200

There is no getting out, of the mess we’re in, simply. I am unusable in/within/for: this society! The Egyptian dollar exchange rates, the yen, the soap, the dollar, the question mark. Lone, over, away, out, helpless, flailing, worthless, waiting. Censor this trash. I was about to reach for the last reach, stretch out, for the last time, piss around the yard, in hopes a new breed, of half fish, half frog, will swim up next to me. Doodling, doubt, doodling, doubt, that’s just about enough of that, young man. Scratch the faces, off all the portraits. They are there, you see? They are there, right now, as we speak, symbolically, as we live, symbolically, symbiotically, subliminally, that way, and the other one, the other one, after that. 100%, flat out, dead mixer, on the rebounder, with the half salt, on a steep incline, 22% physics. Necks, sometimes, have rubber in them, are rubber, like you, your plastic smile, go to hell. I’m the fool you were speaking of, the…sorry, those who have forsaken religion. Blow me, I mean…lollipop, chocolate, cotton candy, cocksucker. They, most of them…can drool their way, to the next girl. Some, can just drool, as the girl primes her inner matter, and crux, for a whole new kind, of Salvador Dali, if you know what I mean. Your diseases, lie dormant, in me, ready to be passed on, slowly. If I were you, I’d watch my step, but, then again, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s never going to happen, and I’m never going to see that. I’m an ice-cream man, I’m rich, chase after me, not now, someday, someway, no time. This is where we stopped, before. Electron fornication. Old-fashioned ideas, that never came off, cheesy, sordid stories, ideas of no consequence, life in a vacuum, night in the bag, take out the trash, wipe out the trash can, count the hours, days, minutes, seconds. Start from the back, and make your way to the front, become inspired, insight, enraged, engaged. Pollyanna your way, from having it all, to neverland, soup, to scotch, cereal, to fruit flies. This is ten years in the life, without insurance, unsuspecting victims, dirt on the hands, blood on the pickaxe, civil trials, taxidermy, magnificent absolution. Was it a result of poor, or faulty, photocopying? What bothers you, the absolute most? It’s a huge belch. I will be totally hated, for writing all this. This is you, in a way, all over me. This is a chair, I can recall, these are gigantic, mood swings, other worlds, that fade in, and out, of focus, I’m no further along, son, we’re the same, you, and me. I pat your back, scratch yours, you stab mine, all of you. That’s fine, because, you’re fine, you’re a whore, you’re a you, and I’m alright. Sometimes, the long, all-out, effort, to stay on the trail, is harder then to get off it. You promised me you’d call, and stroke my pussy. I just can’t believe it. Nada, is like a streak of shit, on the carpeting. What particular brand of courage, should I buy? I smell like a few fellas I’ve known, through the years, men that sleep under the porches of abandoned houses, illegally. Hi, in whatever language you speak. Turning back to the pages of history, somebody else’s, history. I’m as vain as a bullfighter, you can check my spelling, on that. California’s calling me, and those dozen, or so, other places, as well. Give me some advice, from time to time. I never take my work shirt off. I wish I could be more inspiring, aspiring, at all. With vast repositories, of useless knowledge, come things, you didn’t count on, like, ambition. Ambition, most usually leads to frustration. Too much time on ones hands, leads one to conclude, quite positively, that one is fat, and ugly. Oh, what I wouldn’t give, for a pen that works, for more than ten minutes. I don’t give a fuck, about, I. In, and out, of the car, sick of the car, the heat on the floor, giving us hotfoot, the empty cans, and bottles, in the car, the things we didn’t say. Even though, we eventually, said something, the voice trailed off, the real words, were never spoken, the conclusion, was never uttered. So blank, and torn off, begging for things, silently, brooding, two, times four, jealousy, too many snacks, too many bagels. Take out that eraser, and go to town, sissy. Inherit the star, some false connections, we really don’t believe in, butter boy. No matter how much liquid, of whatever sort, we consume, we never get quite, to the whole, bohemian ideal, heavy metal hair. In my dreams alone, they come to me, with rigatoni arms. Flip the book, place it, where everyone is likely, to see it, blew, blown, out of sequence, wrong reaction, wrong statement, hello. To not be able to read your own handwriting, or understand your native language, can be construed, as a sign of madness. No mirror, torn down, this is an altogether, good thing. Outfoxed, overdone, undone, outphoenixed, glory, glory, no part of any other, life. Keep all secrets, secrets, and all mysteries, mysteries. If there is blood on your pants, say it’s your own. That’s life, without, kids. Combat thine own weaknesses, peaks, and valleys, unflinchingly. As fresh as the Spring rain, dozens of them, pre-phase… Once the human mind is lost, it’s a difficult thing to find, again. Like sex on a playground…

