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As for the new way of looking at the common cold, and unadulterated...If all you ever think about, is your own pleasure, you're going to suffer, horribly. Thought seems to occur in shifts, with days, weeks, months, off. They seem to have a pretty good idea, that I smell like carrion, on a hot summer’s day. Was this the drop off point, to go on to another way? Hospitals, and banks, there is no one to help us, or even, listen, there isn't going to be any pleasure. You've touched that post, too many times, already. Well, tomorrow, came, and went, what's next, shooter? Many contradictory inclinations, make up the you, you don't think, is you. Too many years, playing with toys, can get you into more trouble, than you bargained for. Leave, without saying good-bye, only after having nothing left to squirt, or spill, onto the sheets. Start using drugs, be a "stranger," be a sight to see, like a totem pole. Our undergraduate days are over, our cars, must get us to, and fro. The rock gardens, are only peaceful, if you were peaceful, when you walked into them. New soil samples from Mars, indicate that we'd better get cracking, or we're going to be very disappointed. She's impartial now, and she will always be, and forever remain, that way. Buy a gun, just in case a knife, should not be able to get the job done. What we get, is better than not getting anything at all. They exhumed the body, just to say that they'd done something, outrageous. Carbon on the pillow, no one knows, how could they? I should’ve sold the hotrod, while I still could. We’re not used to these slow speeds. Each and every one of us, is wholly responsible, for the world at large. Girls, that look like boys, in certain light, remind us, that perhaps, the influence, is still upon us. One caveat, is never ask me why. It does feel good. If you don’t like it, ignore it. Blood got sucked, they took pictures of them, naked. The whirligig twirled, round, and round. I choked to death on an old beer cap. Don’t believe it. Perhaps there is such a thing, as change, perhaps not. Sex with a postcard, has not been ruled out, yet. Madonna, of Madonna's, could be, either/or. The lamp fell over. Every night we cross off half of what we've written, during the day, if only, in our heads. What would it be like, to complete something, totally? More eggs! Remember the pull box, the mattress, the leaves, the campus, the fountain, the cold air, the almost fondlings, and actual, make-out, yoo-hoo's! You would be mistaken, if you thought things had gotten out of hand, they weren't out of hand, enough. Maybe that was the missing piece of paper, I used to talk about, all the time. What was it that I was intending to do, with my degree? There is nothing that can be done. There are no solutions, to any of our problems, live with them! If the belle of the ball, should turn away, when you walk up to her, would you be surprised? Gasoline fields, cigarette smoke, and ashes, twenty foot drops, freedom, and responsibilities, the interdependence of the two. Put yourself through horror, like, Aftermath of a Hippo Attack, which, has yet to be written. Fight for it, tooth and nail. Men shouldn't wear lipstick, unless, they want to send out the wrong idea. If your entire life, has been a lie, do try to correct it, won't you? Try to be a porno movie star, whoa, I mean, pass me that pen, and paper. You're on the chicken hunt! Want to remain safe, in the dorm room? Old, worn out, and forgotten, towns, usually have some kind of revitalization, in the works. By one's own standards, it is easier to say that one is doing fine, apart from the influence of others. Definitely precious, little girls, what's not to like (or however the hell the song went)? The church is a gift shop, now, interest rates have fallen, but they will rise again, to claim that one should buy while the price is low, is too obvious to even mention. Do any pens in this house, work? It is 3:47 A.M. and I am wide awake, I am worried, as usual, there is, also, as usual, nothing to be really, that worried about. I want to go for yet another, ridiculous drive, I am crazy, I just turned off the “secret brain” radio. What an absolutely, horrible, three months, these have been. I mean, from one bad situation, to a worse one, still. The last several years, have been bad, and that bad, has become