercise in futility. Will these at-home buyers, try to screw us? Two to go, got a few, random, isolated, ideas, down. Be a good whittler, if you please. Write that letter, or those letters, that you haven't written, yet. Finish reading that thing, on syndication. It is more than important, that you understand business, the industry, or industries, are constantly, changing. My piece of shit cars, are not so out of place, in the ghetto. When I was a kid, a ghetto car was like a huge thing, from ’71, just, giant. Nothing is as sexy, big, bold, and/or frightening, as it used to be. Nobody's going to hire me to freelance. Freshness they want, well, then I am a dripping, oozing, fruit. Cultivate the vegetables, spot, new, rising, trends, and shit, that is happening. The next time you go to town, do not do so with a butt plug up your ass, and your mouth, shut. Don't stop now, with all of those wonderful, business ideas, gift giving, writing anywhere, and on anything. Let there be a famine, let the supply tankers, through the straits of Wabegogash. Keep your eye on the clock, and call, at the appointed time. I don't want to collect, I must. Is there anyone that you could talk to, or collaborate with, who might see things another way, down there? Pure suffering, my experience, has been that, what you think is happening in the nightclubs, is not. The world is still blindingly (fried) conservative, boring, long, drawn out. My ass, is not fodder, for you, salesman! Nothing has ever been accomplished, by sitting around, and waiting for something to happen, without, having previously, done anything. I don't want to be normal, or fit in, I wanted to blend in, it all got locked up, to be, is to be a little bit more than willing, to change. Get me off of the high tailed, midget, salute, I thought that I was dancing, but could have been sadly, mistaken. The one worth pursuing, could very well be at Dingo. Cash those checks, send that money order. I figure it all out, but then, “conveniently forget,” doing so. Do the things, that you haven't even thought of doing, for years, as well as the things that you must, and then do them, now. Don't try to attract me to your place of work, with dollar signs, and smiley faces, stars, and all that, because, I know, for sure, what is going on over there. Shall I do some basic filing. All of that, this, everything else, can be used. Everyone that you come into contact with, has shuttered their windows, to you. What the hell does it matter, what the characters do for a living, or who their fathers are? There may be solace in the solarium, no one is talking, or thinking, about you, your ideas about the car in the driveway, are stupefying, ridiculous. No one just goes, to Singapore! This is not going to happen, it's too much like too many other movies, it's stilted, and clicked. Shady ears, mysterious this, and that, or, any other kind of kinky things, you can't think of? This is, hundreds, of other things. Really, and not being near; no, no. Why would they ever take the wife hostage? This is crap. Of course, the bad guy dies, in the finale. What storage area, and how is it found? He grabs his wife, and they reconcile these differences. Too cheap, and tawdry, I don't know what I'd do, but cannot ever allow myself, to do anything, like that. Bipolar, obsessive/compulsive? Well then, be so, in the right ways. Specialize in doing certain things, well. Abandon the behavior, that is obviously, not working. You deserve better, than these squalid conditions, get up, and do something, or, don't. I have created enough crisis, out of sheer boredom, to write seven novels. What we wanted, was sex, what we got, was, out. I am feeling myself starting to fall into the realm of total, absolute fear. No one need know, the archetypes, but you, start from there. Try to have a good time. You can’t remember your last words. It’s like electrical volts, were being applied. You don't really need to shit, right now, you just want to get up, walk around. I just felt unworthy, not all that sexy. The stupidest people, are the most rich, and powerful, at least, in this country. Well, the break was too long, and time is going way too, slow/fast, I've done nothing at all, in any way. There are errands to do, the judicial system, is completely backwards, everything is wrong, and getting weird. I just ate, maybe, for the first time, today, who knows? All I want to do, is have a nice, normal, stable life, without problems, such as these. Someone has got to have mercy on me. Criticism, must be a part of laudatory essays. Parts of this are pedantic, ridiculous. Fly, like organic peanut butter. As of now, there's no chance of going to graduate school, in this field. Beer was spilled, all over the damn room. Why, oh, why, does this take so long? What meaningless event, will transpire, next? I don't have time for this, I barely know where I'm going, on the road, to act clever, and genuflect, is not for me. There's still a lot of space, to be used up, here, and to waste, or take up, space; what the hell are you doing, if it's all for this? Be a catalyst, fear not, whisper loudly, try to explain away, all the mistakes (impossible). The stench of a dead pelican, starved to death, is no worse, than millions of humans will be, when we start too quickly, or slowly, being wiped off the surface of the earth. Don’t push it, whatever it is. Spin the globe, make a wish (choose wisely). The beer tent collapsed on Joe, and the boys.

