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Let us wilt, after flowering, rather than the other way around. What a jump, oh, shit, what bags, what stuff… Jesus! Immediate pandemonium, all the time, everywhere. This is called, the game of what we do inside our heads. I need forgiveness, despite the fact, that to my recollection, I’ve never done anything wrong. Beware of people walking up to you, with telephones hidden in their pants. Kiss her all over, Pasteurize yourself. Ah-ha, now, triumphantly cosmological, like a theme park, roller coaster. Liquidated, Eskimo, ass kisses, you know what I mean. Grotesque, and stupefied, self surpassed, no conventional, Saturnian floundering, not now, oh, not now! Sickness sets in, madness? Sure. Pathetic, and uncool, unapproachable, pretentious, pretend, standoffish, aloof, scary, messed up? Now, twice the cradle robbing action, for the price of one. Heart broken, head aching, do something different. No more Bavarian/Bohemian, bullshit, it’s stupid, somehow. Love to spin on your butt? Financial ruin; snickered, and flickered, bothered, brilliant, hot/cold, wrong/right. Try, from time, to time, to create some action. This is not, nor has it ever been, a biography, nor is it, in any way, autobiographical. Psychology is the study of nothing, only, less. People are un-understandable, as are, we, ourselves. We are the great, transcendent mysteries, we are the unscratchable itch. The desert, over there, the uneaten dessert, right here. The unsettling pain, of stomach cramps, contorting, and contracting. To live, like this, is not to live, at all, despite all of my supposed, guiding philosophies, to live by. The pointlessness of our lives, as if we were blindfolded, drunk, and swinging a wet fish, at a piñata, made of rubber. Grip it, and shift, grip it, and shift. As I’ve stated, many times before, the blanket thing, has got to cease. She is all about more tempting, and alluring offers, and, not coincidentally, doing quite a bit of tempting, herself. They write their names, and numbers, in matchbooks, with lipstick. We tap, touch our privates, blow, inhale, spit, make a big, dramatic deal, over it. Buffoon ‘yer way through, m’ boy. These factors, that devise, and derive, divide, and duplicate, skip the lecture. This slow, banal, boring, disenchanted, defused, and empty trashcan, planed. Remember (not planned) the story of the salmon? Don’t give me anything, the conditions, are once again, kittywompus, Kish-Kaw-Kew, Potawatomi. This is a feather, these are drugs, choose. Next-door neighbors, die. The people at the end of school, the end of the story, that, and living above the convenience store. The strenuous effortlessness, of trying to make it, on our own. They can go on orchestrating the madness, without me having anything to do with it, if it makes them feel any better, like being bleached. Shit, baby, my car, is older than you are. We are metal, there is nothing else to say. There are feelings, of being already overtaken. Debt is the manifestation of our discontentment. I’m gonna’ ream you, just, ream you! Always in the throes of something, nothing exceptionally special, or different. Our disillusioning collapes, bewilder us. Ducks still waddle, and snakes, still slither, after all is said, and done. Suffuse the septic overflow. Piss all over the mattress, uh-oh, not again. They insisted upon doing it on the patio. Cognitive restructuring, neurochemical re-wiring (yahoo, yahoo, yahoo). They won’t even let me, work. Play acting, bullshit, a diversion, an invented game. She is some kind of alien, sent here to be our own, personal Lucretius. All over the inside, all that name calling, sorrow, two funeral homes. Compliments paid, months gone by, him, or her, bullshit, ignored. Girls yelling something, while cutting lawns? Seriously serious? I don’t know anymore. The diner closed down, for good. I refuse to play her games, of villany, lying, treachery, deception, deceit (i.e. “love”). Delusion, after delusion, after illusion, shattered, more created, shattered, the process, is repeated. Punch and bite, kick, scream, hit. I’m getting that (say, quickly). No one is ever going to stop me, especially my fucking, beehive, asshole, stinkfinger, somehow other, self! Drifting, and floating, throughout the whole, wasted mess, if not in a row, damn near. There is a Venus, up in the sky, and where triangles, came from. Motivated, to (over the cliff) mumble, body, and the brain/heart units, pulled, in different, divergent, directions. Volcanic contemplation, of going off, appointment set, and confirmed. That’s an awful lot of compost, an awful lot of compost (undo it, somehow). Stink bomb residue, missing chunks, and pieces, interesting looking atheists, unknown to themselves. I smell, let’s leave it at that. Stay with the arcane talk, of Kilometer, and Celsius, stop the chatter, and frustrated, palsied, breathless, succumbing (good, good). It’s a five billion ways, dance, of cross-determination, all the way forward, and back. Construe it as pornographic, I just don’t care anymore. Absolutely wicked, I am not good enough, God enough… to do, what needs to be done, properly. Already interfered, already caused harm… by being in a revealing mood. Always sorry, but I can, imagination is, where was I? Shake the perfection, out of the radio waves, filter out the rest, learn the language, settle into the catacombs. Make this, make sense, for yourselves, to yourselves, and yourselves, alone. The sound of depression, is a child’s broken, toy harmonica. This kind of acne, is contagious, and spreading, like dandelions. You are St. Jesus, the bible person, mentioning people, we don’t know, out of habit. Do it, then, thrust your pelvis into the windshield. The love, oh, the love, the love… capture the love. Soft, and flowery, floral, delicate, the charming, delightful, fragrance. I tried to be original, and wound up, dull. The savvy, are to blame. Change your life, or else (let it happen). It’s not stated, straight out.

