197

So, what do you, want to do? They won’t quite believe it. There was talk of a “massage,” and two hundred and eighty dollars, changed hands. Screwball, one off, showmen, caterwaul, a wall. Nobody likes (boo) me, loves (hoo) me; (wah/cares about, sniffle, me)? Oh, it’s as if we were, spoons. Writing, reading things, upside down. Giving up on the art form? See above, the not quite up to snuff, the fits of despondency, over perceived inadequacy. Was that a penis? Oh, the sheer horror… and why? Fine, why were there no neighborhood block, newspapers? Intensive weekend, shit, I think this some kind of hide, and go seek, again! Alright, now, yes, now, go get that Ph.D.! Jujitsu unfinished, answer; seek therapy; individual, or group, psychotropic medication. Help me, Lionel, help me get my suit on, thank you. Where’s the beverage? Oh, there it is! All of these purchases, stacked one on top of the other, to enable me to isolate myself, from things that may, or may not, be going on. No wasted pages, no more wasted, anything. Never knowing the date, or even, what the day is. Sleeping in until three every day, not wanting to, this new found laziness, or whatever it is. It’s got me licked… anger, okay, I understand now. The chocked back hostility, that has a tendency to implode, or explode, stress related. Hard to put straight, fix at a future time. See, what is that? Time for some real therapy… what’s wrong with me, when was the fatal turn, made? The nature, the origin of the shame, pain, and despair… the manic, and/or major, depression. Alright, as to the given nature of the problem, the underlying variables, the girl down the street? Maybe, maybe not. Things could be other than how I thought they were, set up, arranged. It’s getting worse, a little bit more screwy. Summer solstice, finally, same clothes, for two weeks, sleeping, thunderstorms, more books. Study, more completely. See me act obsessive compulsive, this particular time. Put the lentils on the back burner. What am I supposed to do? This is not simplicity, let’s get that clear, right now. Yes, I’m concerned about the wrong things, but once whoever walks in the house, walks in, no, really, it’s funny now, this is a cheap, sick survival, that is ridiculous, it would be better to be dead, than go through this (for me). Let’s do this as quickly as possible, I don’t care anymore; this is more of a burden, than anything else. The doctors, and other public servants, are all going to go on strike. I want to write about the things I resist writing about. It isn’t gonna’ just blow over, is it, Captain? Over the knee pleasure, leaving. One more person, tries to fuck me, and I’m going to fuck back. Be anti-everything, with a soft edge. Don’t mention the goof ball in the moon, or the symphony of crickets. One more stupid mistake, one more screw up, close call, in regards the job, one more time, that I fix parts on my car, that don’t have to be fixed, the next book, the next anything, I buy, without having any money… there is going to be a violent end, to all of this. Every single shirt, and/or pair of pants, in here, that are supposedly, clean, are not, smell like feet, and mildew, stink, mold. This is all a great, big crow, just cawing, and crowing. Well, perhaps, I’m not? No option, you will be there, will sell anything, and everything, that you must, in order to get out of debt. Sir, you are not allowed to buy anything, ever. I’m more than unhappy, I don’t think you care. It is a shitty, awful, and horrible, life, I don’t even know what to say? These are not flights/plights of fancy, this is a lot like death. The strife of the world, is not Utica. No heat in the car, and huge dents, other people, using my good nature, and selfishness, did I mention, unemployment, etc.? This is not, I repeat, not, a life, that I have chosen, this is some kind of Karmic, hell life, I’ve been branded with, handed, and I’m not gonna’ take it anymore. My anger, at everyone around me, is such, that screaming, and breaking things, is just the beginning. Well, now, we’ve got electrical/chemical problems, to contend with. The thing, didn’t even last three years. The next person who tries to rip me off, is going to get into a very serious, fight. Poverty, and vicious, demoralizing, attacks, this miserable, pathetic life, my weak, or nonexistent, resourcefulness, no help, nowhere to turn, midnight work, shitty writing, supposedly, tax deductible, services. People surround me with rope, and their stupidity, their “airs of being put upon,” the only remorse is revenge. The goal is to do whatsoever one can, to get back at the one, who done you wrong. You are breathing some different sort of oxygen. Will you earn a gold star? Get down, with the fact checkers.

