204

No unemployment line, no food stamps, no phone calls. We humped, like a couple of depraved animals, after some sort of deprivation lab, experiment. Two down, two to go? This very well may be, the most important project, that I have ever attempted. Of course, it could be the only practical, real, plan, that needs to be undertaken, that I've ever, undertaken! Well, what about a cover letter? These things can't be put off, any longer. I've wasted too much time, already, the fat, the frivolity, the wide ranging, craziness. Clearly, clearly; my intention is to state, and record, whatever the fuck there is, to record. But, yes, I want this to be good, perhaps not all of it, but I do want parts of it, to be really good. I want to look back, in a year, and see change, and growth, (yes) publishable material. Do some math, for a second. Well, there it is, that's just for starters. I do not intend to stop there, but there will be, at least, that much. Yes, people have detached themselves, from my travails, how can I blame them? I am 57 years old, and that is old. My life is really a little skittish, I am terrified of the entire world, and everyone in it, every system, every trapping, every possibility. I will get over this, in fact, I could say, I'm over it, now. My arm hurts. Many people are doing what I'm doing, right now, now, so, things are going to be happening. Funny looks, at the bookstore? I need to earn, yes, work for, and earn, a lot of money, it is of paramount importance. Not for selfish reasons, as you shall see, but for safety, security. Things are never totally, but they could be a whole lot more, secure, than they've been. I still feel a little foolish, crushed, hurt, and embarrassed. Who the hell knows what's going to happen? This is only the beginning of my travels, on this, particular, trail. There both is, and isn't, both sides cancel out, and confirm each other, in the maelstrom of it all. I want to suck on the camera, reflected in her eye. Somebody said something, about overwhelming evidence, I coughed. We’ll stay separated. I will be off, go off, like I did, way back then, I will not attend, any meetings. Don't let me stop, religiously, at four (but, do four). I am reading ahead, as I am wont to do, and I know that isn't probably the greatest idea I am doing the lessons in the back of the book (namely, this), and I feel great about it. Now, of course, it must continue. Academia, is a horse shoot. This isn’t going to just, go away. It's an atheists communion, kind of thing. This constitutes stalking, in some states. He was shaking, and hitting himself repeatedly, in the face. In either, the long, or the short run… Don't think about what you do, or don't plan on coming back to. Years have passed, and I’m still no closer, to this. Bewilderment, the sorrowful charade. Just go forward, this is easy, this is what you say it is, that you want to do. Hide in basements, or attics, and don’t come up, or down, for anybody, or anything. Moreover, it is that, the only thing, that you say you have, any interest in, whatsoever. Do I have any pens, or peers, around? I can use their equipment, hurrah. Stay in one place, you already had a cigarette, now, stay in one place! Now, it's the legs, and feet, that hurt, man, I am a mess. Things can be so good, and bad, and better, and worse, at once. I got out of the van, at the gas station, yelling, and then, later, in another car, at another gas station, some other guy got out of his car, and yelled. It was psycho Mr. Espresso, from the coffee shop, who used to talk/yell at himself, tear the napkins, and throw them around. I must add here, that I refuse to give up the lifestyle, to which I have become accustomed, namely, this one. But, I do resolve to do away with many things, the first of which, are movies at the theater, also, spending money, as freely as I have been spending it (spoo-looo?). No one really cares, and they do (here). Out there, the more damaged you are, the more indifferent, everyone becomes. I need to really work hard at this, and get a whole lot better, because, so far, this is not living up to my own expectations. I'm learning how much of a beginner, I really am, there are a great many, hard lessons, to learn, I thought that I'd learned them all (obviously, this is silly). Don't stop now, don't ever stop, you will see (hopefully, soon), that there is improvement, being made. There is frustration, there is a great deal, of stress, and frustration. I screamed in the car today, I did a whole lot of other things, that I have subsequently, forgotten, or don't have time to go into, here. Everything is being recorded, strange things that aren’t, are, happening. All of my buddies from the military, are now in prison. Slime the tree off, evenly. If only there were hope, for even a small number, of us… Wing off a dime, like you were missing an arm.