My entire life, has been lived, in my imagination. Pick your destiny/grasp your straw. Lucky, lucious, divine, this is merely what I write, I can’t live, this way. Thrive, wave good-bye, I can’t figure out, if he’s an asshole, or a legitimate, prick. Hey, honey bun! Taiwan…well, that’s as good a place, as any. Yeah, I still add to the top of the page, later, and what’s added, never coincides, with anything written, further down. In fact, it’s usually diametrically, opposed, to it. I did the escort business, had other plans, while doing what I was standing right in front of, still sleeping with one eye open? Well, these things happen, morning arises, schedules, change. Is this some kind of Tibetan buffet breakfast? They want us to think that art is a pastime, a part, of life, I beg to differ. Art, is more serious, than a chemistry/physics lecture, it can be a standing, and looking at a pole, that seems out of place, or pictures of abandoned drive-in movie theaters. It encompasses the whole doggie bag, leftover, left out, parts, of everything. Flake me! Yeah, I do dance, soggy, like I had a pencil in my ass, see, observation! Images, sense impressions, somehow, the key figures, in that movement, missed the point. The crux, is akin, to reading the signs. Yes, I still try to write it all down on napkins. I don’t even like to think about (cut a big fart) how much money I spent, for nothing. Everything is at the discretion of the damn company. Instructions were given out, twice, from the inside, of a Houdini, escape box. Life is so, so easy, for so many people, and for me, it is not only, difficult, but impossible. Looking, three different ways, from four places, at one thing. We don’t agree with what the government is doing, at all, they don’t care, they never have. It was about taking off pants, neither of us, were ready to do that. Three stars, flip flopped, and to say that Chicago was ablaze, again, would be an understatement. I don’t know, I’d need to see the videotape, to substantiate what most people, say. Well, yeah, I’m a lunatic, but see, lunatics are in vogue/demand. Going to shows? Oh, no, no time for that, this, anything. I look through those guides to what’s happening, once in a blue moon, and end up throwing them across the room, because, even though they’re filled to the margins, with thousands, of supposedly, earth-shattering, can’t miss, activities, it is clear, that there is absolutely nothing, happening. You’re correct, with your observation, in regards to my originality, being a barrier, I mean, if I’ve heard it before, read it before, and it’s someone else’s idea, of whatever, I won’t repeat it. I always give credit, where credit is due, which works out in my favor, more times, than not. I know what I know (loosely). The land deal? The U.S. ashtray/astray, the broken hearted, saw it coming, no matter how much they protest. This must all come out, in one foul swoop! There’s this year’s Miss Teenage Troy, complete with tiara, and ribbon. The fact that we’re strangers, shouldn’t prove to be a barrier, I mean, not only does nobody, ever really know, anybody else, nobody even knows anyone else, at all. We would pretend to be still. Be wrong! Like booze, it’s still being absorbed into the system, long after the actual drinking, has ceased. She’ll destroy you, in a fit of rage. There is this picture in front of me now, of two people, with eyes like spaced out martians, wearing contraptions on their heads, made out of toilet paper tubes, and tinfoil. Who’ll come downstairs with the biggest starship (but that’s a little off the subject)? All bangs, and social maelstrom, overalls, attitude. That weird, zombied-out, chick, with that thing on her head! Gee, can I keep my same job, and attend day, or evening, classes? The looks, those kind, from the back, to wherever it was, I don’t know, more hatred, than longing. A tour of the inside of my head? That train left already, and trust me, you wouldn’t want to be on it. I mean, I was giving out twenty-five page letters, at one point, to virtual strangers. I did weird shit, with, like, a vision, behind it, a clouded, screwed up vision, that only brings I’m sorry’s, more than a year later. No system, or network, no word spreading, framework, or chassis, being set up, just waking up in the morning, still drunk, from the night before. Well, at least there were these convoluted, big ideas. Handing these things out, like candy. Driving around, giving a guided tour, the guided tour, of the road, the long way back, from the convenience store, to people who weren’t, shit, couldn’t be, interested. And that’s where such, and such, lived; I stole beer there. Life is meant to be lived alone, my friend, contact of some kind, is nice, but…So, I’m supposed to be interested in cellular phones, and computer web sites, or whatever, eh? Blow that shit, I am an advocate, of paint, I will always be an advocate of paint, crayons, even, over the plastic, and cathode-ray tube, thingamajigs, that they are just going to keep inventing. Nobody writes nowadays, except for p.c./Jesus/movie script/internet. I want to go to the side of the house, and smash shit into oblivion, starting with that chair. But, these moods, pass away, like thoughts, not written down. Spring open a boxtop, but don’t eat what’s inside. Fly through the triple header, at the tripe farm. Splinters of the whole, fell off.