worse, too many times to count. There is nothing for me to do, there is no reason to be up, and driving around is about as stupid a thing to do, as anyone, could ever, imagine. The bag of chips, is what's really bothering me, that, and the ever present, flatulence. Well, far be it from me, to allow myself to stop, now. More action, with the pedestal, is not called for, at this time. Would you fuck a model, if one was thrown your way? 3:54, how much time we waste, how little we do. My finger itches, scratching it, makes the bobbin in my wrist, move up, and down. What kind of three year old, signed contract, is this? Flip the newspaper over, and then, go throw it in the trash, you don't need that kind of information. I thought that that hippie couple, were honking, and waving, at me, I was, as usual, mistaken, megalomania. What the fuck is wrong with my skull, and scalp? Why am I up at this time, unable to lie down, and go to sleep? 3:58, and all is not well. Wonderful color combos, coming from a rubber doll, no one needs your advice, on how to stumble through the void; they do a good enough job on their own. All those old pictures, get me to thinking, that things could have turned out a whole lot different, than they have, for better, or for worse. The figure skater, could be your daughter, don't look at her that way. When you go driving through the city, in the middle of the night, don't run any red lights, or speed too fast. Writers are shadows, one half of a genre. I need to transcend every single thing, that I’ve written in this book. 4:01, and I still have scratches to itch. 4:02, and I'm wondering why I can't be more intelligent, or creative. Absolutely nil, null and void, I am my own mistake, not yours. Why is it that I can't find any solutions, to any of these problems, I'm infested with? Something happened out there, something we’d rather not discuss. The sit-up’s, became a sex act, as usual. Someone, made a comment. We find ourselves influenced by commercials, in unusual ways. 4:03, I'm gone, I couldn’t live without her. Your rage and fury, will wind you in jail. The United States should be dismantled, there is so much more I want to say, about this… We just want to fuck ourselves.

It doesn't really matter; the order, in which things, get done, so long as, they get completed. It’s the real fear, now. Timebombs ain’t got nothin’ on me, slim. We get too soft, eventually. Especially in the future, when you know, right now, there is going to be a whole hell of a lot less, time. As far as the new job, goes, just take each day as it comes, and don't make too much of a big deal out of it. This may be the shortest term, short term gig, I'll ever have. Cleaning the kitchen, really wouldn't have been suited to me, of course, but I'd better find out exactly, where, and what, would, soon. Fitful, nervous, unable to sleep, put a load of laundry in, slept 4-5 hours. The dog just jumped on, or off, the newspapers, in the other room. We've all got a lot of things to do, I cannot be desperate, the goal, is, one; to jump from the clockwork, into the comet trail, without wasting anything in the meantime. The car is bigger, and more Japanese, than I ever thought it was. It could have been right now, that I was there, never late, never absent, no excuses. Do a great job, quit properly, when you do, don't sleep, or do anything (use the space), compromising. As usual, be beyond reproach, at all times. Old math, cannot be new math, until such a time, as you stop rolling in the corn field, and get down to work. This will not be my time, for long. Here comes the derelict, here comes the insipid ass. My cross only seems to be heavy, more so, than other people's. Move some things around, move something around. Don't golf in your head, for eighteen hours a day. Every couple of days, I used to try to go home sick, sometimes, it worked, usually, it didn't. There's the crow, half a block away, that sounds like it's cawing in your ear. There's the other, neighborhood, black cat, that won't step, for so much as a minute, on our property, then, there's our cat, to watch sentry. There is no Winter, to speak of, this year, though the climate could shift back, at any moment, it already has the taste, smell, and feel, of Spring, outside. The drips from the roof, seem to be tapping me on the shoulder, forcing me to keep turning around. No one can