Everything would be easier, if I were to keel over, and die, but that is extremely unlikely, to happen. Now what? With my shitty credit record, complete with loan default. Go ahead and laugh, as my other lung collapses, good feelings, get slammed into only unreal, reminiscence. My goodness, how gone, am I? Do you want to hear a paen, to anger, depression, pain, being stranded, branded, utterly helpless? I want to kill people, how does that sound, coming from a former scout? No one can do anything, but stand by, and be witnesses to failure, having already failed, miserably, themselves. The filth, and the poverty, are not going to go away. My failures as a human being, have everything to do with these troubles. See, you are all you have left, fatty. You are not supposed to be here, this is not where you belong. Letting people destroy your property, just use, until it’s ruined, how… who can I do, right now, and get away with it? The time is now, if you don’t get out of the solarium, right now, you’re fried. Another night of fitful sleep, no dreams, wake-up/problem, majesty. What I want to do with my anger, is sure to be very different, from what I do. I will do nothing, as usual. Please, hand me something, anything, to smash. What… oh shit, that corn sucker, lies… (it’s too late now). We may have to get rid of one of my possessions? What good does it do, to try to help? That piss-poor asshole, way out there, will be glad to fix again, what he didn’t, the first time. Destitute whores, get it out there. Ah, the liquor store. Don’t sit on the fleece sweater, smelly. The master is not being paid, the groom is drunk, before the wedding, everything is all wrong, a strange channel has opened up, like a black hole, and we’re all getting sucked in. Nobody is going to know where I work, or what I do there, my goal is to move into the shitty, expensive, place, over there, and contend, with whatever derelicts, are around. This is not life, this is a horrible, awful, disgusting scratch on the surface, of it, and there’s no getting through. Ejaculate into it, feel the feelings associated with this. They didn’t look like my socks, at all. If you even think about spinach, I’ll tear your face off. It’s a very different life, now (it’s starting). Being able to see a woman’s nipples, through whatever, flimsy negligée, she has on, in some magazine, of course, and, it’s one of, if not our only, gift. Sell your most prized possessions, realize that you don’t even have any; no big ticket items, no hardware, furniture; nothing, no heirlooms, bonds, stock options, in… absolutely, nothing. There is no future, for me, whatsoever, my only joy, comes from streaming a wiggle, and thinking up wild ideas, that will never be written down. Ruined, but, nicely. Shout down, shut down, shit out, spray some disinfectant. No matter how far I seem to go, I’m only, always, half-way there. There are no such things as taboo’s, do what you want. Break the law. The vivid thoughts, that I was having last night, were not mere, random blips, you’d better cover your own ass. Who knows what the hell is going to happen? Anyone, can accuse anyone else, of anything, and that person will stand, not only accused, but they will be brought up on charges. Once that is the case, it’s open season, no prosecutor ever said, that it was “all a big misunderstanding." They tie you to the rail, guilty, or not. Try to think of a few pleasant things, on your only free day, for who knows how long? Many times in my life, I have thought that I was “looking sharp,” only to find out later, once the pictures were developed. Now, this makes me wonder, I thought I was the cat’s meow, and, well, no. As always, I believe myself to be X, and am more than probably, something, altogether, other. Maybe I did have a stroke, at some point, there is definitely, something wrong. My abilities, are not there, this is not effectiveness, or efficiency. It is incredibly difficult, just to move my hand across this paper. Of course, I plan on being more insane, than ever before. There really are more important things to do, than scribble nonsense on paper, for hours. Anything, I’m sorry to have to say, is more important, than this. So simple a thing, proves to be so difficult, too often. My fundamental laziness, my poor, yet free range, of thought, my uncomfortableness, both in my body, and domicile, my lack of marketable skills, my fears, pains, worries, and mistakes, that I will never live down. Is it going to be canned food for me (and no can opener), in the future? I’m not even able to feel, the least bit, manic, nor even excited, anymore. That activity, is the most exciting one, I engage in, by far. I must write of myself, if anyone thinks me selfish, that would be because, I am. Driving around in the car, or walking around the neighborhood, used to whip me up into a frenzy, now, all I ever do, is what I’m doing, and there is never anything more to it, than that. I both am, and am not, different, everything, every single thing, there is. I could be the second coming of Christ, but no one would/has, or will, notice. My role is, to die, without leaving too big of a mess, to clean up. The caves behind the school, weren’t really caves, but it was way more fun, to think of them, as such. Was… nah! Anyway, there are several things that I want to say, to several different people, but due to the fact, that for some reason, I’m not smart enough, to make things up on the fly, I must write these things down, as they are. Does she fit the mold, that is the real question?! Too much damn food. No, you don’t stop!