Metallurgy, profane memories. I challenge you, to try to piss on your own face. We have no sponsors. Fail at something, before attempting to destroy, everything. Hip, and happening, surreally pretentious, bastardized, thunderstorm, peripheral, uh, whatever. Something used to be here, other than what currently, stands. Humble the assholes, silence them, smoosh them. The dichotomy grows further, and further, apart. Stop crying/start buying. Touchy issues, cries, of a cure, plans scrapped, for a forty-two dollar, U-turn. Pale skin, overactive endorphins, it’s all quite cloudy, partly sunny. Stocking shelves, preparing food, driving somewhere, pretending to do something. Much lamentation, an orderly chaos, an “either way,” argument. How much more should be grappled, and/or groped? Cut down on some of the noise, here. Subject the sluts, to peer pressure. Understandable meat injections, were given. Live like a lemon, fear traffic backups. Location? Afraid of going too far? Writers block, is of secondary importance. What keeps you alive, is the same, as what puts you to sleep. Blood tests, and drugs, curiosity, quelled. Ceaseless, dead deer, hump, lick what goes over the toilet bowl, sassy. Pavements, medians, windows down, heat on high. Shellac the smart kids, your booth is tipping, violence is churning, and burn rubber, they did. We’re trying really hard, to be patient, with you. Use the fork! Intrigued, and frightened, in a trailer park, way. Coast to coast positions, who will steer the radio waves, to the long forgotten, people, over yonder? There was lots of water, and illegible faces. Go pick up the black book, of anti-inspiration. Not some Pollyanna, primadonna, the only kind of difference, that matters, doesn’t, after all. The invisible others, avail you, nothing. We’ve all had our fair share, of less, and less, and less. I am not so much the groupie, so much, the fish. Perhaps, you too, can be, and always will. Genetics is general, some kind of something, that comes from over there. The sounds of sexual intercourse, are coming from the radio. Remember, back? Take the time, and fight it, speak out against the injustice. Dunk-n-rub, bone yards, the bread, is half deflated. Start dancing, garishly, the Zen-like, bend, and flush. Diabetics, save their floppy vegetables, for next time. Paltry, yet present, we put ourselves in the buried alive, pit. There’s this, plus, what she forgot. Here we fuckin’ go! Lick the discolored mint, and parsley sprigs, out of the can. Ourselves, and all things associated with us, will fall away. I’d prefer the heat, and humidity. I don’t ask to be left alone, I demand it. She stormed out, and off. Count your tumors, rush to contrary values, why do you keep needing to get up, and walk around? You mean, I have to re-write, all that shit? This is no quasi-soccer match, call now, times three, my thumb hurts. Should gynecology, be this twisted? You’ve been tipped, there will be more. Melody, “cracks her neck." Break the peculiar habit, of blinking too much. The jealousy, and the power struggles, fall flat/fell flat. The failures, are ideological, there was no severance package. Thank you, come again. Remember the pants, crowd the witness, off the big couch. Pinch the one dimensional arm, held up with pins, and needles. Sigh, a little more deeply, worry less. Sing, and/or, be exhumed, by advanced races. Someone had the audacity, to chain down the rocket ship. Somehow or the other, the license was determined, in advance, underwater, bough cracking, light injustice. The bells, and whistles, never cease, the people, never leave. She decided she was a lesbian, after she changed her mind (and so on). The shopping carts were purposefully flipped, and dragged. Spread product A, on the affected area, rub in, with a circular motion, use sparingly. Pictures, too expensive, to develop, anyway, lie around, in a state of controlled disequilibrium. Dreamless dreams, of the number, 121. Somehow, this should be ego-enhancing (the same “thing”, as on page five). It’s like outer space. Feel the alienation. Mix together ingredients, the yolks, remain the same, eat the rice, eat the vase, or gee… her genitals are glistening, so full of fluid. We want to be sane, too late. Fuck these abusive torturers! This is a very delicate process, it takes way too long. Commentary, breaks, book lined, living rooms, knick-knacks, gospel songs, publicity. We don’t feel too well, or, at all.