read my writing, quite a Greek curse, sort of tragedy, if there ever was one. I don’t want to write any more letters, I want to keep what I was giving away for free, to myself. But right now, I need to have the kind of material, that I used to give away, or, I'm nothing. The things that I avoid, due to being afraid of them, I'm only afraid of them, for good reasons...but, the reasons, still aren't good. Impulsivity, has a logic of its own, as I said, the car is here, I could go anywhere, but I know I won't. I hear Christmas songs, two months after Christmas, in my head. I went to draw a picture of my kind of vampire. I don't draw too many pictures, anymore, but that essay on being leery of color, for wont of self confidence, I found to be startlingly, inspiring. I can’t see straight, whatever this is, has got to stop. You were right! I do wish that you would hurry, sir; I mean, time ticks by, as you wonder what you're going to do next, until the next you, the next six hours, from now. Nudity is so... um, mm-hmm, the female body is the greatest thing there is, a few honest perversions, are the mark of human authenticity. Opera sounds like a kind of a candy, to my ears, this time. To put a tape on, doesn't...the ability to hold a thought, is waning. Be charming, and tragic, perform, try to analyze that note, you were slipped. Don't answer the phone, I have to do my (fuck you) writing. I do wish that I was a speed freak, sometimes, simply, due to the fact, that I can't even pull my weight around here (as I'm pulling my weight). There is always a hell of a lot more to do, to get done. It's never over, no matter how much you do, or how much time, that takes. I want (seriously) to get down on my hands, and knees, in the driveway, and pick up each, and every, pebble, individually. I need uninterrupted time, in which to do this, worry free, time. Now, I've made these plans to go downtown, to some dive, to see The Vacant on the Side, and I think they’re all right, I'm not really going to go down there. So, you want to know what impossible, is? My unhappiness is real, my feelings of worthlessness, are true. The people seem like tethered morons. We’re all lost. We’re almost, past the point of no return. Fuck the dead (no necrophilia)! The would-be agent, rattled off names, of people I’d never heard of. All the negative things, I've found out about myself, over the years, not only, don't go away, they get worse. There are no parties, ever again. Dismiss me, let me out. Stay there. Maybe I deserve this horrible predicament. This is certainly not, automatic writing. This assignment is simple, one-off, easy, but look at how I sweat, and strain, over it, all the sweating, and straining, doesn't make it any better, by the way. I've found, that I am probably more, star-struck, than most people, all the while, of course, believing myself to be all off, and beyond, such idiocy. At least nobody can say I stink, now, or, that there's crayon, dripping down the front of my face. Should I catalogue what I wear, I mean, should I clean, some more? I'm asking, because I do not know what the hell to do with myself. The kids with camouflage jackets, and pants, are searching for peace, in a war, that doesn’t involve guns. Embarrassed, is not the word, when I walk into that house tomorrow, I mean, first, when I am planning on waking up, what am I going to do once I'm there, am I sorry, how am I going to get my other work, done, and work, however many hours, anywhere? There is no money in the helping professions, not a little money, no money! You are wasting your time, going down there, of course, you have to go down there now, but, still, how long do you plan on staying? You were given it, the minute you walked in the door, shit; you were given the job, when you called. The lady herself, said to me, that they hire every, single, schmuck, that walks in the door. This college graduate, better get his shit in order, before I have him, hurt himself. See, I have this idea, that it's better to kill yourself, while you're healthy, you know, before the cancer, and horror, the stroke, and the disability. I keep throwing out these vulgar propositions, and philosophical positions. Ignore the fact, that this book, is sophomoric. Look at what happened, and try to stop it. People will not recognize all of the hard, grueling, impossible work, that went into this.