We’re gonna’ see what happens, compare, and contrast. The number of divorces in this square mile area, may surprise you, but it shouldn’t. What is necessary, is to get better as a person, and as a writer, to improve. Shall I eat the bread, before somebody else, gets to it? The reason I shouldn’t, is because, the reason I will, is because I’m ill, stupid. Even the pets know, by instinct, that most of the things I do, are wrong. Consent is always given. What’s new, and whats old, in this? The woman, with the turquoise eyebrows, was there, we, were not. Have you ever had a croissant, with sugar baked onto the top of it? We don’t know what we’ve done. How can I characterize what I have tried to do here? Well, nobody cares, was that made clear, in the body of the paper, Professor? When you walk these neighborhood, stop looking in the windows, for things in which, to steal. I am going to start living my fantasies, very soon, so, look out! What is the dog barking at, now? Hush! Hush! Hard work, does not lead to success. I will write, and you, will read. I want to say that, whatever the reason, war, is two kids, fighting in a sandbox, and not fighting fair, or, for any reason. Crowds of people, gather in the square, ready to tear the limbs off their neighbors. Do not go running off to the department store, every time you feel isolated, sad, or lonely. The fires will start, there will be a cause, you will try to rescue the pets, out of the house. The industry is dumping chemicals into the river, lake, and atmosphere. Anything we do, comes back to us. Get over your behaviors/problems, get your hands on money, no matter how hard it is, or how long it takes. Go out, stand in lines, fill out forms, get treatment, and do this, and that, and a hundred other things, in the time span, during which, I haven’t moved. No proper work, no real nothing, just listening, to the weather reports, and what the barometer is doing. There is going to be fecal matter on the floor. Go ahead, tempt, taunt, and say stupid, immature things, that you couldn’t possibly, mean. I just say things, to have something to say, and everybody knows this, none of them can appreciate it, nor, should they. Lime and lemon, a stupid idea, which stopped us, cold. Put some butter on the dogs nose, watch them lick, and lick, and lick. Let’s get jolly, and dance, clean, drink soda. Perhaps, it will never happen. What it is time for, is, floating! Be amused by the horse race. At a club, on a Monday, what sorts of people, could one expect to meet? I guess you could say, I’m a private school kid, who never was. No real difference has been flipped on, or off. I just want to lick at a clitoris, yes, I am an absolute pervert. Once we get the froth… um, oh… gasp! The laundry is done, which means, I’ve been sitting here for hours, and I’m still not done with, what in actuality, should take, ten minutes. I don’t need anyone to tell me that I’m unable to fuck, I know such things, all too well, but that is why it’s good, to think real imaginatively… well, I’m revealing too much. Do I want to say, or, really, do, anything, in particular? No, I don’t, I want to sit here, and spoon off flakes, from my point of view. Call my dreams, waifscapes; forming, fuming. Slap, scratch, hit (out). The hope/wish, for a revelation, to make me understand. Do your nimble knee bends, bloom in teacups, define, ‘gorgeous’. Drain the goo out, some people can, some people can’t (tell). Twitch like a bullfighter, analyze the quarterly earnings statement, poke each other wet, grate each other’s nerves, carry each other’s suitcases. Square it away, on canvas, hit on girls at the junk sale, make up some sort of past history. There are some (how to say?) very unfortunate things, happening. Flunk it… look at those tremendous, hats. The loser, says he will not lose again! Farts linger in the air, like gnats, in the outfield, at baseball games. Retire the whole pleasure center, null, and void. Swans don’t fly, do they? Uncomfortable maybes, we are running out of room. They fancy themselves, reborn, in some far off, distant, spring. Red straws on the tables, at the feasts, for the