There is soap. There are many situations, yet, to fall into. There is no normal, nor, has there ever been. You can almost hear the tinkling, and reverb, from the piano, from here. We want extra, but are unsure of what extra, we want. How to go about getting the things you want, will very likely, take you the rest of your life. The more you learn, the less you know, but we wish, and sometimes think, that this could be otherwise. Your upbringing, what you’ve been given, what you’ve had taken away, what you had, and never had, your education, looks, social skills, social isolation, ticks, quirks, personality, and character, environment, circumstances, both within, and without, your sphere of control, and/or influence, your basic, biological, servomechanism…is who you are; nothing more. And nothing less; ideas, and things, though, conjunctive, seem to be at opposite ends, of the polar spectrum, in the case of most people. Let us modify our ways of going about things, look at all there is to look at, go there. Ah, Chaucer…so useful, so useful, now. The word art, has a great, many meanings, as do, most words, as do, most things. Ties that bind, both free, and constrict, are scattered all over the campus of brotherhood. Let us presume, for a while, that life is a disease, we try very hard, to cure. Our maladies, harken back to the original sin, but don’t quite, go that far. Particle physics, will look at more, and more, miniscule, and imaginary, particles, and/or waves…until they admit, that they’re looking at nothing; that there was really nothing there, that wasn’t/was there, in the first place. The world is so beautiful, and ugly, wretched, and grand, that in the end, nothing can really be said about it, at all! There’s a problem everywhere, doctor. Atmospheric jeers, float down, slowly. The latter, are celestial, but we can’t, nor, will we, promote, or endorse, them. Strangulate yourself, in a plastic bag, reach out, and touch, on a cellular drag, try to impeach, what you elected, then stare at the shore, in apt/wrought, wonder. This is part of the perceptible world, we see, let us apprehend appearances, reflect them. The successful, aren’t, they go through the wilting. A word will conjure up a thousand conjunctions, and connections, at once. You’re looking at it, because you, are it, let’s go watch the minor league team, practice. Bypass your hypothesis, question the questions. Reach up, softly, you rag-bag. Sexual arousal, is like a joke we play, on ourselves. Don’t forget, we’ll do this exact same, hour, over again! I’m tired of these extravagant, bad dreams. Tadpole perspectives? The telescope, can only show you asphalt, the way you’re pointing it, sunny. I’m tired, watch out for logic. Put another stamp, in the butter hole. We want a new, altogether different, world, a world, that could be. What is it, that I am/we are, trying to accomplish? Anonymously, we’d like to say, what we have to say, and slip out the back, but, things don’t quite work out that way. Make the right turn, pagan, we demand different methods, rituals, practices, morals, guidelines; in short, we demand a new kind of everything. No roads, automobiles, planes, commerce, trade, money, drugs, alcohol, electricity…just education, the quest for knowledge, the further evolution, of the human being. We need to keep re-remembering, what we already know, is what it seems to come right down to. We are landmarks, we are sex crazed. What is needed, is an altogether, different world, using this one, for starters, a new social structure, or a new economy, anti-or a very much reformed, culture. And, after however many thousands of years, of lies, and falsehoods, no more Gods, no more religion, ever, ever, ever! In short, what is true, will be, what is false, will not…forevermore, even though, there is no such thing. What is it, I’m trying to accomplish? And as for this technique, as for the hot cider interlude, isn’t it…there is a pathology here. Every missile built, must eventually be launched, every piece of flotsam, finds the shore. None of this, these things I have…are worth anything. Only through intangibles, do we/can we, seek, or find, any redeeming value. This is a sock, you wear it. Highly sexed women, meet at fallout juncture. Wear your apron, inside-out. There has got to be more, in there, that can make it, out here. Our hands hurt, our bodies swell, we’re dumbfounded, discombobulated, trying to find how, and when, we became this way. There is a kind of fury, that represents, a great many of us. An obscure opera, a mild handicap, thought provoking insights. Go orange, be minimal, outrageous. I am not going to show you, anything. Wring some smiles out of the grim nothingness. We’re still looking, for some way, out! Drama is central to our wooden presences, our cold artifices. This is what happens, when you go absolutely crazy. In a demented way, I walked around the hotel pool, and was asked to leave. It needs to be a certain way. Two packs a day. Looking haggard, I tossed the ball, back onto the playing field. Check this box, if you wish to set your sights, a little higher than they are. Oh, now I see, I am to think up and write down, outrageous things. They tire us out, then, blame us. The Oxford touch, is a hand job! Fungus all over my feet, toes and shoes. But, see, it has no heart…