A guide to how to write honestly, and truthfully, return to the heading, make up shit, get facts. So drunk, that even now, thirteen hours later, or something, I still can't smoke a cigarette. So crazy, so, so crazy, and not at the best, possible time, so out of sorts, so many problems. Let's get into them, the pizza place, was closed, loneliness, I still haven't done, all the shit, I have to do. Pound, pound, pound. My throat hurts, there is glitter on my face, no mind, no senses, mind gone, now. I want to do this more quickly, and more thoroughly, at the same time. Normal drive down, nothing to drink, at first, then, not even then, after that, horrible, uncontrollable, binge drinking. You got any change? Lies, probably a bunch. Grabbing, groping, buying everybody drinks. They took a part of my key chain, that I never even knew existed. I got to highlight a few years of my life, last night. Then, failure, pain, shame, hate. Forget all about such; and such, apparent secrets. This is a chore, but, must be completed, New Bomb, torch singer. Loon, loon. Euclid, was so fond, of what can be seen from any backyard. But, my behavior careened out of hand, I became lecherous, I started in. Now, to try and recall the fogginess, why must I do such, all, or nothing, types of things? It's a good thing that wasn't who pulled up, because I'd have gone, subsequently, this would be done, much later, if at all. Will there be any secrets, forthcoming? Ah, shit, don't even get me started, there is no way to explain away, bad behavior, I am not a part. The whole thing, was a mess. I woke up, I think I pissed in my pants. Horrible craziness, ensued, thoughts of all sorts, took place. Did shit, resurfacing now, vampire's kiss? What the hell is all this shit? Two gin and tonics, after all the rest? This is not funny, my resolve, my resolve. Why things repeat, and repeat, so insanely? I think that I was there. Someone offered total nonsense, and I had, an albeit, brief, conversation, with him. Yet again, I’m questioning the existence, of everything. Our legs hurt. Cover the State Fair, the court trial, the restaurant opening, yeah. Go honey, hush. Spoke of musical ideas, before I became too far gone, foolish. Oh, airplanes, cars, terrors, and fears, many versions of the same story. Cut off on the highway, asshole! Now, suddenly, there is a softness. Trying to figure it out, unsuccessfully. My self control, has never been there, it isn't gone, per se. Now, a hangover, is a most unusual phenomenon, glitter discovered, close to the curb, not stopping. If I could make virtue, a vice, it would all work out, but I screw up, constantly. We are not important. I don’t want to hurt myself, Doctor, I want to kill, destroy, annihilate, myself. Why, at my age, do I insist upon getting drunk? The pictures, were very dry. The fact that I’ve kept at this, is highly preposterous. Life was supposed to be much bigger, better, something. What is going on, what is the matter with me? Don’t abandon me now, not this way. The church bathrooms, all smelled like formaldehyde. And I stink, something has got to happen, positive events, have got to take place, to compensate for the negative. This is no screenplay, believe me. Not now, no birch, right now, Hammy, my mistakes. What the hell is going on, with these bells, and whistles, and those closet sins? That one woman, was laughing at me. I'm crazy, and insane. There is no sense, writing, about writing. Get on top of the clock, do something. Well, you see, confusing, awful, just awful. A long stream, into a weird parachute, my posture, my dentures, my teeth, my gums. There wasn't any music playing, I've once again, misplaced my keys. None of this is funny, this is one, long, New Year's Eve (you got drunk). Don't laugh, do not assume, that normal people, get the Sunday papers. Such a computer, cigarettes, outside, what is happening here? These are more than mistakes, everyone there, was in advertising. Pick your nose, spitting, over there, in the water, all kinds of weird, psychotic, hand movements. Oh, dammit, here. Stop thinking back to, "one of them in every town." We exhausted experience, now, travail. I am not doing, what I'm supposed to. Who knows what time it is? To say that it's Sunday, again, isn't even funny, what I need, is a thorough cleaning. It may as well be, years away, look at this, and tell me, if you imagine it could come, any sooner. Passed out, cold, the sweat, or piss, feeling fatter, and more bloated, than ever, trying to escape from myself, so troubled, down, etc. Worried about Birdie! Picture birch trees, gently swaying, in the wind. Picture an oyster, an industrialist, a restaurant, a city in flames. Take whatever you want. My disease got the best of me. My circulation is poor, I’ve been pigeon holed, figured out.