Yellow sock, social structures, situations. The library, and the grit on the windows, what was typed, and what was not? Descendents, cling to no (know there is, no) God. The blood, in the general vicinity, carnage in the guardrails, attitudinal disposition. Everyone is different, and the same. The sound of book spines, cracking, means distraction, is eliminated. There is a fresh smell, in a pigpen, at birthing time. Philosophy is simple, electricity, is complex, some kind of Europe, going down. There are problems, with having flesh. Contrast, discern, overuse, contemplate contempt, with run-on sentences. Salted metal, very popular rhetoric, chronic pennies, a lot of commentary, regarding eyes. Geese strut, and shit, all over the college campuses, and cemeteries. Bottled up passion (too many holidays) can help you get on top of that thing, you yoo-hoo over… for a price. Two Virgos, in the background, lips parted, mascara on, suck and fuck love, is quite a racket. Cracks, and stains, on the off-white, pseudo stucco, ceilings, spell out, “stare at me." Sick of the two bit mandalas, happenstance, wedding rings, changes of pace. Heads in corpuscles, reflect off the water. Giant pieces of cauliflower, likely, loom over your head, like coasters, coming at you. Get off of the roof, jumper. Regarding the sensual tiger of the near east; increase the drama, get lost in it. The bed moves, the pounding continues, the hair, is in full effect. Very general ectoplasm, essential intimidation, grey patterned formulations. Some kind of meiosis, is like a white shirt, exploding. “The anger,” will drive you into “next exit” misogyny. Fat women, screaming for more; impartial, creepy, fame denied. Unending, ending, old guys, stalking, through the park. Foaming negativity becomes invigorating, neglected, sunshiny, guilt laden, leaden, swollen, refitted. A couple of people, ran out of the room. We were inside a furniture store, I think. Work/money, cowardly smiles, in the background, some guys head, and a ham. What is the lure, of that particular building? You don’t need any more preparation, baby. In the span of two months, a pimp, can become a whore. Carve up a jury, a mechanical, kind of something… seated/pummeled. Reptiles are different, those little red pills, scientifically impossible. Forest fires might just, smell better, than a fire, in the fireplace. Impact asunder, gawkers, out in droves. Is the barbed wire there, to keep us in, or out? Foo-foo, ran away. Why did you destroy your face? Hose the ketchup off the dinosaurs. The trees in cemeteries, grow taller. All that I think, are these stupid, idiotic, immature, thoughts. A lunatic, lurched out of the bushes. Wasting this, that, and the other thing, away. It’s all up to us. Try to feel the merging, before it occurs. Don’t mention the pigtails. There is shit, all over your underpants. Duplicate, memorize; there was a mirror above the bed, because (or, so that)… people with brooms, and dustpans, mops, and pails, perhaps, we both are, and are not, homosexual. The pain in your head, is akin to an engine, beware. No key, no admittance, observe the correct order, the security monitor, became a refrigerator. Shake the box. Kicked out of the live birth, pens, as extensions of the hand. Grasshopper hip kids, crowded bars, aerosol, body piercings. Tinfoil stars, forgotten plastics, red-headed cherubs, are overenthused, chill, way out. They stand in pairs, from the back, they look like ducks. Please, another staple, doctor, take it a little too far. This is not effort, there is a long, long, way to go. Kill a man/lady, catheter tubes, rotting ovaries, bass players, pen, and pencil sets. Naked women, flexing their muscles, standing in factories, sewing bee, social groups, frown at motorcycle riding, queers, queens, and jelly boys. Remember the rules you abide by, the signs you need to steal, or tear down. We make too many mistakes. Real, naked, moving, flesh! Floggings, with cattails, what runs down the drain, masochists don’t like leaving the bed. Frightened, by your pin-up horses. The void, is a lack of a primary, cigarette wrapper, objective. Plop a couple dollars, in the hunchback’s box, the halfback’s helmet, the half-baked, point of view. Bleak, is the peak, for us. I don’t know how to type. Sometimes, I forget how dorky I am. Doubt what surprises you.