What it really entails, is laying back, and playing with yourself. Oh, keep on rubbing, please. I am a loser, and I suck, I really want to die, and be dead. The river’s around here, lack grandeur, and as far as I can tell, never seem to flood. Powerful forces indeed, have aligned against me. Mix it all up, there is no reason. This is all garbage, so am I. Barf the inconsistency, they don’t want me there. Have you ever been banished? This sucks! Perish, meekly. Tragically, we don’t ever change. That snippets, all hurrah, life, is a jar of marbles. That’s the way the axle breaks. Still thrilled? There are no more books to write? So unclean? No grandma, I am not Cheche Gueuera. All of you fucking, asshole, people, kindly, get out of my cup. Leave me alone! I have been overruled, but the plastic procedure... The way out, leads to faster quicksand. Everything, most everything, is a lie. In a week, the car will die. You are right, I was never much of a dreamer, in any sense, I’m working on it. No, to never sleep, buy some (be it, now) candles, shut your face. Don’t speak, of speaking, here. Let’s all work more days, more hours! Do not cause me to suffer, any further, to abide in your presence (startling). Next! Kissing on the veranda (and over), reaching for the gas mask, let’s do drugs! Some new age, brain/word, disorder. Relapse, try new lies, dispose of the pumpkin, nobody can be that crazy, and insane? What’s next? Who’s next? Which mutation? Bury Ulysses S. Grant, softly. Bury these lies with me, I am not (three exclamation points!!!). Revel in the ambiguity. Wasted, 10 A.M. I must answer my own questions. Let’s rock, or, not. The subtitle; How to give yourself memorable orgasms. Please, let me bore you. How am I doing? I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. How are you, no, wait, c’mere. Sis, boom, blam! False smiling? In so much trouble, or, so nice? You’ll know what you’ve done, by the end of it. It’s an end of Summer, sale. This is not a suicide note, but I can’t deny, any possible, future, plans. Squeeze your stomach stein, ten dollars an hour, eighty-five words, a minute. Who the hell would be calling us, at this hour? The limits of vision, disallow, and disavow, any foreknowledge. People die, in an instant, but live, an eternity. People want scatological, specifics, this is only impossible, if you’re not doing it (great)! Get active, don’t go into the basement, or steal plastic horses, out of that one, or do anything, of any kind, in the other. Except for a few misanthropes, mainstays, and carrot cakes, competitive prices; hours get spent, looking through the want-ads, to no avail (they don’t want me). Nostalgia, provides its own thrills, survival, chills, excitement. Undertake something, huge? Like what? Just getting a job, could be construed as a huge, undertaking, in this day, and age, with all the assholes, out there, etc. Readymade asphalt, could transform your life. Having no money left, is more than horrible, somehow. We don’t try hard enough. Mistress, punish me, and oh, get well, soon. Dive deeper, into deep, even though, that’s all you ever do. Scribble pages of words, fragment the product. Somebody called me charcoal, all these vodka feelings, have given me a taste for the road. Succumb to gasoline, clotheslines, greasy spoons, eyebrows, shopping carts, full of worldly possessions. There truly are, so many ways, to spill! Train yourself, to get over him, or her. All the scripts, were written out of context, we don’t need to know the author’s names. Thus, if you don’t like the taste of such, and such, in your mouth, it is no use to see what they were on. That is a very inappropriate, paper plate. The radio is on, so delicately, tuned! Fix yourself, a lime green, egg. How crazy you, are, is how crazy you, aren’t! Choose your own, dodge ball victory, there is a lot more, left over, than I thought. Well, so we used to drive by people’s houses…no harm was done. And yes, all of the sudden, people are getting into surrealism, again, and all that. As much as I continuously beg, myself to, I just can’t, stop! Sometimes, you should have got (censored). We are trying to live songs, unsuccessfully. Wish you were someone else? We can’t get healthy.

Presence and absence, present, and absent. Only existing, in the back, we’re all out, in the back! No, no, not unsympathetic, detached. Let us be that, no more. I won’t let it happen, can’t let it happen (it happens). Cynicism and pessimism, are, THE TRUTH. It’s probably a good thing, to be tortured by all the great ideas, which have been forgotten. Crawl through the air duct. Being immediate, and distant, senseless, and erratic, calm, assured, and thrown a few scraps, from time, to time, like a smattering of applause. An enlightened man, could not, would not, write the type of book, this is. We think too many, crazy things. Remove, that which can’t be found, from your line of sight, and low, and behold, there it is. Avoid all food, and beverage, as temptations, and as sins. Our abilities, get weaker, and weaker, as time rolls steadily, onward, all energy is expended, avoiding the things, that I should be spending that energy, on doing. The slimy layer of sweat, that perforates the desperate. This world is dark, and depressing, and life, is difficult, and sad, there are other ways to look at it, of course. The spread of the contagion, is wide ranging, like atomic fallout. Negative, sour people, are the most well-adjusted. Write your own obituary, at least. Coupons, are not my little friends. The only vacation that I’ve had, in the last five years, have been these long stretches, of unemployment, oooh, la, la, the sights, the joy. To say anything, we don’t want to be, is to secretly, want to be that thing. Incorporating other people, into our puffy-puffy, souls. Hens know eggs, like no one else can. Feed off the backwash, out of somebody else’s, bottle. We all walk the same bloody trails, with the skulls, traps, snares, tripwires, and quicksand. War is a real reason, for the way you feel, if you survived it, but you would feel the exact same, if you never went, never fought, had no substantiated event, that led you, tied you to, where you are. Bitterness, is a solvent. I’ve been fooled again, by my own self. Emotional aches, and pains, foolish, foolishness. Rationality is a lie, we are all ignorant barbarians. Transcribe the margin notes, immediately. Quite sick, so to say. The book is a magic trick, to put you to sleep. Let me smell your fancy underwear, so fancy, in fact, that I am convinced, that shit, couldn’t cling to it! Choose a pair of clean socks, choose a beverage. Read the epilogue, to the book, entitled, NO. Caribbean azure, prickly, sensitive, sunburn, bacteria. Science, quantified sheets, zero’s, and one’s, blatant protocol, double checked (keep up the schedule of sentences). I remind myself, of someone, I have yet, to meet. As a soft, forensic science, leaving a note behind, won’t leave the survivors, any more at ease. You ready to rock, to be