I deserve better, whether that is better, or not, is anyone's guess. I heard voices, through the radio, and the heating grates. More dire straits, to navigate though. Oh, woe is me, I am dead-ended, in the funeral department; so, I've resolved to pursue advertising, in any way, shape, or form. I ate two, big, careening, broccoli’s, woke up late, and very depressed. Don't want to do anything, didn't want to go to Libido Central, see sounds, go out to lunch. It is Friday, meaning, that it is the last day, this week, that I am going to be able to get any hookers, of any kind. The dog will be walked, and the pages will get done, is about all I can guarantee. I must wring out a sponge, today, as well, a real one, I think. There is nowhere to hide, I am on a real, wayward, downward spiral, now. Today, I am careless, not that I should have done anything, anyway, but, of course, I cannot say that. I am very much, down on myself, to say the least. Well, yeah, she sure has some high quality ideas, about what to do with paper. This is unthinkable, that I should be here, doing what I'm doing (and, what I'm not). None of this is cool, or neat, sexy, or funny, I am down, and to get up, is going to take a tremendous effort of will, that I had better conjure up, or invent, really quick. Fabulous fashions? I am trying to live, and resisting, as I do. There is so much to me, I am indeed, quite a difficult nut to crack...to apply to a graduate degree program, might be the only option available. Teaching, low pay, and all...but at least it's rewarding (sort of). I have fucked myself, and don't know how to un-fuck. Thought about mall security? For goodness sakes! Also, still haven't done the corn, the clock is ticking, these are priority issues. My little, simple life, became really complicated, somewhere along the way, and all I can resolve, is to, step, by step, attempt to simplify it, again. No matter what it takes, there are a great many things that I am required to do, and I must, do them. Oh, there's fear, and all the dangling ghosts. She made copies? Well, the judge isn't going to believe, any of that shit, and I won't be able to conclusively prove, anything, in court. There is a reality to waving, spontaneous, the burst of my bubbles, here. The truth, must be the exact opposite, of what I think it is. I must like to play the damn fool. I wrecked all of my books, and several papers, oh, for crying out loud! I want to snarl my I Ching, up her tight ass. Tired of writing, is an understatement. No embracing, no fondling, touching, loving, or screwing. A little burst of testosterone, would certainly be nice, around now. We’ve all been scammed, schemed, gypped. Leave me a message! The levee building company, went bankrupt. Much more movement, is required. I don’t want to be what I’m not, only what I am, which is nothing, uh, excuse me. And as for giants, marching behind me, there are a few. I am paying the price, now, for my frivolity, in the past. Now, everyone knows what a risk is, and why they are avoided. The cowardly, are the most prone to violence. Misery morphs into torment, changes into, pure pain. Don't make me sit too still, for too long. In seven years, none of this will mean a thing, whether I'm a me, or not. Nice people, do call, and I sincerely wish, that I wasn't such an asshole. Perhaps, I am declaring (falsely), that fate, of some kind, is at work here. Those books, look wrecked. Call it panic, because by now, it most certainly is. I can't believe the mess that I have made, with my life. Look, I call myself creative, I can't even imagine a job, that I'd even slightly, like to work at. People with low impulse tolerance, become really fat, so look out, asshole. Alcoholics, like me, who drink, who are in denial, are common, but that doesn't make it any less of a moral flaw, in my eyes. I actually stated for the record, that I would drink my troubles away, what sort of fool, am I? I must help myself get out of hell, any which way, but loose! I am not pissed...other people should be pissed at me, at this point. It is no longer a situation where I have hoarded sufficient money, to get through, this kind of hard time, doesn't go away with positive thoughts. Listen, if I'm so smart, why aren't these very pages, here, of higher quality? What the hell? I think/fancy, and call myself a writer, to anyone who will listen. This crap, is all I have to show for it? Well, it just won't do! The acting books, were spared the wet shoe attack, meaning, of course, the ones I don't need. I better get a handle on things, really quickly, it's time to start improving things, around here, and in there (the thick skull). Machine my way out, of the Nazi concentration camp/prison, that I've locked myself into, or please, put a bullet in my head. I have got to get my daily quota, this is taking too long, and would appear, to be getting me, nowhere. The dog just walked by, shaking his head, collar tags rattling, etc. What will become of this? Shit, man! What will become of you? Sex, is all we want to do. I do not want to, and in fact, I cannot, go to jail, at this point in my non-development. There are simply, too many other problems, confronting me, now (I am too fucked up). A movie...hmmm, yeah, I said that writing a movie, would be easy. Nevermind the fact, that I’ve never written one, can't write my name, can't make the time, to do anything of quality, don't know what to do, don't have the slightest idea of what I am going to do, in any arena. Milk me. No one knows that I exist, and why should they? For all practical purposes, I don't, look how stuck I am, here. How ya doing? Shitty, man, help. This isn't even close to anything, that can get me even the slightest bit closer, to being, in any guise. Cease this brutality, at once. Livestock was wrestled down.