Unpure thought? For now, we remain. Comments on the social structure of the world…if philosophy is obsolete, in this day, and age, what of the philosopher? The bricks are blackened, by carbon monoxide. No way out, now, way out. Playing the highway games, to pass the time, and get us home. There has got to be somewhere to go, from here. Once in twenty, is better odds? Attempting to silence the voices, only makes them louder. No compass, no bearings, nothing familiar, sounds, provoke thoughts. In the park, people discuss where they have been, and where they are going. What to say when well thought out, pickup lines, backfire? As the wounds, slowly heal, we gain the capacity, the capability, to go out, and procure new wounds. Shit, who wouldn’t need a how-to book, with a lady like that? The incentive, isn’t much of one, but it’s enough, to keep us going. After the contours, have been sucked, licked, fucked, memorized…funny, how magically, it all works out. Slide down the fake, plastic banister, rearrange the wicker furniture, perhaps you’ve mistaken me, for someone else. No hop the jumpie, pink push pins, wallpaper, twisted, and demented, reasoning processes. Talk about morality, as if it were the fashion trend, that it is, in actuality. After our naughty behavior, is rationalized, and justified, this way, and that, you’ve still got denial, and repression, to contend with. Let me, like an acorn, start. Steal my ideas; send me a copy of the tape. All our reasons, come from the inside…or, so we’d like to think. Dry-cleaning, keeps clothes looking like new. Complexity, puts chaos, on the back burner. There is something? Bedroom trashcans, usually have traces of vomit, at the bottom of them. We want, what we want, how we want it, and we don’t get it, at least not, that way. Unfortunately, there isn’t a source…well, not the kind of source, it needs to be. Count your teeth, hide time, and place, from the passive observer. I will sue, if you so much as, annoy me. Remember your integers, and exponents. The smell of cat food, is on my hands. The catheter was ribbed. It’s time to be a lot more angry. You stole my piercing gaze idea. Her legs, look store bought. Think something up. You only get one chance. Billboards, are like staring into neo-sunshine. Local act, seeks frontman, most know not, what this means. I did my best, now, we’ll wait and see, what happens. The rush of endorphins, that describes, the hairspray spell, you had me under. Money-go-lonely, mosh pits, it’s careen off of Hitler’s, and Saskatoon, now! Ashtray enthusiasm, exuded, crushed velvet bigness, obsessions, aren’t fun. Do more split open, paper plate, stuff, is right. Well, yes, there is a definite concern. Clever men, and women, get their shit typed, for them. Try to find out why, you used to steal, so much. If you don’t mind, I’d like to just rub my face, until next Tuesday. That’s all there is to it. Erase yourself completely, from these equations. Well, we used to just, get too drunk. Oh, rest assured, I’m deranged. She will pay for what she did to me, she did it, on purpose. Why are some of these pages, so wavy, baby? I’ll show you my evil! Let your action figures… writers, sure do write about themselves a lot, don't they? We miss how things used to be. He took his sister, down. The new DJ, plays the exact same music, as the old one. I will do my own thing, in my own way, succeed, or fail, on my own terms. It is time for a new way, of doing things. Go forth, contrary to the way, you did. Good luck, stupid, have a nice life. Ignoring it, while both in it and out of it. Pumpkin still lit? Did X quit, or get fired? Do you recognize this part of the sentimental feeling? The part she said I, didn’t need to know. The key on the chain, don’t work no more. The hairpin fractures on the dashboard, remind me of, what’s out there. Strings upon your fingers, serve the same purpose as morphine, in laboratory animals. Lost in serotonin beehives, low light monsters, tempered glass deities. Sleep face down, in case of, Hendrixitus. Confused, as to what to do? Punt! Fight your biology. Somebody took a shit in the urinal. Nudist colony infatuations, usually don’t last too long, everybody knows who you really like. Somehow, pop culture, poisons everything. You’re talking about brand names, that just look like this? Go off into a trance, and irritate yourself. What do I think of sex? You mean…two people, right? Tear the girlfriend pretend, into shards, and pieces. We find, we are full of food. We refuse to do what you tell us, or expect us, to do. There are no big thrills, at all.