starvers. Nose blowers, imposed upon, all night, we play games in our heads, and fiddle with ourselves. Looking for you, finding, no one? Mistakes, like that one (what’s next?). Accidents, chances, perhaps, inevitable, perhaps, not. The rain falls, like spit, to the sidewalk, leaves dry, the fruit, ferments. Aluminum storage boxes, contain identical ideas, about basements, essentially, what is to be done, with the basement. Problem/okay. Mistaking radio towers, for UFO’s, in manic-delusionary episodes. Teeth, hair, smiles, etc., take us for a ride, we forget, soon enough. Gazes accented, highways, subtly curving, shadow, as reminder. Children, check your cuffs, pull your skirts down. Life, seems like gangplank alienation, to me. Many are afraid of hydrogen, and other, common, household ethers. My hate for you, is a secret love. The plan was one thing, what happened, was another. The overpasses are lit up, with flickering, neon signs. Unscrew, like a dementia cage. My fake tooth, rattles, this is a sign. Hoodwinked, bamboozled, pissed, repetitive, rapped, raped, arrested, maintained. Garden variety jokes, fall on deaf ears, in an unfunny world. We’ve got to make room, for new inventory. To sum it all up, there is no way to sum all of this up. When your lymphnodes start jiggling, do the crab grab. She seemed to be, so southern. It’s ruined, I don’t know what to do with it, anymore. I now know, what crazy, is. The clock, is my mortal enemy. Sex, right there on the sand. In the bottom of a desk drawer, somewhere, some moods, remain. The lesson will be on you, next time. It just seems like a big joke.

Whose reflection is that, in the one way, mirror? You may, or may not, understand, the propensity of glass, to distort an image. Contentedly discontented, nervous, attracted, posing. Masks, personas, pecking orders, images, status, etc. Toys lose their effect, their ability to transfix, yelling, and screaming, like a question, a talk show? Not listening to ‘reason’? Live, trained elephants, are in the back, of the circus of your mind, waiting to step on, and shatter, all your dreams. Groove on, ogle, gander. My buttocks, are not your playground, Satan. Write, tired hand, write! Connecting sperm, and egg… oh, I have the book… but I’m not giving it to you. Get off the floor, the plastic covered floor/ground. Leave me, need me, love me, put a choke hold on me, with your Amazonian legs. Flesh exists, to be worshipped, in word, and deed. Secrets stolen, axons formulated, and re-formulated, can’t stand, the standing still? This is taking way too long, as you probably, can imagine. Half hour increments, seem like years. The saddest epilogue, is, get something done. Eject yourself, push other buttons, for other means, and purposes. Carbonated water, seems to be; sounds like… a crowd of people, cheering on the home team. Use legal drugs, in lethal quantities, clean up after messy people, be surprised, use solvents. Grain is stored, safely, from time to time, planets, spin out of orbit… not so, with the orbits in which we, ceaselessly, revolve. “Crack”… it doesn’t make any difference. If we were to make things mandatory… what? Lift yourself up by the panty hose, spring to life, and action… stream torn up paper, around, look at the snakes, at the bottom of the bottle. Tendons, and cartilage, stretch, crackle, under pressure. As we run out of room, and time… There has got to be a way, I haven’t thought of. The mansions, get more unsightly, every year. Be crazier… perhaps, that’s the greatest advice, to give. No one will ever agree, with any of this shit. Get rid of the stuff on the top, and work your way, quickly, down. Cigarette smoking, has a lot to do with your boredom threshold, your ability to withstand boredom. Many people’s idea of ‘risking it all,’ is to quit jobs, suddenly. Deny your own reflection, edit your own clichés, extract your own personal meaning, out of the meaningless, yet glossy, roadmap type thing, we’re handed. You’re so ‘present’, baby. She had the habit of doing the vampire’s fingernail trick, to rich boys, on the lacrosse field. There is no audience for this, honey. Family