Make sure that the wheel is on its track. Walk the dog around the tree, if he may have managed to get himself tied around it. There is so much in the timeliness of phobia...this doesn't make any sense. Get into your own head, and listen to your own voices, write them down. Make your inner voice, do your work for you, if you have one. The searchlights have spotted us, there is nothing left to do, but throw our hands up. Don't just sit around for another day, and count the amount of paper clips, and pennies on the floor. Try to get as much information, and inspiration, from the things that surround you, but never fail to go a little off to this side, so to speak. This, for instance, sure doesn't feel like taking dictation! The dog has a slight urinary infection, bottles of pills, sixty bucks, the eraser on the pencil, smells like exotic, Egyptian oil, or something. Yes, the fabric is torn, and no, nobody is ever going to sew it back again. I scratch at my own wounds. Do not delete. Please, interviews, please, clean pairs of pants. We talked quietly, for hours. They can read your face. When you start to see what it is that you do have, that you didn't think you had; on, and on, thus, and so. What the hell did I pay all that money for (nothing)? We’re gonna’ have trouble. What bothers me, is that she thought she’d gotten away with this. We received two calls, after the story ran, we are flooded, with blood in our brains, we don't know where to go, or what to do. Beautiful stairwells, lead to alcoves. The more pleasure, the more power. Stop dreaming about the first ever, zen school! Take a deep breath, and let the poisonous smells, punctuate your madness. People do more cost/benefit analysis, than we give them credit for. The loop has been left, no, it is like being a parcel, in the bowels of the dead letter office. The sweat of anxiety, smells more pungent, than the ordinary kind. Crabby mornings, are a mess, and a slap, a knock-down, and a ride. We are not feeling very well, up here, right now. Get directions, chubby. The pain of being unfulfilled, while all the while, knowing that nothing, out there in the world, could, or would, fulfill you, is why most people become writers. What's holding you back? Well, different niches, and glitches, are wavering, and hovering. The useless key, the broken one, the one that doesn't open anything...is lying on top of the cupboard. Throw out all of...the streets been paved, the pillowcase is already filthy, we are going to make the, ah, I forgot. Oh yeah, we are going to make the phone calls, that we've got to make. My shutters are broken, and tipping off towards what used to be, the screened-in porch. No mail for me, no chances, in hopes of ideas, or thoughts, at all, in my head? Cross this all out, without writing any of it down, somewhere else, nothing will be missed, nothing is, or will matter, in regards to anything. Pick up that bottle off the floor, and take a long drag. Weird, isn't it, how some people are so much smarter, than others? Why weren't included in the anthology, may have more to do with the fact that the collaborator, mistook himself at the time, for the him, that comes next! This isn’t written on front, and back, yet. There is something stuck in my teeth. How can I ever seriously consider, rolling over, and squirting out juice, now? Well, under, or overachiever, is up to the individual, at this time. Why all the stress, and strife? Well, I guess that's obvious, at least. What's foremost on my mind, is not what it should be. Here comes the past, trying to uproot me, again, but I'm not giving in, this time. Smell yourself, and then ask yourself the question, of whether, or not, you should go on any interviews. The ferret is somewhere. There's nothing so obvious, as the alternate title, to the fourth book (which isn't even written), Green Apple Falls. If only I could crazy glue my brain, back together, decide what needs to be saved, what deserves, to be. Where are we, and more importantly, where are we going? Well, I changed my name to Frank, as if that would make some kind of difference. Get that song out of your head, now, turn off all the radios in the house, that aren't even, on. Why is it, that everything around here, looks, and smells, like yeast? Back, long ago...months ago, plural; the fall was imminent; now, it's happened, and you'd better have been digging an escape hatch, man. Throw out everything, get the computer back in here, move the couch, and the desk, and the dresser, throw out the newspapers, magazines, stack the books somewhere else, eliminate distraction. Grow up faster, that you have, thus far. To even think about how tattered everything has gotten, would involve missing the point, entirely. Start now, don't even finish this...it's all too important, these things you're not doing. Nothing in here is worth looking at. Flow, for instance, could I be getting sick again, having been sick, all last year? Would you stop chewing on that pen, long enough to get a thought straight. The embarrassment of everything that is happening, around here, to me, and not happening, just can't be fooled around with, anymore. Oh, I must of thought I was bright, talking to the meat counter woman, so, so, clever, eh? What needs to happen, is that a new way, or path, must be forged, or carved out of the wilderness. If this was close to the goal, it shouldn't be, or, we should move the goal, much farther away. What the hell am I waiting for, and why? The inside of my nose, smells like a rubber factory. If an accident were to occur, the shock or realization, that would follow, about not having any way to pay for the correlated damage, the end has been too close, for too long, and there is absolutely no reason why, that should be. The apples rot on the table, as we starve. There is Karma, but it’s much more complicated, than a definition in a dictionary of spiritual terms; and too complicated, to go into, here. We don't guarantee any exact times, and why should we? It was a rust colored chicken, quite beautiful. I can’t be expected to catch every repetition, or mistake.

