Self negation, well, when you can’t have a self, what’s really being negated, but another ruse, another cracked persona? When there is no cause, because everything is hopeless, when they start to close the golf courses, to build more mausoleums, when the disease hits, real close to home…maybe a prototypical panic, and some panacea? Doom is outright denied, despair is derided, people like me, are the freaks who are forever unwashed, and unpublished, while shiny Mary, down the street, makes millions from her “Angel” books. This is the way it goes, and usually, I’m okay with it. Depression, what was I thinking about that lovely affliction, recently? Ah, probably denying it’s existence, as usual. Trying to tell myself, that there really was a naked girl running by, instead of an opossum, with a broken back. Me and my ridiculous, never ending, questions. Well, it shows curiosity, but that won’t do you any good at the bank, in the advertising boardroom, or even at the university of Huffenblow, where they don’t know what it is. Give me a pitchfork, and some ointment! I can’t afford to be depressed anymore, simply because, I’m too depressed to work. Interpersonal relations, equate to keeping the image of a certain person in mind, while masturbating, nothing more. Today, I sent out eleven résumés, to companies I didn’t really want to work for, and it said so, in the résumés! We’ll see how well those joints value honesty, at least, I’m sure not much at all. Disappointment is not “getting over our preconceived notions,” maybe it is at first, but now, it’s all about, well, it’s what this whole book is about. I’ve been on fire, people have seen me that way, beyond manic, now, I’m all wet, and even if those same people could see me now, they wouldn’t recognize me. Disinterested, silent, invisible, wasted, defeated, wrecked, I’ve come a long way from being chubby, funny, little rah-rah boy. Up to the cupula, with wicked, amoral, thoughts. We know how to use a washboard. It’s like taking your pants off. Escaping unpleasantness? May you shit, like a maniac squeezing frosting out of a pastry bag, or in a fashion similar to this. Masturbation, is better than sex. They aren’t going to let you, win the game. My life, is just not going the way it needs to go. We inspire ourselves, in a lacksadaisical way. Nobody knew how to be. I’m afraid that I cannot say that I am looking forward to my new job, that starts in two hours, time. You’ll spin yourself, right into necessity. When it’s sunny, we don’t notice it, when it isn’t, we do. Try the glow in the dark, kind. I don’t, and haven’t, oh, well, what can be done? Switch writing utensils. I don’t give a fuck how I’m perceived, and I never have. Hurry up, put anything down, die of cancer, then…the horrible pain. Don’t watch the clock, keep your eye on the paper, do not stop, under any circumstances. This feels really forced. Saw another girl naked, so what? The diagrams told of…look up into the trees, at all the birds nests. There isn’t any time, as usual, to do anything that would be to my benefit. The anger, it isn’t going away. The familiar trails, that are walked daily, have never their courses, been altered? My patterning being, and perception, are lacking, in several critical areas. I am the man in the home, in need of care, soon, I will announce, to whoever wants to know! Sitting around, driving around, I do too many stupid things. What do I really want to say? That the fish are biting, but that I have no bait, no lures, no tackle, no boat. A transformation may not be possible, it could very well be, that we’re stuck with ourselves, with who we are. The act, is wearing thin, I can’t even imagine how that page got where it got, without being manipulated by someone, in some way. A tree fell, and it was a big one. The dogs bark like crazy, and pull against their chains with abandon, rarely getting free. My mouth feels like it’s going to fall out, I am not impressed with myself, I don’t have any idea of how I’m supposed to act, in any given situation. Today, I’ll read the book, I’ll whittle, and wander, do dishes, clean, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. Perhaps it will be easy, too much so, or, the other way. Kindly, do not take your time. Don’t leave undone, what can, and must, be done now. It is your ability, to so easily pause, that has thrown you repeatedly, into predicaments, such as these. You should be happy, you are not, you see what you see, as you see it, and care for little else. It might get too late, too early, for you to do things, properly. Kick the book, and pad of yellow paper, out of the way, put some thought, into how you plan on presenting yourself. Don’t be embarrassed by anything, but, do things better. Add more quality into your overall life, and stop being such a schmuck, and utter failure. It’s never easy, it has never been, and will never be, for anyone. As usual, some problem befalls me, I start coughing, and can’t stop. I think about something inevitable, and horrible, and start trying to prevent the unpreventable. I had better decide to change my life, or there isn’t going to be any, to change. My foolishness precedes me, she knew this, and said something. The bowling ball got broken. Flay yourself, like a sympathetic, wing-ding.