disappointed? If someone were to tell you, that they, were you, question them. Paint yourselves into your little corner, artistes, not that you weren’t slowly, making your way there, without my help. Where’s the whodunit? It’s not in my nature, to act the way that I do, it’s against nature, I’ve destroyed my own nature. The sweet acting, are the toughest, at heart, and the “toughest,” externally, are the sweetest, and softest, inside. Well, people liked me, before all this. There were bizarre whoops, which were accepted. Yes, I have lost my mind, so to speak, but not in the manner of the saints. And, yes, there is an extreme difficulty, for me, personally, perhaps, a legitimate, diagnosable, and treatable, thought disorder, which disallows me, utterly, from saying, what I’m thinking, or thinking, what I’m saying. I mumble to people, about the weather, while thinking, in a straight narration. It, this, can lead to a degree of social strain, and isolation. The low prices, keep us going back. Apply what you have learned, now, or forever, hold your peace. He both is, and isn’t, is, what’s commonly said, about me. Well, we can never be friends, unfortunately. The method, behind the method, is what ails most folks, around here. Cross your fingers, stroke your crucifix, define your pain, and its symbolic representation. Discuss all of the subtle, subtle, nuances. Be a fool, deny you are one. Animals don’t ask first. The basket carries, we’re taking over, perhaps, we shouldn’t. I am ready for the rave. Drop the “anxiety” act! Everything is so scattered, random, chaotically ordered, mathematically, oblique. Study your lines, you bastards, study your lines. Fears, like glass, pain, like a sometimes. He felt he could no longer, properly, exist. Masks made of plastic, salmon, bottles of beverages, stress, and relief, stress, and relief. Alive, while dead, dead, while alive, never accepted, wu-wei, wei-wu. Many sequels, will continue to be made, the copies, and imitations, will get paler, and paler, to the original manifestation, the first, great idea. Don’t let them tell you how much you’re worth, per hour, or, at all. I became so stupid. I regard you, as Romeo’s skeleton. A lesbian shot skeet, out in the woods, while I looked on. Persistence is the key, I know, but, there are other keys, as well. Call it a fetish, call me a fetishist, but death, is as good a way to live, as any. Is it truly, color? Shout out, fire! We have the senses for it, a hell of a lot of good, that does us. They have already read our minds, we’re in for it. Deserted, and left to stand out by the broken down, tractor trailer trucks, waiting for someone to come home, who only existed, in our imaginations (if ever). Twang, twang, bang, boom, bang. I nibbled at the bait, that was just dangling there, it looked so easy, and that is why I am, where I am, now. They are being studied, by devious men, with devious purposes. The raw smells, of dried sweat, are not entering, or endearing. Dig a hole to China, hit the high C note, cruise to the spot, where a memory lies. They slam the door open, and closed. Rebates, and insects, are equally, annoying. There is nothing written here. When happy, we become clogged. Why can’t my mind, at least, my memory, travel back in time? I mean, isn’t that, what it’s essentially, for? All is forgotten, is what I am trying to say. It’s always now, now, now; and there’s never anything happening, now. Thus…I suppose, thus. Never get sick of those oldies. Blowjobs, still get, some girls, a long way, don’t misinterpret here. The same goes for fakeness, ass licking, kissing, and sucking, lying, cheating, stealing, cruelty, wickedness, evil, violence, murder, mayhem, etc. Let’s laugh, until the laughter, becomes frightening. Die with the lights on, navigate the fields.

Et. al. Smell the blanket, get ready to go out, and provide some dull, wasted…I’m hurting. The birth of a prick, and we don’t trust them, we don’t want to, give it a whirl. I have money troubles, and problems of my own, let’s enjoy looking back, into the past. It seems like forever, since the last, big, fuck up, it seems like the mistake, has really damned me. Can you, or can’t you, feel the pen, on the other side of the page? I’ve got to get my hands on money. Why is it, that I am always so weak, and no connections, no skills, being left behind, and all that? To come from people who…still, how in the hell? It’s always gonna’ mean more to me, than it would to anyone else. People who don’t even know me, think I’m so, and so, people boast, people crash. Let’s drive four hours, each way, to some destination, for no reason at all. The future is not going to happen, the way that anyone, could possibly, imagine it would. I feel drunker, now, than when I wanted to fuck that guy’s girlfriend, yesterday. Smell the shirt, before you put it on, next time. Three months now, no matter what I do, it’s never enough. No matter how hard I try…no matter how much I read, or write, or work, or walk, nothing comes out equal, nothing is saved, everything’s ruined. Several years ago, when I really wanted to commit suicide, I should have done it. Now, it is not going to happen, it’s too late. Am I truly fooling myself, with all this? Am I a really shitty, lousy, hack, who is so off, and far-out, that he can’t tell, that he isn’t any good; don’t, and won’t, and can’t, know anything? I didn’t even look, and now, I know I should have. She brought a wagon, everybody brought a wagon, my friends? Uh, no. Well, see, we miss things, that we shouldn’t. Let’s construct a tax deductible, parcel, fly away, go to Vegas, give something back, to the people you took from. The judicial district, in these parts, has got me penned in, like a mink, in a trap. The twenty-four hour store, is all most people need, to stay alive, one night. Georgia, is one of about 49 states, that I’ve never visited. My mistakes, keep coming back to haunt me, I’m not allowed to enjoy any real pleasure, any pleasure, at all. Eras of uncalculated forms, wanting to do some kind of…and then, to figure out the height, versus weight, difference. All I want to do is manhandle animals, women, and not get into trouble, for