No scoops, sneakiness! Show me your pants, come out of the fog, get over the hangover, the drunk, must sober himself up, addiction must stop, health, must ensue. People are out there, smoking bowls, right now. Too many years have passed, too many strange things, have happened. No dreams, ever, thus, daydreaming, creating this, and that, not being... absolutely present. Did I step on anything, that I wasn't supposed to step on? What, praytell? Ancient, dead, patriots, and statesmen, didn't have all of the toys that currently exist, if they did (oh-oh). Yea! Yea! Yea! Let it go, where it will. Let your hand take over, where your brain, is afraid to go. So afraid. Dogs, and wild ass inebriation, awful shit happening, horrible, greasy, shit. Then, others, moving up in the world, as I collapse back down. Angry people, belong in a home, for the resting. Tired trends, are forced across the pages. It will happen, or, will it? Push, beyond the natural boundaries, and limits. Everything would appear to be taking place, I don't feel as if I'm doing my part. Now, thunder, and other things, that boxer's, say. The pain, I may scream, to reenter that place, revenge, never. The permanent damage, caused, mind, mind. Remember over there, that town, within a town, the feeling of madness, that overcomes? Seven, is a a heaven, now, he's a beaver, cha-cha, who will be next? Feel the heft of the cum? Now it will be as if it were peanut butter, now, suddenly, peanuts, are all the rage. Alcohol is a killer, no more waking up in jail. Diets and exercise, simmer, commence, commit. Remember the permanent, where is the wood? Get it! The power is taking too long, to get back. So many improperly, crumbling blessings, to count. Let's join a choir. Farewell, my sexy, little, love slave. Will there be an animal? Let there be an animal. Talk, in a language. Don't give me a finger, let me light this candle here. Who's creepy, lucky? Let there be a painted thing, awful, some kind of disease. So ill, that I think I'm becoming well, now. Where are the funeral parlors? My balance, and equilibrium, are so off. Put the cat, and dog, in the car, and wheel them around. Oh, I loved her, despite what I’ve said since, but that was a long, time ago. My fantasy life, becomes so vivid, and beautiful, as my real life, slowly, withers away. I am, too often, rejected. We paused at the shopping center. All I feel like doing, ever, is sleeping. The deep, blue sadness, is what keeps me down. Caw, caw, beats, cluck, cluck? The world is cold, even in the summer. It is as if these voices that I hear, are taking on stereophonic properties. We drive around, downtown, pissed, crying no more. Reverse chronological order, look at the hump, sex, is not going to happen. Take the garbage out, as a joke, no one wants to hear my crap. Look alive, say, survive, like a lemon, as it drifts. No biting yourself, or making those kinds of trees, that clown statue, beatings, the key, oh, red paint at the bottom of the door, points will be tallied. Looks over cake, painted frames, below, belong, stop. The kid, pounding, and beating, on the pop machine. Where did you leave the car? Who needs what, why? What sort of fruits, are these? Most people have important things, that they need to do. Oh, down, and up, those escalators, that are supposed to put me there, or here. No viciousness, no faggoty motions, move to town, don't get fuzzy on me, now. Bounce into the moment, clear this room, don't you drink any more alcohol. Fat, candy fingers, are reaching into the bowl. Shaking your head, kick the garbage bag full of cans, over. No (hope, hype) homelessness. It's over, don't you ever Himalaya, all over the place, again! Fun, sexy, sort of wishes, and all the parts we like best, lie, exposed. To even say in jest, that you still want to see-saw, with so and so, is not going to get you anywhere in life. Thief, keep walking, straighten out these insane messes. Did I ever tell Cheesy, what I was thinking? The cast will make up a story, to explain the vagina. Talking about 1976, tar-tar, this is not a real sort of feeling. Let us sing, and let us dance more, uh, let's get out, and make a great peach, open up for us. Seeds, and stems, the long list, of what she's doing now. Weeks have passed, cherry, cherry, standing at the corner of the sidewalk. When I danced, I was making fun of that guy, but I liked him, immensely. He may have been sent, to straighten me out. My appearance became an issue. Don't kill your daughters. Don't deplore this, or despair that, there is a White Keachum, Iowa, issue, to confront. For years, this is foolish. When the attack strikes, and the contours of the graphite are followed, you will lose your stomach's contents, for sure. The big shot, will get his fill. Wilma broke her hip, in two places.