introductions, and the, “empty room." Recapture the oozing, color way, of looking at things, if only, to pull another scam. Becoming like a broken record, doesn’t even begin to describe it/that/this. Dangerous, for a while, say your please, and thanks you’s, clench your fists, gaze at the horizon…the awnings, themselves, seem to softly, whisper, “hey, come on in”. What a dinky, ten cent, hide and seek game, most of this, would appear to be. Pay close attention. I like her new porn star look. It’s too easy to be bored, and sick of it all. Did I previously mention, those black panties? War planes have already been deployed. Accept the invitation to the blitzkrieg. Wash your ass. This isn’t quite as much fun, as we thought it would be. Underground extremists wreak absolute havoc, and the only way to defeat them, is to fight fire, with water. Breath/ death…similar sounds, similar smells. Let them all know/ leave them all alone. It’s one thing, to be postmodern, quite another, live to see, that you were (tell the tale). A lot of red doors, in which to trip in the vestibules of, strain, and groan some more. Anemic/ enigmatic… there are four different ways, to turn the same way. Tear things out like polyps, it shouldn’t matter, but it does. So many different fabrics, to choose from! We want no food, that possesses, what has come to be known as, flavor. Join us, the unintelligent, superstars. My time, will be mine, I lie, thus, insinuating, they will not enter in. We watch our tempers, precariously. You ate the candy bar. The scattered ways we dance, so crookedly, for cigarettes! Nine years went by, like a train. You can’t hold on, it doesn’t work. It’ll be a while, yet. For the perfectionist, woe. I am sweating like a cancer patient, just before the end.

I think I need an opponent. The memories, are too painful. This is all that I have, it’s not enough. We spend the great majority of our lives, waiting for the food to arrive. The happy, comfortable, and safe people, annoy me. Sweets, study your phonics. In five years, I’m not even going to believe that I wrote, anything I am currently, writing, so, I decided to write that. Whoa, my hands are turning yellow! See, slightly different tracks, bend the same. There are so, so, many techniques, to ignore. Throw out your recyclable, plastics. After the fact, is a fact, in itself. People sing loudly, in languages I cannot speak, or comprehend. Passion is a prison, we are… etc. Blood flows, tourniquet, or none. Anguish is anguish, other unified, non-dualistic moments, of self-transcendence. It is difficult to sustain, it is much too easy, to remain, in the minute. Plow your acres, reconsider your last words. Idiots, assholes, pricks, morons, drunks, addicts, goody-goodies, smarties, better then thou’s, bitches, cunts, motherfuckers, shits, lazy good for nothings, wastoids, competents; unite! After the parting, the severance; mistakes, trouble, difficulties, stresses, breakdowns, collapses. Jumper cables are needed, people drown, delay, weave home. No wonder, their approval rating, is only 86%. Old burdens, would not seem, to leave our heads. Dried up pens, a matter of juxtaposed timetables, unbeknownst, and strange. Many people need each other, like pears. No returns, or exchanges, have a nice day, stamped, with smiley faces. Bored with rectangles, and squares, eh? Blankets in the room, spoon fed music, on too loud, backyard prowler descriptions. Remember, the next step for this, is a dish, on a table. Don’t forget to bring your signed permission slip, back in here, tomorrow. Keep those bottles, “just for decoration." If only you knew, the trouble, down the road. At odds, or out of sorts, engaged in self loathing, rationalizing your emotional responses? Soon, that little bit of root beer, will dry at the bottom of the glass, after which time, it will collect dust, which will become amber, increasing its layers, over time. The babysitter didn’t say anything, “afterwards.” There is far too much wrong with me, for it to be simply undone. It’s all getting worse. Mail call, fussy. Boy; “Peanut”!; Girl; “Squeeze me”! Try to take things, one at a time, without