either. It gets a lot harder to continue, after a while. Wonder how it happened. Half the town, is for sale, or lease, again. The critics will not be kind to me, this, whatever. Don’t get caught. Break down the door, spread an epidemic, look it up; you know what kind of research you get off on. Why are you scratching my best pair of pants? Light the candelabra, get in the rowboat, perchance to wallow, perchance, to wipe. The crossroads, on the side streets, are going to have lights, and skyscrapers, soon. Don’t, under any circumstances, sharpen that pencil, anymore. Nothing’s changed, they just call me different names, now. Keep your hand away from there. I didn’t get any look at all, much less, a good one. Stop excusing yourself, fart, at will. My application for tenure, was denied. Dress me up, like a girl. For some people, things happen, for most others, nothing does. A clever title, sells more books, than anything else. What CD-ROM game? Brown, got you down? Add some color! Remember that weird chair? Bleed me, this has nothing to do, with snapping your fingers. Who blew the whistle, on Wendy? Remember when a person could be self-contained, without starving to death? I want to throw this entire, immediate environment, into turmoil. I can’t remember where I buried my acorns, either. Fly through the rest, keep your prayers to St. Anthony, to yourself. The green drainage, from the back of the refrigerator, could be serious. I want just a small degree of comfort. How do you think it is, that somebody who is not a “that,” is, a this? Soon, there will be a hundred percent decision, but, for now, I can’t even describe to you, what’s going on. Do a pantomime exercise, the next time you’re out at the bar, or nightclub, or underground rave, or whatever. There are so many different scenarios, to try out! Soon, maybe sooner, rather than later, there will be a big production, that will start the automatic, revolving door, going around, and around, but, perhaps, not. So, just to put this down, because no one else is going to care to hear it, much less, read it, if the book, the one that I’ve been writing for seven years, doesn’t get published, and do relatively well, I’m going to kill myself (for real, this time), there is nothing else in the world, that I can do. If all of these sacrifices, have truly been for nothing, well, that’s just the beginning, right there. It’s the amount of self, and whole self at that, that’s been thrown into this shit, at certain…let me just reiterate, that death, forevermore, is preferable to me, than living life as a failed writer, while washing dishes, in some restaurant, period. Even right now, not working, or working eighty hours a week, is the general rule. I cannot find balance, harmony, peace, joy, happiness, or anything comparable, to any of those things, until the Heron is published, as is, big, and ugly, and, I’m living off the proceeds. This soft life of writing, is not only “not for everybody,” it’s not for anybody in their right mind. Why is it, that I turned out this way? I mean, I was doing fine, or so I thought. Now, the voices coming through the window, are that of cartoon characters, speaking in a foreign language. They change the name of the stores, but other than that, things are exactly the same. All of my life, it’s been lint, cherry stems, and not good enough.

Every day, no exceptions. Think about the lure of a chicken dinner. You’ve won the race, cup, trophy, whatever (what are you going to do now?), sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff. The party is over, and there is always a guilt, that remains. There weren’t any balls shot out of the cannon. What we’re supposed to remember, we very rarely, do, the rest, is the rest of it, that occupies our waning attention. Weak coughing, bad movies, that everyone tells us are really great, polluted water, uncharted peninsulas, and thymuses. The right person for the moment, won’t ever be there, when you really need them. The gas is on, the lights dim, names are mentioned, punches are pulled, we’re all bored. Dump the excess liquid into the toilet, take the thread and needle, and sew the button on. There is a pain that is recurring, it is an empty bowl, and too many spoons, in the sink. You feel good, I feel terrible, we’re thrown, all of us. When you see the chintzy ceramic cat, smile, maybe there is some story behind it. We’re stuck here, there is nowhere left to go, anyhow. Twelve years of not studying, won’t be undone by eight, in which you did. If only I had an emulsifier…a glory, a terrible glory. She sounds different, grown up, and then some…sort of what a university, will do to you. Feel that? Pump the cork out of the bottle, via this new invention. Flatten the foodstuffs, shake hands with the chef, preview the new shows coming out, cross your fingers. We’re going down, we’re gonna’ flip up, and down, the dial, getting tired of ourselves. Cough the cancer out, wonder when so, and so, died, make up some new past, buy the marshmallow bunnies. Drink, rummy, please don’t say I’m sleeping. We’ve received the shaft, a lot, wasn’t nearly enough, yet, nothing else will come close. Is there any way that we can destroy the entire post structuralist system, and undo all that has been done? And the next tune, is even better. Laugh at the fashion conscious, who are unconscious, in every other way. Where in the world did that idea go to? What are you thinking about? Nobody gets away with crime, anymore. There may not be a next time. You ruined me! You didn’t count on that happening, did you? How can people even joke about Europe? How in the hell do things happen, that can’t? We know all the right lies, but there is no prize for that type, or kind, of knowledge. I am, for now. Handmade, sex toys? Damn, if we weren’t, where we are, now. Was she yelling about vaginas? Is there any salt to put on this? Let your fears get the best of you, be famous, and better. Do (anything) something outside, move those fallen branches, from over there, to out of the line of sight. Don’t force me to feel the pain, the pain of the fist’s, clarity. How did I ever become so stupid, and boring? Don’t fight with the