Get the other person's point of view, slant, whatever. The asylums have all closed, they are on the streets. Pursue the, kind of, catechism. Never really alone, but, saying so? Maniac, clueless, hangover kind of, feelings. Must fix my head, before it's too late. Got to get up, and go over there, avoid food, at all costs. Success is some other kind of something, that doesn't exist, right now. Don't use one problem, to try and solve another one. Love can't go to waste. There are mirrors, and there is a need, to pay really, close attention. No crushing defeats, no asshole wipings, no nausea. Like a gingerbread kind of thing, if it can be done. Old people should be the way that our… imaginations, intense, profound, voices, crushed t-shirts, in cans. Wrinkled faces, absolutely conspicuous, I can't understand, there is a rhyme, and reason, to be discovered. Grabbings are sneaky, don't let smooshy shit, happen. Drugs aren't the logic, that I think, druggies think, they've discovered. What? My total nervousness, crushes the miracle, of feet. Why are certain pages, marked out, with ink, these intestines, this wicked, skimp. There is a serious, hard core, fear, right now, the fear of news, getting published, perhaps, looking too far to the end, but still. A submitted manuscript, must be perfect, everything about it, must be, in every conceivable way, imaginable. I am possibly, becoming redundant, here, please forgive me, if this should be the case. I must learn to flush the toilet, beyond that, however, I have grave concerns, that what I write, won't be good enough. It won't be perfect, some mistake, will ruin all my chances. Everything I do, is a damn mistake. Fill in the blanks, of your own life, with scenes from hers. To be, is to be hurt. I'm not working, hard, or long enough, issues, pertaining to rejection, thin-skin, flakiness, tenderness, loneliness, pie-in-the-sky notions. Her lips seemed to be tampered with, in some way. Go into the hole, don’t ever come back out again. I need to be beyond reproach, totally clear, of mind, and body, no addiction/recovery issues, I need to find/get, that rock bottom stability, that I seem to lack, utterly. My steps need to be a little bit bigger, because, I haven't yet, done anything. At this point, I am one of those people who just talks, without ever having made anything, happen. My fears have become real, and my terrors, justified. How did I let things, come/get to, this point? Swing for double, what you currently get. My goodness, how quickly, damage can get done, that renders our plans, irredeemable. He will cheat on her. My life is running out, for reasons other than I, can surmise, imagine, understand, at all. They had an eight foot camera, out in front of the store. Use your imagination, or else. Stop that, havarti, no farting, no whistling. Good-bye, job security, lust, obsession, growth. Clear (crow), unencumbered, grace, having to do with, the truth, is what is required. No more fanciful notions, I'm an argument, from being homeless, out in the street, starving, freezing, too much pride, to ask for help, not knowing where to turn, terrified, horrified, victimized, ruined, empty, screwed, underneath a front porch. Somehow, I managed to put myself into this extremely, uncomfortable position. Jail is more of a possibility now, than at anytime, in the past, I thought that I was over this. The word must, has never resonated more, in my cavern of a mind, more than it does now. I am not being dramatic, I was, but, not anymore. What the hell is going to happen to me? How did what has happened, so far, end up happening? Who is going to pay for all this? My tears are going to fall, for reasons quite different, from how I thought they would. There isn't going to be any award, handed out to me. An obsession with backyards, is like something, someone would rant about, in a lunatic asylum. Craziness is not funny anymore, it's happening. What I write, might not make much sense, I'm trying (but, maybe, not hard enough). Who in the hell is ever going to care, about any poem, I should care to write? I need to become much, more real, more manageable. My threads are so worn, I've been wearing this suit for weeks. Total, and absolute, insanity, has overtaken me, I don't know how to get out of it. Medication will not help, ranting about music, those crazy ideas, aren't even real, and don't make any sense. I know that people close to me, are keeping track of how many days in a row, I have worn this suit, and it's a lot, and it's not right, it's sick, it's crazy. Recover, my friend, and recover yourself, quickly. I no longer care, about the toys in the cereal boxes. This is not one of those games, that I play in my head, anymore. You are huge, and I don't mean that in a good way, at all. This is real, and a total reversal, is necessary, to save yourself. Nothing short of extreme measures, should be taken; not considered. You let yourself go, and only realize it, sometimes. How you let this happen, doesn't matter, as much as undoing, what's been done. You look like your high school photo. You finally did it, yes, as if all that pseudo anorexia, was a trick, you played on yourself. As has always been the case, extremes... oh, man, you eat, constantly. You cannot eat, almost anything, this is a real thing, a big deal, a facade, a deception, a lie, fib, false front. I hit myself, because. Where is my imitation, cowboy hat? Scratch harder, then.