faltering. The curse of being human, my friends, is that we never realize things are going good, while, or when, they are. Think of something, and duly, record it. Breathe, or don’t, what difference does it make? Don’t try to make the easy parts, hard. Smell the juice they can still fish in, until you puke. After all is said and done, nothing will have been. Now, another set of experiments, concerning, perspective. The tube, could be misconstrued, as a pole. Is that a sheet, or a shirt? Pinky man, is running through the street, screaming in a high pitched voice, falls, gets back up, keeps running, no words, screaming; violently. The loud radio, is playing bad music. Please continue, sir… if love, is hate, so be it. Everything is falling out of the folder… was it bleach, that I was making such a big deal about, at that coffee shop/ bookstore? Give it up… yeah, you can unzip your pants, but you know you can’t get an erection. This is no factory work syndrome. Who drew the little fish, on the book cover, darling? If anything, all this crap you’re doing, and going through, is going to make you into, more of a you. There are probably untold numbers of things, that simply, need to, come out. People do play identity games, but they never make any sense, unless you’re in on the punch line, from the get-go. This is going to be an unwieldy, and crazy, thing. There is a missing page. If you intend to make it, at all, please, use (timber) mahogany! Hyphenate your inabilities, do I have any grand, and lofty, beautiful ideas, to vomit onto the toilet bowl, of the page? It seems that the best thoughts, are stringing along an altogether different, sort of person. I simply do not have time to wait, have a hard time believing, that. I mean, letters, secret hiding places, magic, like travel… and a thousand other brilliant story ideas, that I poo-poo. Half of the establishment, will flip back out. Groan, as you touch yourself. There isn’t going to be anymore poo-pooing, the time has come, to lay claim to what is naturally, in the ether, so to speak. The cat was just fed, she can’t possibly need to be fed, again. It is I, who must punish myself, now, for my lack of restraint, in certain matters. People jump, don’t stand; at least not the ones who end up, ever doing, anything. What mystical idea, can I cash in on? How much needs to happen, before something important, does, or is that the wrong approach to take? Is this unsteady, now (the one torn, corner)? There was talk (no more). The bar is crawling with never were’s, I look for a stool.

Shed a tear, or two, for the selves you’ve left behind. Look, don’t try to sit, or stand, next to people, who don’t want you, standing next to them. What needs to happen, is just, not happening, this whole shit house, is primed to blow! Eight decades of fi, fie, foe, fum, alleged “poems," flip, flop, sop, dilly-dally, doo wop. The lack, of there being any surprises, may be the most damning thing of all, in this day, and age. Too many restraints, etc. She then, removed her pajamas… To be honest, I’d rather golf, then present a theory of history, in four volumes. Everything that is, sucks, and is totally wrong. Talk about the dope house. Vanquish the frenzy, and usher in the tremendous turnip festival, complete with carnival rides, and indigestible food. I wanted it; past tense. Don’t know, unsure? Guess! The future, can’t be like this! Baby, you’re somethin’ else. The strong thirst for perfection, can never quite be quenched. What we find out, slowly, is that there are no excuses. We will not be undersold, on grade A, turkey! We try to copulate all the household appliances; and why not? I want to be a cathode ray tube, go forward, more softly. Let me be the King of Prussia, for just one day. With our last, desperate calls, for salvation, the line is always busy. My fist, your ass! Halt, kinder; do-si-do, bunny! To be honest, there aren’t any hearts beating, here. All those “care packages”… did they not indicate, a mind, that was not possessed of a body? Solipsistic consciousness, gets real tired, of saying, “I am,” all the time. No matter what happens, there is going to be a