It is like I'm in a race, with something, I cannot beat, and I keep plodding on, due to my pride, and ego, which always have, and always will, tell me to. My stains are my own, my mistakes are regrettable, because they throw me so much further off, than most people's. I have ideas in my head, that are chimerical, to the point where, what they are, are just to make it seem, to the inside of my own head, that I am, indeed, having ideas, when, in fact, I am not. The worst kind of discomfort that I can feel, is just being in this body, being seen anywhere, doing anything. I am trying to purge myself of toxicity, I do not believe the things, that I think (any of them), my hand is not even my hand. This is not insanity, I am not insane enough, I'm so embarrassed, just to be myself. I am a loser, a complete square, and there would not appear to be any hope for me, anywhere, at all. I sat there in that theater, suffering through delusion, after delusion, they're not getting any easier to deal with, and they're not going away. I threw all the cheese in the dog's bowl, I'm scared of my own family, I don't want to talk, or eat, or go out, anywhere, do, anything, particularly. Yet, I think that I've already gone too far astray, gotten into too many traps, holds, pins, and snares. I am far more involved in the world, than I ever thought possible. The orders keep coming in, I can't help, my health is gone, my heart just isn't in my chest cavity, any longer. No one will ever hand me anything, and even though I don't want them to, I'd like them to. All things, that I force myself to undergo, take more than an hour, until all the hours are gone, and there's no time to do anything else. You would think, that over time, art would improve, that things would get a little easier, they don't. The hardest thing to deal with, used to be the most fun, namely, all the contradictions there are, to work out, and deal with. How in the hell did a seventeen year old boy, wind up being fifty-seven? I surrender, but there is no one there, to take the flag. I'm going to fall, and fall hard, and when I do, someone else will have to clean the yolk off the pavement. Let me know if I could be of any service to you. I am an orchard, but, one with a bug infestation problem. Is there any way that I can slip into survival mode, from this "inhuman way"? Crash course, I'm enrolled. The thrills are (how can this be done easier?) no longer thrilling. He went and got stuck, up in the tree. Three hundred more. I cross my legs, uncross them, then, cross them the other way, just to have something to do. What price, pussy? Scatter the rushes to the wind. My, lookie, lookie here. The way that we sign our name, changes considerably, over time. All the tea is spilled, we put out a fire, we took over the auditions, we fell out of the candy room, drunk, and threw up, on the sidewalk, out front. My dark (go, L7) secrets, will be kept to myself. Who says? Simon? The last turn, could be the most fertile, or, the most pointless. We've got to all remember to take our pills, we've got to golf naked, in the wilderness, we've got to make out with the robot, with the short skirt on. Talk show melees, are all over the cathode ray tube, the collapsing tart, is all ready to go. My nervousness, is not going to go away, by walking in, or out, any door. The scattered nature, of the dumb knob, suck and run. Press down harder, to make each moment, seem as if it means more, than it actually does. The money is gone, we knew there would never be enough. That new front porch, will cost you, the new path, is over budget. Virtual eyes, respond to some catchers mitt, laying waterlogged, in the backyard. Curse, cuss, and swear, your way from the cutting room floor, back onto the table, back to the can, or wherever the hell this was going. We've got very little time, very few options, too much mess. My foot, wrinkles the cushion, on the seat of the couch. Scratch that plastic, or whatever the hell it is. We are trying to set up appointments, to sell you products, that you don't want, or need. Hurry up, and slow down, cut the (say!) feathers off the live bird. We are willing to wonder, and wander, too willing. She was content to smoke dope, and lounge around, in a stupefying, state, of pseudo satisfaction, I did not, and that is why we broke up. As far as writing goes, there is no such thing as luck. The houses we're building, are all going to fall down soon, anyway. Archway millenniums, crush, and spoon us, in, and out, of hungry mouths, you do what you have to do, and leave me alone. Watch me malinger, no influences, no hands. My idea of clean, is not ketchup, all over everything. As I cross paths with people, with two voices, I scratch my hands, and want to kill people. You are probably too old, to be saying things, along those lines. While smoking, think about the long, slow, death, you're going to suffer. Assholes need their signed forms, in their hands. See, the more you avoid, the more, avoids you. There's no way that I have any intention of leaving this, and coming back to it, later, see, it is never fresh, it doesn't matter what I write, because it always sucks, and it's never any good. I am going to go waltzing down any street, into any unchartered territory, I just want to see my face, up on the silver screen, or, at least, I thought I did, last night. How many times, have you inadvertently, taken a large amount of drugs, only to discover, later, that it wouldn't have mattered, had you taken them, or not, because nothing can be done for you, nothing can either save, or destroy, you? You are like a pincushion, which has lost its squishiness, you are unsuitable for pricking. I don’t think that my hair is going to grow back. There is a pain, I will never forget.