Idiots never know what to do, I don’t know what to do, I am an idiot. As much time, as I convinced myself, yesterday, that I put into my “craft," it is honestly, about one third (1/3) of what it should be. See, you just seem to want to be content, that your pimples are gone, and do nothing else. There aren’t any sexual feelings, in fact, there never are, anything along those lines that I engage, in or allude to, are forced, learned. The traumas, and the shakedowns, the empty garbage cans, and the wild, manic, ideas, about somehow, connecting this house, and the one behind it, together, via “greenhouse paths." The drama unfolded, with Buddha statues, fountains, pools, minimalist furnishings, the connecting tunnel, or whatnot. Who am I fooling? I’m such a floundering flop; such a sick, demented pervert. Let’s not fool around here. At least, I didn’t eat the cheese, this time, last night, of course. Why can’t I go out, and sell shit, and make money, what is stopping me, what the hell is so difficult, or hard, about it? There is an extraordinary fear of risk taking, everything is undermined, before it’s mined, or minded. You do it, without fanfare or glory halleluia’s, you do it, and you don’t doubt for a second, that it needs to be done, and, shit, to fall behind? They play the hit singles, continuously, nothing more. See how easy it is, to choose the wrong pencil? This book is only the skeleton of what I wanted to do. I fell off the playground toys. We attempt to augment, to increase, the relative. Somewhere along the line, I guess I decided, to hurt people, to confuse matters, to imagine myself to be either above, or below, most anything, not knowing in advance, which way I would respond, to either. See, I don’t need this pressure; this is skyscraper, window washer kind, of pressure, and it’s a long way down. As usual, I am going to have to be forced to run out the door, and rush to someplace, without any idea of where the hell I’m going. I am so ashamed of myself, I am so incomplete I might as well break my own thumb, on purpose, see…my stupid head. What’s it gonna’ be, now? Which way are you planning on turning, and how temporary is this gonna’ end up being, anyway? You’ve still got two whole lifetimes, left to go, and that doesn’t include this one. What happened to your handwriting, when did you become nothing more than a scribbler? When, or how, this happened, whatever it is; well, I can’t explain it, I don’t know what it is. All I know, is that there isn’t going to be any dancing, tonight. In the old days, you could ask me to read my last line, and it would be good, now, I have nothing. You know you’re in a danger zone, when culture begins to have an effect on you, positive, or negative. Poor honey into the two holes, and lick it out, slowly. Time your movements. The more waterlogged you feel, the higher likelihood, of being left out high, and dry, later on. Hanging with the shifter. Do not confuse your arms with…uh, gee, shit. My life is already over, this is crazy, and getting crazier. You don’t need to go there, that is not any kind of place, you need to be. We should shop around, and get several estimates. The blind woman, kept ordering some kind of fruit shake, out of season. Boris was the embodiment, and manifestation, of economics. Weird things are taking place, again. So much pot is being smoked, around the high school, that I’m high, way over here. I just had a vision, of an enormous pie. The whole thing is on pause, which is the only way it can be, right now. Two thousand years, of acting. Do not bend over, and spread for them, now. Is any of this, worth a second look? Wake yourselves up, whatever that may, or may not, mean to any of you. Perhaps, what we need, are parachutes. The fear of getting too good, is indirectly analogous, to the fear of getting caught. Nevermind that strange, and bizarre, stain on the page. I forget the name of it, but there is an ancient Japanese art, that is much in vogue, here/now, that perfectly describes this; in fact, it has to do with this. My torment, is hilarious, and it has always been there. Dinner was ruined, could anything be more informative? There are generally, no grants, for stupid people. When your thoughts betray you, betray them…see what happens, next. Write down the words, you would have said, had you not been interrupted, constantly, by rude assholes. The militia, has that feminine glow, and that Monday night, excitement. There is more worth saving, than I thought, previously. Find those really hard to reach, clitoris’s. If you can’t have one, you can’t have the other; shining, shaving, repining, playing with your lighter, until the whole pool, goes up in flames! Sell at least enough of one thing, to buy something else. A mixture in a can, could’ve given me a little while longer; were the famous last words. Don’t just be, be magnificent, and don’t forget to say good-bye, to little Debbie. In the meantime, make your friends famous. A lot of people like to pretend, that they are very sure of themselves. Write your own fucking manifesto! Stuck on the bar stool, eh? Out all night, again, don’t know where to turn, what to dream, who to involve? Don’t breed by accident, put the things you bought, into the boxes they came in. The denial of the correct circles… will not make you one of them. No more etceteras. Look at her, with all her pelvic toys spread out in