sunny side, to this egg. My legs hurt, from way too much sitting, and driving around. A quick note, to future cancer victims; don’t ever start smoking, it is the most addictive drug in the word, near impossible, to quit. Transplant your flowers, into a bigger pot. Thanks for calling back, no, I will not stoop. The absolute hilarity, of holding up cards to ones forehead, and carrying on from there. I don’t know who “they” are, or even if “they” exist… but they, are there, just the same. Walking, or rather, storming, into areas, where no one understands? Perhaps, just listing, or jotting down facts, is what everyone wants, needs, etc. Find the notebook that contains high speed, elevator nightmares. Here’s a message for you; defy the odds, be a pleasure seeker. People are definitely starting to see for themselves, how little I do, and how poorly, I do it. All these tapes, as with the others, need to be hidden away, with great care. What is this empty bottle trick? Sniffing at microbes? Engaged in mirror obsession? Perhaps, it is long since time, to accept the fact, that I may be less, than what I believe myself to be, in a great, many areas. Crossed legs, have never gotten anyone, anywhere near, beauty, or minus signs. The clouds in the sky, at night, are more interesting, than anything on television, and the sound of windchimes, are more beautiful, than any music. My groin feels funny. Wash it all away. There isn’t a lot of significance, to our lives. Things both do, and do not, happen. Sublimate nothingness (try), and absurdity, into the way you hold your pen, or knife, use your fork. There isn’t much, in the way of ways, shapes, or forms. No, we don’t go downtown much, just in case you were still interested. The last letter was anal (sorry), more note cards to myself. Plop, plop, look down, fool yourself, lie, it is not a motivator. The tape of the band, that got all this started, shall remain nameless, raveless. We’re too busy, we seem to go through the same three phases. You still think it’s all under control, do you? I’m not me. The trees are all different, now. Laugh… a lot, if you can; it doesn’t matter, if it’s real laughter, or not. We tried to be too radical, but none of the things we were radical about, mattered. That, in turn, seems to cause, a whole host of things, unrelated to it (whatever it is). We could fake love, for each other, if we really wanted to. What is it? Noone knows. It’s too easy to be a leper, or pariah… maybe it isn’t. Who we gave our clues to, says a lot, about whether, or not, we want the crime, to ever be solved. Just never understood, ex/asexuality, the controversy, the extreme fondness. We should be doing something, other than thinking, about doing something, once what, forever what? This guy is awkward, this may, or may not, be the case? This what? This… disorder, which he’s proud of? If someone seems, perverted, to you… they are… they are. Cross her name off, your to-do list. See, there is a burger, that never gets a chance to chew. Our worries, our roles, and paltry responsibilities, our tits, tats, ticks, tocks, hues, and fetishes, up’s, and down’s. We know, and that has nothing, whatsoever, to do, with the unity of being, sister. I sent you a tape, of the rights discussion. If you aren’t doing your only reason for living, then… well? Take yourself out of the disorder, or have it taken out of you. Interest accrued, now, fast food, new exercise equipment (malfeasant glances). Taunt yourselves, taunt your elves! Draw a line from here, to there, that’s called, a goal. For crying out loud, recover. Get on the glucose pleasure wagon, go, tick, glow, shove. A new kind of knowledge, softly, swelling; every year, a bit more plump, gets added. Solve the death problem! I love you, because of your flashcards, damaged dresses, concentration. Run to the periodical guide to unpublished manuscripts, light a match, and the entire septic system, will explode in flames. Piles, roles, rules, regulations, phrases, dressers, mescaline, the long drive home. The shrinking, and shriveling, leads to embarkment, majesty. Fuck all sluts, one size fits all. Fall into the canoe.