dog, don’t get the dog growling, snapping, and barking. I lost my manifesto, my Edith P. Lange, book of how-to! Yawn, stereophonic. Three, ensures that we can all “go Indian." Please let me weave a quilt, oh, all I want are my books…be…do something, anything, that hasn’t been done before. Fuck that woman in the partially nude photo spread, not, for real…just, the general idea of her. There isn’t going to be any smashing, or destroying, until your work is done. What has happened to my forehead, it’s splitting open, while I sit here. Fire your weapons into the crowd, at random, kill everyone you hate. This is what the end of the rope, feels like. Such sanitary tits. Pumpkin, and the taste of the rotting coffee. Who’s in the paper, today? The chances we take, aren’t risky enough. When you speak certain tones, well placed, properly spaced, you get a lick. Where is that napkin I wrote those ideas, and notes, on? There is not enough time, for me to fly the duck into the mushroom cloud. Farts, and angry attacks, when in close quarters, with others. Just try to smear yourself over the page, whip the potatoes, take out the innards, dive into a cinnamon bun. Rape yourself, shoot all your discharges, all around the room. Alright, disturb the king, as he sits on the toilet. Count inventory, alphabetize the rough trade magazines, trouble the pizza maker, when he invents the special sauce. If it is struggling, there is a worthless, stump of a peanut, on the fruit. What is important to do now, is to pave, have epileptic seizures, and document your losses in a column, brag to the neighbors, about the new rubber based product, you’ve indexed. The plans change, the boxes, which become empty, get crushed, all gets recycled, all gets sniffled, all gets parted. I am not enjoying this worthlessness, perhaps I should just shut up, and sit still. Where am I going to put my penis, now that my girlfriend, has left town? To be tired, to be weak, to laugh (strength), to chase butterflies, to talk about nothing. Let’s start to dance, and get angry because everyone succeeds, but us. Oh, this anger, oh this deep pain, and this rage, I am in such pain, the money is wasted, it goes into an expense account. Twiggling away, twitting, and commanded, there are no more tears to cry, oh, shit! No one pays me, no one helps me, this is so troubling, there is a crash, a painful fall, with a broken hip. Those underpants, on the other side of the room, are caked with shit. Take your time, to plan for a future, which will never happen. What happened to the plastered helmet, chubby? I can’t swing like I used to, at the gnats, the house is infested with. You will never find out, about my sex scandal. There is something strange in my stool, again. It’s a little bit of maybe, a whole lot of maybe not.

Exhaustion for…get, guess, lingerie, lingerie. Clutch at clichés, grasp for straws, and wooden stirrers. Sparkles, floating, down below. The Russian is a female. Still trying unsuccessfully, to write my way out of a paper bag. There is not one single thing in this world, that I could do right now, or at any other time, that I would enjoy doing. This…says nothing whatsoever, about the concept of satiation, or satisfaction, both of which, I claim, do not exist. What was I…oh, yes, Camus…the answer, is no. But I still pretend the answer is no, I try to make it look like it’s okay, I do this for their benefit, whoever they may happen to be. Soon I will be dead, there will be screaming, and writhing, crying… all for naught, all out of pity, for a self, I never cared about. All I ever say, is always the wrong thing. Later, I think of all of the right things that I should’ve said, then, I come quickly to the true conclusion, which is, of course, that I should’ve kept my mouth shut, altogether. To the rest, so what? I just want to be able to tickle some of the same nerves, as in that other thing. There is a high acidity in the air, I’m sick, there is cancer, in the very atmosphere. Gull Lake is full of some kind of mollusks. I must work harder, do more. When I blow my nose, I find blood clots in the rag, or sock, or whatever I use. Nobody cares about anyone else, but themselves. I am the same way, with slight hand movements, but essentially, the same. I think that I should go ahead, and blow my nose, right now. The more that I try, and have always tried, to get closer to people, the further they have always, and still continue to, move away. I refuse to let myself blow my head off, even though, that is precisely, what I want to do. It’s like adding one more vice, self torture, to the list. I’m not up to snuff, as far as the world is concerned, the people in the world, sometimes, I damn them, and/or/it, for all this, and sometimes, the only one left to damn, is yourself. This is what I have done, this is my story, and it’s a very boring one. I’m a wonderful actor, I could entertain you, with my clown-like antics, for hours, and you’d get a big kick out of me, and think I was cool, funny, great, etc. The problem is that you, and I, know the truth, behind the makeup, you, and I, know that the only reason I act the way I do, is not because that is who I am, but rather, because, that is what I’m not. Courage, to kill myself, quickly, at once, without putting it off, out of spite, or dogged determinism, or hope for the future, or hope for my shitty, dried out, inconsequential, writing. I’d like my “payment”, of contributor’s copies, to Only Sixteen, now, please. We’ve got to keep going. Feather it, feather it. Negligence, will be the absolute end, for me. There is something wrong, there always has been. Give up on your search for ancient vistas. I lie, about absolutely, everything, it’s more rare to hear me…I lie, incessantly, waste space/time, constantly, compulsively. Social lies, fat lies, skinny lies, tall lies, short lies, my whole life is a lie, but that’s beside the point. I’m speaking, here, instead, of my fundamental, untrustworthiness. I feel so completely inadequate, that I create an adequate self, and it takes a whole lot of lying, to achieve it. People know that I’m lying, I admit it freely, and if I don’t, they either know, or find