front of her, the book on the table was, How to be Dumb. Do they still serve liquor, down at the Schvitz? There are no girls hiding in the bushes. Tumble into the shed, with reasons. As the room turns, the camera is unaware. This is what is referred to in the medical literature, as intensive work schedules. Why do we have to keep doing this? You will turn very still, very cold. Only talk to yourself. They would never believe me. It may be harder to read this book, than it was to write it, but I seriously, doubt it. I got careless/cancer, from the insulation. After the bombs are dropped, there won’t be anyone left to cry to, that may need to be left, unexplained. The plants are dying, as, they look expensive to me, somebody should be watering them. The petri dish, sucks the life out of whatever you put into it. They added a string arrangement to it. There is so much riding on this, that I can’t even admit it. Life comes at you, sideways (blindside). This is why I’ll never make it…
Smile, have other interests. There are not, there cannot be, anymore, this. Mr. Hexagon, face up to your fears! Get the physics, you’ve got coming to you. The town council, has just ratified a one month ban, on street protests. Weird man, goes over to pink man, and pushes him over. There are so many rough drafts of letters, lying around here, that I can’t believe, there are no stamps, anywhere. Vain boy; start here! Is this literature, is not the question to be asking, it is; is this anything, at all? See if the usefulness of the pen, has changed in the last eight hours. Refuse to go there, with them. How in the hell is it, that I’m still alive? Invent a new art. Arrive now, lionhead, arrive. There will always be vast storehouses, of “more to say,” but you don’t have to say it all, at one time. I know I was asked too many questions. We’re definitely getting closer, to the cinnamon roll. Eric is infallible, who’s that on the porch? Let… just let it scroll down. My unhappiness, doesn’t seem like it’s going to go away. I keep getting the feeling, that I asked the wrong questions. No more dairy, no more eggs! He’s around, and experimental, there are a great many newspapers, in this room. There aren’t any turn-on asses, at the drive-in, anymore. For crying out loud, come up with something. Restrain nothing, refrain from everything, go through and pick out words, at random, speed kills the censor. Have you ever thought that you just got out of the hospital, even though, you’ve never even been in, one? Figure out the outcome, through of all things, human reason. Waiting for something better to come along, means being a coward, while nothing else does. That “fucked up mistake," that needed to come to an end, now, I’ve forgotten what all of that was even about. Fill in the lines in between, of the suicide note, with wonderful happy, phrases, and thoughts. Who is hollering in the backyard, now? Just piss it away, snarl, twenty four hours a day, is too much for some of us. The hard part, is that, this, may never change. They look just like molecules, suspended in motion, but the sugar water, is beginning to yellow, a bit. Bleach, lice, and crap, floating in the bathtub. Think about fate, and try to figure out, if, and if so, in what way, it exists. The pies alone, are a foot high, which is crazy, if you ask me. Serial killers/cereal eaters, what’s really the difference, anyway? Years of this, will become still more of the same. When you find that your resistance is low, don’t stand in the middle of any street, yelling anything! All my degree gave me, was a compulsive desire/drive, to read. How far along would you say we are, right now? Our shared appendix, is inflamed, we are co-dependent, we need to share some kind of fondness, for some kind of something. Meet her, if you think you have to, at the bar/club. Back stall meetings, stall themselves, like pinup girls. They cancelled it/us. The kite is stuck in the tree. Stay away from there, it’s infested with safety nets, and routines, I threw up, right in the middle of the crowded poetry reading, out the window, of a moving car, and I was driving. Who was I eyeballing, in that afterwards satellite? The search is over, math is done, bodies found. This will be the focused statement, deliberate nonsense. This is a Cleveland kind, of depression. Let’s open up this envelope, and see what we find. Blast off into cast off, misplaced, media personalities, one way, one thing, looned, squared, twice. Up to the minute, trial coverage, we know what’s going on. Follow the missing, milk carton people, into country music dance halls, that we notice, only marginally, and sometimes. They are keeping a close eye on me. The Shaman, knocked the palsy, out of us. I just want to hide out in the silo, forever. There isn’t going to be a whole lot of satisfaction, for any of this. Nobody is unscathed, untouched. The final vacation, will be taken. I think I heard the mailman. Pretend to have a clue, to know the way out. We got caught, touching ourselves. Figures of speech, sump pump lovers, on the train, that derailed. Here is a puff, a little breath, meaning, another dalliance. The power must have gone off. Go get a left handed, smoke shifter. Pushing over appliances, looking out at the swamp, the geese, all attiter. Take the repetitive parts, out. Is there a cure for this, or not? So many corrections have been made, that