See how relaxed, we are, like souvenirs, like spectators. Crush the cakes, and pies, violently. No more lies, no, things would be different…Ahrgh! Thank you, for your dollar bills, I’ll pay you back, someday. So, you think you deserve better, do you? Ah, there will always be a market for Chaucer, and what’s-his-face! Hideous, bloated, no idea, of cause, and effect, fornication, the inner city, mutilations. It is so, so, easy, to attempt to destroy ourselves, and fall short of it. Randomness, so gruesome, that it doesn’t repulse us, after a while. Every day, is nothing special, they add up, however, to be less than that, somehow. Alaska, eh? Here, or there, they say, where everything is happening, and where everybody, is. Soon, we’ll all be dead, you see, and it surely, will not matter to us, where we’re buried. Bestial virtues, benevolent sins, contrast, and color, vertical hold. To fart, without any real concern of anyone smelling it, to give up caring, to decide, once, and for all, that it doesn’t matter, that holding them all in, isn’t providing you with any benefits, real, or imagined. There is a pain, but it’s so commonplace, and obvious, tardy, tawdry, and squeelish, that it isn’t worth mentioning. It’s torment, make no doubt about that; but probably, less than average. When I close my eyes, it feels like my head is floating away. Sadness, is really only sad, when you’re thinking about it being so, whatever it is. Survival, they say, is paramount. I say, who gives a hoot? I am in more trouble, right now, than I’ve ever been, in my entire life, and outwardly, everything would appear to be fine, finer than fine, but it’s all a sick, and vital lie, and I’m dying, I am dead. I beg inwardly, and fold up, hear voices, from hundreds, or even thousands, of miles away. I wish, and knowing that wishes never come true, knowing all the myths, that surround me; I dry, in my own semi-gloss enamel, with no audience, and no need of one. I assure you, I am not mad, sir, I am God. Hearts turn into X’s, more easily than we’ve been led, to believe. Searching through the bookshelves, for a more prestigious way, to collapse. The math is dicked with, the menagerie, expands beyond its boundaries, and my stories, become stories, outside of themselves. We don’t belong here, anyway/this is exactly where we belong. This is not post nova, whatever that equates to being. We’re having a sale, we’re slashing prices, we’re in need of a more desperate version, of resignation. Do they get as horny, as we do? Welcome the molecules, back home. Whoop, whoop, whoop, tar, tar, tar, whoop, whoop, whoop, whooop. Tip your hat, take a picture, just accept. Ahhrrghharranarghha! Bottom way promises, reflections, of a slight bisexuality? To sit, and to lie down, these are the things we prefer to do. Shattering taboo’s, starts the whole guilt thing, again. Nothing starred, circled, or underlined, nothing consumed, nothing digested; my life, must be some sort of a worthwhile, self-deception. You mean, all she wanted to talk about, was fuck’n? Are we even, people? Fears, solidify into belief, beliefs, restrict, restrictions, destroy, and limit, choke, strangulate. Beat the eggs by hand, be really vicious, and abusive. I’m already over the edge, what’s next? The book is written. Take it, hang on, inform, and educate, the students, incite a riot. What about the soy, from 99 mile road? If they keep throwing bananas, I’ll keep batting them away. This, well, these, are fears, of the hamburger lady. Monograms are a different type of tattoo, altogether. Reduced to re-treading, over the same old landscapes. This is a kinetoscope, of staying alive. No one but myself, to annoy. Doesn’t go anywhere? Always, the buildup, tension, release. A sickening, raw heat, is layered on my midriff, and I did it, I alone, am responsible. Arrows only bulls-eyes, are when they shatter each other, in midair. A long, and deliberate escape, from the inevitable. To drink from their cups, to taste, what they tasted, to sign up for the seminar, to avoid being drawn into conversation, at all costs. I do revolving doors, I have resolved to keep rewriting the same thing, over, and over, again. This is very boring, yes, but not half as boring, as I am. These disasters, become easier to see. Shares were traded, looks were exchanged, there are conspiracies, galore, but they don’t make any difference. If it were burned, so what? Nothing lost, nothing gained. It’s a loo-loo of a slipshift! Let them all say, what they will, I’ve earned my island status, I’ve made too many mistakes. Lied to, waiting, waiting, while I serve. The shit is baked on, under the fingernails, spreading germs. They talk so loud, nothing works, the phone, is off the hook, the front door lock, is broken. The fax machine, was turned off, the salesmen, make calls here, at all hours of the day, and night. The unemployed wanderer, turned to crime, with his wife, and child, in the car. The obnoxious homosexual really wasn’t, aha! There is one more diagonal line, in which to breathe heavily, all over. Don’t let this happen to me, it can’t be.