out, anyway… This dishonesty, all in hopes of appearing interesting, to people, this sick, poor, thing. The only thing I can get sick of, have become sick of, is myself. Long, long, ago, I added that weight. There is nothing in this world, that I can do, I’m not good, smart, or resolute enough, to do anything, except to stand here, holding the bag. No one will, or would, miss me, I’m so weak, pathetic, immature, ill-developed. Nowhere to turn, no particular place to go, no answers, no questions, no thoughts, no books, no words, no holidays, due dates, book signings, or Ave Marias. Let me die young, let me be a hypocrite, until the last breath, until dumb, dumb, come (cum). Don’t let me embarrass myself, call me out on my deceptive, perverted, nature. My only motivation, to live (at all), comes from my ever-present, and constant, fear, and terror, of death. Life and death is the alpha, and omega, I made them into PI…and you cannot make them into PI, thus, I both did, and didn’t, do it. You can’t put them together, yet, I did it. This is nuts, I am nuts, and I know that I am, which should make things better, but doesn’t, somehow. What is there left to lose, after self-respect, flies out the window? I really want to know. It’s not even that I fear death…in fact, I welcome it, am attracted to it, woo it, and dare it…but it’s got its own clock, I suppose. It is all canceling itself out. Death is really nothing, in a good way, it’s like the nothing, before you were born. Now, more than ever, I must ensure, that I have some kind of future in writing, of some kind. Don’t wait for the afterlife, people, because there isn’t one. Smile at you, dead…

I am equally crazy, and sane, if that makes any sense to you. Moods, are difficult to sustain. What you say, is probably true, in one way, or the other. As for every circuses, star attraction, the sunrise, and sunset, of each passing day, those strange sounds, those dried up flowers…one of these images, does not belong with the others. It must be a hypnotic spell, I’m under. We’re all on diets. Can’t react, must’nt react ( react). Best friends, who weren’t anyway, surely, aren’t, anymore. New wave, became no wave, which will become something else. We romanticize the past, beyond the point, of our own detriment. Everything is only, “for the time being.” They say, that misery loves company, but, not in all cases. The power of dimmed pain/attention links? Flap your wings, yards, and basements, strewn with broken toys. Please help me, tear me, out of this. Well, reworked, redone, yes…but, the difference is still limited, less. Be there with your watch chains, and new sweaters, Egyptian whistles, plants in the window. It is time for some breech crossing, kind of, beyond insanity, feel. Torn up folders, are the legacy of a university education. Slow train to the front lobby? Her tongue has moved, to more germ laden, pastures. Circling, circling, shifting piles, oh, this is tin can invigoration. Look some more. Tall corn; tall, tall, corn. So many proper, and/or, brand names, franchises, etc. Spill, drill, look it up in the phone book, learn to take your own advice. Re-encounter, reinvent, leave, give each other your diseases, TLA. It takes a long time to learn, to get tired. Agents from some agency, or the other, storm up into the attic, to pound cymbals. Pigs, complete with teats, plagiarism. The cornfield tape recordings, are all that remain. She talked incessantly, about classy haircuts, yogurt, waltzing/wrestling with Einstein, organ music, and waiting for the riots to begin. Polka dot, dream queen; Viking, or little girl? Towel, versus pajamas, crumbs on the pillow, too many blankets, fondling quiche. “Invisible bench press” movements, the true numbers, are not pure, can’t be known. Feign, page turners, feign. To remember her, is to forget all reality. Stay off to the side. There is not enough ink. Contribute, contributors, contribute. The basket always end up getting passed, in the millionaires, direction. Say it now, stop coughing, get a voice, for what you want to/have to, say. We are about as free, as we can get the rope to stretch. Don’t venture out into the dark, in a sweat suit. Do the tree limb, violently. No security, at all. There is nothing silly, going on in my underpants, lady. They fade out, while their lights are still lit? All the suspects have been arraigned, arranged; the galley is full…it will be another listless November. Douche, butter, rubbing, the goods, crash, and kerplunk. As far as faux pas kitchen nightmares, they occur. Life is short. Say that again. Life is short. Greater than/less than…graveyards, probably make most everybody, a little bit restless. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Those are definitely, race car noises. Someday, maybe…all these feelings of embarrassment, will subside. The pre-showtime dissonance, is forgotten, as the backstage area, becomes quiet, still, solemn. Button up the rest. You will wait, you will fill out these envelopes, properly. Spiders have long been known, to get caught in their own webs. Such and such, are only what they appear to be. The backwards letter, never heard me. The booklets, don’t go far enough, in their descriptions of emptiness. This is a new version of the cum blanket. To really experience being, in all its profundity; tear off your face! Let’s take another look at the gross, and pathetic. Too many question marks, abound, the parking structures, are all full. Rubbed-off jerks, self-obsessed, centers, oh yeah, uh-huh, oh yeah. Perpetual panic, coughing up discolored, bodily fluids, rape victim dreams, ear wax Korea, is patterned after Indians. Look in the index, under skulls, other weird, and morbid, things. Why does Doug always feel the need, to steal your limelight? Tape it up with cellophane; we’re really forlorn, now. Pack, and ship, odd collectibles, deliberate nonsense, is the focused statement. Minds, like tape recorders, trapeze artistes, the remains, the search for the G-spot. Pair off into dance partner combinations, special people, get to cut ahead in line. Tomorrow’s yesterdays, blue porch lights. Sleep in the lobby, alone. I did things, with various oils.