this is a completely different book. Surprised by the lung cancer verdict, that was handed down? Instinctual fiddling, conditioned staring. Death obsessed, hanging onto the handrail, or butter churn, for dear life. The gangplank of capitulated disinterest. It looks, and feels, like real satin, but we know better. We all look like marshmallows, with the same, oh, so, subtle, differences. We do all the damage, we’re dying right now, and don’t know how it happened. Innovative solutions, to all your office needs. I was always polite, and frightened, wasted, by that hairspray spell, you had me under. Calendar girls, get lonely too, or, so the story goes. Expect the purple party truck, to keep driving around, and around, the block. This is who ‘the hidden’ are, and this is where they hide. One flesh, would bleed the same? A Vietnam kind of jealousy, wrapped up in wanting to, but being unable. A million left fielders, at a million high schools, can’t be wrong. None of us are alive, with our pitchers, of warm beer, and stale cigarettes, look, don’t sit next to me. We switch from printing, to cursive, randomly. Look, there is no art here, there are secretions. We can hear the squeaking, in the bird house. We earned our scars, and bruises.
Too many pages are turning up, with atrocious handwriting (one in twenty, is better odds). We’ve discussed this, I know, but as you’re no doubt aware, for me, discussion can turn out to be a virtual reality world, of burps, and gurgles. Overanalysis, no questions, no need…they’ve all been asked before. The same mistakes, over, and over, and no new words, no new ideas. Well, it turned out to be a victim-less crime, but things could have just as easily, gone the other way. Everything we reach for, is made of sand, but this is the way it’s always been. Back into the oxymoronic task, of taking complete responsibility, for things I’m not, or didn’t/don’t, think, that I’m responsible for. Throwing out the letters from the probation department. An explanation of the real reasons, for my stagnation, is long overdue. Declarations in regards to “shift it all around, and shake up the scene?” Fleeing, avoiding, disillusioned, trying to learn accordion. Trying to make all these negatives, into a positive, somehow. Well, I did like people, I used to do things, but something must have happened, along the way. It doesn’t matter where the tape, with the big band songs, is, because the tape player’s in a storage shack, in Indiana, with all my other worldly possessions. I see colors, and they seem to be intricately attached to the concrete, supposedly, apriori things, in themselves. Where’s that piece of paper? Intricate patterns of spider’s webs, moonlight shining through…huh? Supposedly urgent message, still lying in unopened envelopes since, March of 1995. Thirteen dollars, and seventy-seven cents, for bacteria cultures? It took from death, to three and a half months later, to get the type A, and type B, styles of operating a cash register, to work in conjunction. Swallowed whole, by the sink trap, behind the university. Scratching off coherence, and Mondays’ idea, of epistemological judgements. Social mores, and silky semantics, hiding places, self evident, cogito’s. No one’s ever, anything. There is a chance that a way, can be found. We want more, beg for more, or, at least, something different…and we don’t get it, ever. What is going to end up, happening? For an encore, sweep the room. See me when you’re sober, they all used to say. Black lump of shit, in the backyard. I keep throwing out lifesaving lines, but the nylon cord keeps getting tangled in, or on, the pier, the thing is all tied up in knots, can’t be thrown far enough. Let the tornado pass by, infuriating my somewhat, more sedate, and severe, states of mind. Honor/choke! Dates circled, voices cracking, I’d like to be half way to Stephenson, talk about dinners, hey! Aches, pains, exhaustion, disease, despair, suffering, grief, and guilt. Don’t you laugh at me, please (pathetic). To fall so far down…I feel that I’ve covered this ground, before. The graduate students will continue to ignore you. At least act, penitent! Oh, I’m creative, at wasting time. This one did, this one. So far, all things left uncovered, the jig is up, pants down, embarrassing parts, over. No five year anniversary, of that. Divorced, dried… Did I mention Dadaism? Well, then, who’s playing games with your mind, mister? You never know, I might feel like acting suave! I suppose you want all kinds of details, about my personal life, and whatnot, I’m not all that eager, to divulge a whole lot, but will agree, to put a few things, down on paper. Was it Amy, or Claire, that girl I was so enamored of? No matter. All just playground dreams, back when, “we’d use the equipment,” kind. You know, the way we thought things would be, normal, et. al? Well, at least, I can’t say that I’m afraid to be afraid. And wherever you are, I love you, for whatever that’s worth. A paperclip weekend, a wastebasket summer, of rewrites, and vague hope, shots, wishes, clicking heels. Help me, I’m wrecked. Shit…leaving me alone, is nine times out of ten, the best help I could get. Then, called out, picked for kickball, in the fog. If I choose to/when I choose, too? This is a crunching, and brain snagging, neck cracking, save, or be saved, kind of thing. Everything has become rubbery. Read the real thing.