My perfect life, is as it is, with these undercurrents, always. Ahhh, help me (help me, before I snap)! Weasel, stop spilling, imposing, asking me questions. There are no hard, and fast rules, in fact, to be honest, there are no rules, at all. This is, however, your last, and only, chance. Endless, unspoken controversies, in regards to unity, versus (and/or) diversity. Who gives a hoot, what this is? So much time has passed, and it is so far beyond, too late, that everything is futile, anything, is too little, too this, too that, but never of sufficient quality, and never enough. To want to fuck, usually includes a desire to drink urine, and consume menstrual blood; maybe that’s just me, it usually is. On top, and backwards, if only we could cum, like we urinate, have a few experiences, in actuality, of the long, drawn out, King Kong, that we imagine, in our heads. I am going to lie down on the ground, now, I am going to ignore the digital clock, I am not going to sleep, or peruse that catalog, or wonder whatever happened, to the supposed, wild years, the supposed high, I’ve already had my satricon days, full of alcohol, and lipstick, punk rock, and vomit, cat smells, and harrowing escapes, laughter at laughter, and chemistry experiments. The more boring, one becomes, the more interesting, they appear, it seems. Traffic delays are out of hand, trucks are losing their trailers, construction continues, magazine articles, write themselves. The tadpole painting? The short lived, tastes, that reside in our mouths, only to be spit out (only to be masticated, swilled around, nibbled delicately, and horked). Nevermind the facts, the crime statistics, the video cameras, the usurpers, the schemes, the two, or three faced, Christians, that traipse around the balustrades, and refuse to pay. I am the hoof, so be it. All obtuse angles, all that macaroni and cheese, forever loose, hinges broken, acedecholine, in traction. I will start, I will stop, I will not mention desire. She wasn’t jealous, we are never, ever, finished. Jocular, leering, suddenly, exuberant, put in our place. Humbled, hollowed, we pace back, and forth, in our rooms, trying not to make a sound. I don’t know what the rules are, which way, or how much, they can be bent, or even if they exist. Who’s knockin’ boots, now? This is some kind of wiggle, through the pain. The garbage truck, is on fire, which is causing slowdowns. The blue bonnets, too. People who look smart, usually aren’t, they’re, “correctish." Don’t act sexy, for them. What is there to say? We talk about the same things, over, and over, again. Make sense of it, any old way. Drag me into the disco, by the ear, don’t let me leave. These cumbersome bodies, that need to be forced to act. Swallow your bodily fluids, drive your own bus. They are mere images, they are sturdy characters. This is no film, celluloid, burns, disintegrates. Empty, like that box, lost, like fan mail to Jesus, in the dead letter office. The sickness, stays put, the disease, spreads. The whole lazy Susan, revolves, and revolves, seemingly, without end, and we watch it, just, watch it. Sudden, passive, exclamations, soft, and passive, declarations. They wear no bras, or panties, and they walk around like that; tempting, enticing, and all too, real. I can read your aura, I’ve done my homework, you see. Obnoxious, embarrassing, humorlessly, hilarious, forgetfully, brilliant. Stomp on the empty cartons, and crunch up all the paper bags. There is a great deal of cleaning, to be done. Who was that woman? Who was that man? Let me nibble on the leftovers, of your lesbianism. Throw the football, look at the wrong one’s legs, make excuses, about the silence, try to explain your exuberant, disinterest, your apathetic, ambition. New York, all night restaurants, video, audio, the other medium, these delusions, could focus steady, if we were to let them get out of hand. I do not, despite occasional ideas to the contrary, ever want to see my face, on a child’s lunch box, or even a thermos. The effort, and energy of will, required, to remove that cap, off of the top of the beverage, seems to me, to be too much of an output of energy. I hear helicopters, I said, I hear helicopters! Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze! Control, do nothing, control, there is nothing to do, control, there is a great deal to do, but we do not do it. All I really want to do, at bottom, really care about, is fucking. You see, I want to fuck, I do not, never have. Unless, one were to count oneself, among their many conquests, which isn’t the case, which simply, is not the case. That said, I hereby retire from this wanting to/not fucking, bridge game, I’m playing. It reaches my mouth. Seal it with a lisp.