Don't stop writing, whosoever should walk through that front door. Money is what I need, income, not a job! My shoes may, or may not, be wet on the outside, but they feel wet, on the inside. How many leads, do you have? My credit is neither good, nor bad, but rather, nonexistent. These countries are all the same, there is no grandeur. I woke up with a horrible taste in my mouth, and it's still there. I am so eager to scream right now, and sell screen doors. Every midsection, is making me sick, I will soon be round-headed, old man, round face, round face. It doesn't matter that you can't see the time, because the black box is in the way, who... wh... let me mount, get on, um... Metropolis. The bubbles, are becoming something beyond that, they are overtaking, no one will go to the ugly buildings, and agree to sit there for hours. There is some kind of super discount sale, at the graveyard, now is the time. Everything, their gnats, gnits, and other winged insects, infestation, no exterminator, run, don't walk, to your next asshole, ring job expert. Fly into a resurrection, imitation pose, with halos, and the whole nine yards. If you insist on hamburgers, you are going to suffer through a lot of disappointment. Shirts all moldy, wrinkled, and ripped, fucked. Body, worn, not shapely, face, baby soft, baby ass. The meow, meow sounds, are usually demands for food. Get those newspapers/hip kid guides, on how to get laid, out of here. The pillow from the couch, is over on the floor, who knows what the hell is under it. There are surely no rain spells, forthcoming. Remember that time when you were sure (and bothered by the fact), that you were being followed, your movements were tracked, documented, and reported, through newspapers, computer sites, and the rest? Guilt caused me to voimt, at the wayside. Let's get into an insane, legal fight, over a parking lot. They are ripping you off, I don't care who "they" are, it's happening to you, right now. They keep tearing up all the trees, and draining all the marshlands, for these big, ugly, ugly, houses! All of the shitty houses, are the most expensive ones, there are. Four simple, and sexy, more steps, to take, more dance lessons, cocktails, phone calls, junkyards, junkies, arias, conductor's wands, poked eyes, fiddle sticks, thimbles, miscellaneous odds, and ends, that themselves, have nothing to do, with anything else. We will never fit in anywhere, so be it. Tell us what it entails, salesmen! Why can't I just look like, I think I do, sometimes? Flowers, and shopping bags, with hats in them, out in vehicles, that are difficult to get into. There is a lichen-like, several, lichen-like droppings, all over the lawn. The dog gets high, from eating the snow, people have new suits, and beepers, checks, forthcoming. Am I an apparition, that can't sling hash? My anger alone, will allow me to jump over the hose jump, or what? The parents, will beat their kids. Honesty is sexy, or was it integrity, ingenuity, crassness, bluntness, obviousness? Make something worth keeping, like a slug-thing, kind of vibe. No one can do your marketing for you. There are no spas, for poor, or homeless people, there are no more doors, in this town. Gas stations, from time to time, will sponsor your marching band, or puppet show, pageant. Soup, makes a great aphrodisiac, for those ice skater princesses, that could eat out their own pussies. The chair is perfectly placed, in front of the desk, but hasn't been sat in, for years. The leather jacket, worn, torn, blotched, blunted, and faded, beats the batteries out of a dildo, the way the snaps don't work. If you have any ideas, or plans for the future, enact them, now. The hub for the train, is over there, the cows moo, the small chipmunks, chip. Chop suey tastes great, hot, or cold. I still want to punish, who? It’s us, versus them, you dig? Don’t let them remember you, at all. It deteriorates, while you wait, watch, wonder, go on. If I were in the military, I would be the guy in the wooden shack, at the junkyard, selling 1944 era, automobiles. Let's go to the family pizzeria, act up, get thrown out. You’ll know when the time comes (now). Let's...what was it...Stand in a room with no one else, or some Chinese (that isn't). Holler, yell; hard core no's, and shuck the corn, shuck the corn! Some cities, are not cities, but they act like they are, it's as if, they are. Traffic, is like a horror movie, that actually frightens you. If you can't turn right, or left, you wait for who the hell knows how long, and there's just no way, the confusion of the…where are all these people pretending to go/there isn't anything here? All checks are cashed, there aren't going to be anymore. Make your money, leave work, promptly, forget about work (if it's new, okay, talk for a while). But for your own good, let the neon pink, become beige, quickly. These notes, and scribblings, are just the beginning, after time, as we wait after/over time...We peer into windows, and see things and we want to get closer, and closer, to the action, until the need to know, overtakes us, as we go from voyeur, to peepers! A few hours a day, is all it takes, so, take it. How to make enemies, and manipulate people? Don’t try. The chubbiness, overwhelms.