The goal is to shock, and offend. Cough up all those rough years, boy. Everybody giggle, while you can. Act now, my brothers and sisters. If, and when, offered, without adequate garment care instructions, or some kind of directions. Tossed up, helped out, turned off, with the volume still high. Their sides are all cleared of refuse, but there’s a door, that still doesn’t work. I can fart, with the best of them. Maybe I know too much, or, all too well, and that’s why I answer you otherwise, when you ask what the problem is, or what I’m still doing here. Oh, university? The dead, must disagree with me. I will read the electrical circuit board, and enjoy it, to no end. I listen to you talk about grab bags, piñatas, and diseases, medical maladies, innuendo, lottery, relapse, loneliness, desperation. I lost the thing, the drunken cut off point, between consciousness, and never-never land. The tree fuck, the swamp swim, the windows smashed, the bedrooms, broken, and entered into, the pots, and pans, rearranged, the backyards cut through, the plastic fish, and trophies, stolen. The reasons not to! Minor sociological war, declared, and waged, inside my head. Done fighting, retired, washed up, truce declared, accepted. One instant, in a stranger’s eyes, a strange fulfillment, get your kicks, ten on, ten on, a recommended demand. Stomping the back porch, as if that would change everything. There is a lot of doubt. Walking for miles, and miles. Trying, they say. Down to my last dollar, down to my last healthy neuron, nerve, overloaded circuitry, caught up in the rub against, first kiss, twenty-two. I fucked her, eighteen consecutive times, paying by the hour, I figured it best, to get my money’s worth. We study only what we instinctively know, we don’t need to. As for what would fit our problems, like some kind of excess, lock, and key, kind of function, illiterate. If that’s what they really feel, then, piss on them. We wait nearly, neatly, nearby. Self-destruction, mistakes (one, is all you need). Other people’s, true advice. To void out, what went on before, after, over there. The wind, is our guide. The tornado, can’t resist, doing the things, it does, either. Secrete hate, secrete other, clean fluids. Empty hull, types of structures. Looking for five dollars, in old suit coats, pants, things are crumbling a little bit here, we’re discovering just how far down the slope, we let ourselves slide. Okay, a car wash, some state law, more rules, and regulations. One can never go home again, they say. I don’t know who did it, someone, most likely. Happy, happy, everything happening, but nevermind that guy behind the red curtain. So, she didn’t like me, the way I liked her? The unexplained? What, ultimately, can be done, regarding matters, such as these? I can still picture her, see her, actually. Anything we eat, we’re just going to shit out. We chain smoke, we’ve given up on ourselves, and everything else. We fall silent, grow discontented, swarm, and steam, blow, then, calm down again. The embarrassment, of being myself. There is so very much, danger. Demand to be treated with more sensitivity (mmm, ha, ha, ha)! Currently, nothing to say. It’s too late, for guys like me, deloused, declawed, spayed, neutered…let Denver realign its congressional districts, I don’t give a fuck. Chewed up plastic, or rawhide dog bones, Clementine, on a joyride, sitting between two awfully pretty ladies, with bows in their hair. It’s officially Tuesday, fraternity hell night, a queer kind of disco, backwards, tossed, and dropped, like a new age, bean salad; forgotten about. Bad credit’s, got me down. Thimble size gifts/tits,, pussyhole redundant, which may have been written down by me, somewhere, before, perhaps, edited out, but I’ve got to put it back in, I apologize to anyone who takes offense to this, up front. Perhaps I could trade in these boots, for a different pair, that don’t consistently lead to my pulling blisters the size of Minnesota, off the back of my feet. Blind sight, in a darkened room, far out sounds, inconsistently, asking questions…blood, on black and white, photographs. Pity pools, kitty litter, grunt, and couch, and television. Completely unable to process, the most crucial information. Wipe your ass with the sky.