A nostalgia, for days that were nothing to get nostalgic, over. Not in too great a hurry. Ah, change, does not occur. Ambition, means that a month, is a year, and a year, is a dozen years, and you remember, every, single, solitary fact, distinctly. Throw it all down, if nothing falls, or fell, there probably wasn’t anything to throw, in the first place. It’s hard to get interested, to do your best, with full knowledge, that all our efforts, won’t add up, to squat. This give, and take, tuck, and borrow, format, is particularly restricting. Act astute, grab a couple of garbage bags, for this one… oh, boy! I am you, that is where our dialogue begins, and ends. Wipe down any, and all, shelving, until it shines. That’s an awful high dose. The last thing we want to do, is die… interestingly, it’s the last thing we get to do, whatever… so, tao for/ four, tic/tac/toe. Octopii are wreaking destruction, reaming all of the… so much to lose. It’s done, this sham, this quick fix. Who’s got the conch shell? We’re goin’ dancin’. Bitch holes; find better things to do. Guidelines to bussing tables; shit should not be left on tables, for any length of time, at all, all dishes, silverware, glassware; should be off the table, before the customer leaves. Heroes, and herons, are rare birds, indeed, and each, and every one of us, is blue, in our own way, and… ah, and what things we wrestle with! We shouldn’t care about, most of the things, we do. Dig the gloom, of the watery landscapes, we tried so hard to figure out. It seemed to be a part of a larger thing. Alone, alive, psychotic, decaffeinated. Don’t allow yourself to get too comfortable, with where you are, what you have, etc. All of your favorite sports teams, have lost their big games. They’re a little bit goofy, these problems, I have. There isn’t that much to improvise off, in this day, and age. If we could go out, feeling half of a scene, or a movement, or an urge of belonging, of place. There is much to be said, for the straight jacket, of sexual attraction. Once again, we find ourselves in the position, of having no time; of being eaten away, by things we cannot eat. Catalogue, the dramatic equivalent, of a fart, from radio static. Silk yourself, wormy, with a one eyed, grey, galloup. Measure us fairly, write us, often, let us hide in this, bone her, with an air of resignation. The long, drawn out, hunt, brings a pitiful bounty, indeed. This isn’t going to go this way, not right now. We are often miscellaneous, in need of some glamorous, fashion model, or two, to lead us around the fairy tale, princess float, at a labor day parade. Our gestation period, is long. Well, this latest setback, doesn’t exactly, make things, easy. It doesn’t matter anymore, it’s too damn late, now. Flush us out, with an anal tirade, whatever you meant to say, about colostomy (whatever it was), is/was, in bad taste. It isn’t very often, that they look at you, the same way. Sales are down, so everyone, was fired. Fury in the fast lane, hysterics, in the slow. Stare upwards, and watch the fans on the ceiling, spin, lackadaisically. I sped through the parking lot, with all due haste, someone was angry, that there weren’t enough paper plates, you see. The poisonous inkwells, of memory, never dry up, never evaporate, like milk, into the atmosphere, to be redistributed, as acid rain. We fall into these warm, cuddly, places, that delineate the now, from then, the real, for unreal, the heaven, from hell and the open, from closed. Oh, I’m paranoid, alright. I flaunt my insanity, at regular intervals. In between salt trucks, and crop dustings, I’m careful not to expose too much. Well, if dice in a burlap bag, with a cord, and a string, gives you any kind of extrasensory, spurting feeling, be my guest. The ape came in, made a mess, broke things, and left. Flirtatious, and lucid, wet, and intellectual. I don’t have to worry about any of the subtleties of this writing, being lost in translation, because none of this, is ever going to be translated. How is it that I am so far off… there are completely new, and indifferent, responses, that have been going on way too long. They aren’t even new responses, they are the expected, and anticipated, variables. What, for once and for all, is going on? Anything, and everything, gets written down, vehemently, there is no time to talk about it, in fact, it can’t be talked about. Talk would ruin it, even though it’s about, being ruined, essentially. I am very adept, at holding in my rage, anger, and frustration, I am brilliant, in denying the present, and pretending that everything is fine. For some reason, I can’t stop lying, I can’t even tell anyone, what I’m doing, on a daily basis, because the (WAH-WAH) pain is so great, and I can’t believe that I am, what I am, and I’m doing, what I’m doing. I can no longer accept, any of it, the fantasy worlds, I create, or the actual one, that I live in, or try to deny, with every effort of will, imaginable. Everything takes hours, and nothing ends up happening. Look at this mess. Work out your liberation, or else…