207

It makes sense, I'm against, so much. Take freely from your own experience, to create your art, or whatever. Let me try to be/do something, that matters, in this world, that doesn't. To be a sellout crowd, supposedly...to want to be like a candy bar. Do not act like a felt-covered, figurine. There are no pen, and pencil sets, to be stolen. Soon, everyone will understand, that my manipulative frequencies (mushroom sounds), are akin to lovely, ordinary, average, sponges. Nevermind the dried up blood, on the bedside, table lamp. Please observe the wretched olives, money, cannot be sold. We need to live through "this," get through it, and move on to worse situation comedies, of the soul. Mantra #216: The secrets we keep, keep us. The swollen bobbin, was driven in, the bed, collapsed. When things start to feel a little too Baghdad, start substantiating your, "seedy side." So, are you too, getting the tickle to quit, yet? To be, is to be, to blame. Call me, The Arrival. This is a yippie, tar pit, this is like scratchings, on stone tablets. Don't look away, the next time you greet, and meet, a funeral director. Oh well, it’s vomit in the trash can, now, literally. Free associate, like a firecracker. Write the prospectus, get that fly out, forget those oh-so-important, forms. Speculate about the fact checker, if you must. Keep all of this interesting. Get the half of the Jekyll, and more Hyde, or the other way. It is proving to be quite difficult, to balance the pencil sharpener, on any of these surfaces. The blue heron weathervane, was sold. It was too expensive, anyway, Xmas didn't kill me, I killed myself. And no, this is not going to be the beginning of the end. I must circumnavigate trouble, in terms of judges, and courts. Just this one last time, and to never, ever, let myself fall into the clutches, of such things, again. In other words, any days of being in great amounts of trouble (even little amounts), are permanently, over. Don't kid yourself, get to work. The pages won't fill themselves. Someone has to be able to financially, take care of my people, when they get older, and that someone, is going to be me, and I am going to be financially able, to do it. They deserve long, happy, lives, with nice retirements, vacations, and all the rest, I can give it to them, and I will. First, I do need to make a fortune, and I'm not asking, as much as trying to reprogram myself. Suzy wiped her ass with leaves, and her hands. Kindly, do yourself a favor, and forget all about, college. I can even log the "whatever," in my immediate environment, and write about that, in fact, I will. Forget it, like that guy going absolutely nuts, in his car. Quick stretching exercises, just a quick break in the action, to attempt to describe something else. I wouldn't appear to be much of an academic, if this is all I have to show for my years of schooling, reading, and writing. Where am I supposed to go from here? It will take me months, of blind, echo-less, time, to ever get even a fraction of the savings that I had, back. This is everything crumbling in on me, at once. Perhaps, I should try a few exercises, beyond walking, try a few tactics, other than, sitting. Something serious has to happen, here, real soon (this is not the way that things were supposed to happen). Anyone can make a bad job, good, that is what I've got to keep in mind. None of this, will ever be typed, so forget about that, right now! The paper has been read, all of the cheese, has been eaten. This is a go-back exercise, anyway, everything I do, seems to be a go-back, exercise. There aren't any good ideas, in here yet, all, or most, of the pages, in this record, this diary, this collection, are empty. As I am, save for a few discomforting thoughts, disquieting ideas, about the future (and not)? Look for luck/ synchronicity, say, no, what are you talking about? Remember my vulgar, and frantic, appeals? It’s been totally updated. There was no lottery winning, that's for sure. They called us, ferocious? Do yourself a favor (any old one). Due to your negligence, I had to do everything, twice. This writing business, is designed to destroy the bad writers, and get the good one's to go forward, but a lot of times, the opposite, ends up happening. The crops have been sprayed. Do a pull-up, pussy/sissy, do one pull up, now. Whistling, and carrying on, around the gas station perimeter, widening my horizons, hopefully, not my waist size. I'm still the consummate weirdo, the door is still fucked up, the… that thing, is still an impossibility. Andrea is still sleeping, Moody's disappeared, I failed to flush the toilet. At least he works, goes to school, I'm getting quickly, left behind. Three and a half hours in a movie theater, is a long time. My first day out, I saw two in a row. I believe so, pretty sure… eat some complimentary nachos, I couldn't (past tense) shut my wallet, and I still had one more check to cash. Yeah, there’s room, but you’re going to need that. Don’t die with that candle up your ass. The repercussions, will throw you back into the crowd. Play with her petals, gently. You’ll be siasterous, they’ll be tickled pink.