Rage, terror, panic, worry, we run the gamut. Stress, worry, money, and loss of hope, ultra-responsibility, perma calm, underwhelmed, twisted, no phone. Dirt becomes less of an issue, and becomes, dust, dirt is something, best forgotten, so are most other things, during that…phase. No innuendo there, just an extended adolescence. Touring the world again, foam dancing? Bloody poetry readings, futurists, calamine lotion, more sodium pentothol, I must remember everything. Carrying on, about the joy I once received, from simple things. Well, with innocence, lost/lust, other things slip away, as well. Pure horror, scared them all away, definitions, precarious. Did somebody say, excitement? Edit the names out, or, at least, change them, to protect the innocent. A depth explorer, coming up for air, like a sperm whale, every, what? I can spell, fine, it’s that math stuff. Pretending to be ticklish, so as not to offend, the tickler. Hidden for years, not well...sort of like a three year old's, Easter basket. What did she say, frightening? Flopping down statistics, and percentages, without any smiley faces, or actual divorcees, to back up the prediction. Internalized pain, realized that I’d, um, stopped living, some time back. Politically dysfunctional, for the most part, despondent, peeved around the edges, kind of slap happy, but overall, titillated, giddy, even. Wasted white space, scratched up, with indian ink, line drawings, of the cartoon, turtle trace, around (white hat). Fill the hole of emptiness, with words, hollow, but, words. What’s up with all these comparisons The guy with the “work in progress,” that eventually became, what could arguably, be called, the most fucked up thing ever invented/created/done. Life is an invisible entity, death, even more so, since nobody knows anything about it. Retain the fear. Nevermind that some of us have a pretty good idea, of what art is, even though, we don’t actually, do it. I can’t keep doing this (it’s not stopping). Grope them, while they are still alive. The shootings will take place. I can’t point to a part I want people to read, and that’s turning out to be a bad, bad, thing. After the disaster, people think…about what they’re gonna’ eat. People line up, and pay good money, to put their fingers into their own asses, in our new, and improved, blue lagoon fantasy booths. Pulling on the chair, attached to a hole in the ground. The skeptic must die, the tombstone says, and I disagree. We have all been antisocial, and what’s so special about Indianapolis? All the people, everywhere, are pretty much, the same. Cause and effect, will teach you the lessons you’ve got to learn, faster, more thoroughly than, any book. Ignore everything that they say. I always end up hating myself, and suicidal. All the letters received from girls, are sprayed with perfume, as if the Flemish orchestra ensemble, were playing some festival, tonight. We feign sympathy, towards the diseased, we write out all the definitions, and jargon, without really knowing what it’s like, to die from the thing. I don’t really get it, do you? We got totally primal, out in the garden. She is only a girl. Not knowing death, at all. The propaganda was concrete, pollution, is all arranged. I’d guess, that the world will last, about fifty more years. I can’t wait, to establish my Idaho hideout, reject all reason, and refute it, by throwing rocks around/at, trees. Two forgotten minutes, and no fairy tales. Maturity, is the only word on the torn out page, that flutters across the room. There are insolvable puzzles, on the tuna plate. A fish, just wanting off the hook. There are phone numbers to people I don’t know, in the pockets of my suit, I haven’t worn in a while. As far as what it takes to earn some kind of slop, and slip-off…no support, no plan, no initiative, preconceived notions, no impulse control, motivation. The consequences run amok, there’s a photocopy of my social security number. Stationary misspelled, therapeutic hee-haw, oh, hi, betcha’ thought I forgot about you. What’s new? I’m in dire straits, as usual. Another bust, and conviction, trying to diddle, and it isn’t working out. The same book, from long ago, still being pushed around the desk, then, into the closet, or drawer, for months, pulled out, and resumed. There are problems, regarding my outlook for the future, curving my hands, isn’t doing the trick. Should spray myself with chemicals, quit smoking, yell up obscenities, into the projection booth, should do, lots of things, I don’t know when, or how, I fell so far behind, but I did. Our words were slurred.
All of my side projects, are keeping me sane, for now. I figured out, that I just can’t be a janitor, that I cannot do, the work. This is all difficult to communicate, and when I do say anything, I repeat it incessantly, anyway, so…fuck it, the notes, and the book, and the whole works. I humbly request, that the city of Baltimore, stop sending me overdue fine notices. I wanted, to believe in tradition, and white shirt, university life, but, it was too hard, to act too false, and I didn’t have the patience (and a few other attributes) necessary, to succeed in the fray of higher education. Myths about being separate, and unique, the fear of the impending impossibility, of further possibility, fading in, and out of focus, like a cheap movie camera. One more chance? Alternatives (only, apparently), not any kind of solution. Just listening to the songs they play on the radio, not much more, to be honest. I need a change of scenery, or a new vice, I need to be someone, somewhere, else, but, this is it, and I’m all too, aware of it. Too much water in the colon, will make your legs feel like they are made of sour cream. Drowning in consciousness, not wanting to, either. We’re trying to be oil paintings, and it takes a lot more energy to sit in one place, than you would think. Did I forget to flush the toilet, again? How many points, do I have left? My retort is the quotation, you know which one. None of these clothes fit, I’m no longer surprised by the pants falling down…a bit too peculiar, under the weather. To me, the clouds always looked like adult sex, novelty shop, purchases. Yes, there is confusion, but I am not the confusion. Caligula went too far, Humbolt has finally been re-paved, Dorian Greys’ hair, turned brown, again, so you see, things are happening. Impulsive, compulsive acts, and the powerlessness, to do otherwise. There the manhood dribbled, and there it will remain, on the pajama bottoms, or Aquinas, with his sunken face. Rituals, you call them, when they are needs, all told. Spray it at me. There is a silt-like, a sh-like, cover, over everything. Pray for us sinners, now. Dry off on a moldy towel, spit into the sink. The nature of learning, disease, consciousness, illness. Having my battles fought for me. The things I bring upon myself for the roles I’ve played. Notes to transcribe, are a kind of re-lived delirium. The only choice, is to die like a man, or live like a giant. How to change what, exactly? The lunatic, laughing at inopportune times? Leave her vague idea alone, she doesn’t remember you, why should she? See-saw, ping-pong, yin-yang, yeah! Guernsey Joe, carries flowers. I have suffered, for nothing. The virgin, cut her own tits off. Vow, vouch, velour, villify. Nobody says a thing, for Christ’s sake, talk! Resentment/indecision, all these why questions, all these stop gaps, of mental illness. The psychological, and emotional, undercurrents, the olive branch, peace offering, Montgomery Clift lunch bucket, to control ones bowels, to control anything. Not much to write about, not enough of anything, to go around, trying to “get a hold on it,” a full round! Debauched, it is only after the damage is done, that I think about consequences, about death. Let’s get down to brass tasks, for a moment. How exactly, did I become insane? We must take into account, the who’s, what’s, when’s, where’s, why’s, and how’s, of this matter. This is the question of the moment. Okay, onto the next issue of import…To not, well, dependence…not liking certain things, being the way they are, but, accepting the whole shit, water, and toilet. Now, suddenly, I retract the statement! Life as some fat, and crazy, lazy susan, funny? Borrowed, inter/intrapersonal, lack of sociability, low self-esteem. In search of resentments, apparently. Real mental illness? Why can’t you be normal? Oh, I’m beginning to feel some deep down giggling, and laughter. Now, stop that. Fun, joy, serenity…no. Who is this other me, inside my head, that I argue with, constantly? Tell me, now! Brain stem dissolution, is the meaning of life, one of them. Time for career, oooooh! Cancer, procrastination, struggles, magazines, funny faces. Romeo’s log book, could very easily be used, for some other purpose. Like zephers, we burst. There is absolutely no way, that I am going to allow my one and only life, to be this one. Vowels, are lying.