You are chewing your paws. Axon to axon, takes a long, long time. Who are "your" writers? Everything closes early. Throw me up a broom! Twenty seven wrong turns, are what it takes, to wind up here. Go to the fair, get a song and dance routine, together. Shove the jobs, this is the true duty of genius. Do not pretend, make mania, work for you, get happy, on your own time, don't waste anything. Rubbing your eyes, won't cause you to see things more clearly, or even, differently. Fight without violence, pretend this paper is yellow. This is a comprehensive regrouping, of absolute despair. Exhaustion is not motivating. Shitty attitudes, shitty tips. A fresh coat of paint, can't hide the building’s imperfections. I saw the Japanese American citizens, leaving the high school parking lot, in droves. I've never done anything that was really, that wrong. Strawberries rot, so you see the importance, now, of taking care of things, while there is still something left, to take care of. Like the trucker’s hand signals, laugh. We’re not who, or what, we think we are. All refrigerators must be cleaned, regularly. Love is for fools, and worse. Drink her urine, wear her dress. They really must want me to get a credit card, nothing doing. Slowly, all the outdoor drinking fountains, are being removed. I’m addicted to my fat! The terror, would make anybody worried. This is how it starts. Where’s your honey? Noone knows whats going to happen down there. This planet is spinning, man. Our art is undervalued, and overrated. Round up, make sense of the spillover. What types of instruments, are being used? My wrists went numb, and limp, and I fell over. Our suspicions, can lead to murder. There are rules, rules, to this notorious, freak show. I came here from India, nevermind, how. Getting through this, may very well, kill me. Rearrange the weights, measures. Implore her, not to twist her skull, that way. Study them, keep a close watch, the bottom has fallen out, of the sidewalk. Invent a drug machine, so we can use, at will, without consequences! More textures, we want a more textural, feel. Whom, and how to, read? Our selfish lives on Mars, were much like a graduate school, for the "nothing good is ever going to happen to me," crowd. I am (or, am I?), I may be. The longing, was forced out, a long time ago. So hated/naked, copycat Russians, can go right ahead, and spread their legs, wide. Talk about jelly-filled donuts, the testimonials have all been given, don't you help me! What kind of parking lot, is this? This isn't really a party, is it? The secrets leak out, and the master copies, get stolen. Writers write, no genre is exclusively, adhered to. Forget about your pedestal, or audience, mister. Yes, people do have weird things, in their basements. No idea is ever to be just "thought about." Is enjoyment a rule, or the exception, to one? Find the shit that matters, the passageways, and secret tunnels, under the streets. A formidable blockage, could be a bad driving record, in this climate, at this atmospheric level. Telemarketing is not enjoyable. Kiss me? Don't ever consider changing places, with what's his face. This "top of the broomstick, reminds me of a candle" thing, I mean, what? No relenting, no matter what happens. Make a plea for morphine, for an address book. Black and white, are colorful enough, drool like a Pavlov dog, become as abstract as a puzzle, a car alarm, a bad day, involving weaponry. Number it, letter it, tickle it’s fancy. It starts over at the beginning, again. We were bribed, we felt as if we were being, watched. You can do better, than mere mention of the weather, conversation starter! Who wouldn't, get all caught up, in a three-tined, fork? You are destroying us, to tell you the truth. Prolonged style, night after night. Letter by letter, word by word, what needs to be done, shall occur. Listen to all of the subterranean murmurs. It seems like you've already put on the space helmet! Be more original, remember back, to those wonderful days, and times. Begin hacking, now! Know no one, understand the physical body's, deterioration, as well as the mental erosion, there has been an overemphasis put, on fucking, perhaps, some of this, is a bit much. Try to say what you mean, like, marry yourself. They name the streets after themselves. Hang out, if you must, in abandoned industrial zones. We need some kind of serum, to get from here, to there. Ribbed, for her defense. Still, after all these years of searching, I have absolutely no idea, of who, or what, I am. Utter pandemonium, refuted truth, interweaved, like the spreading of the fan. I had to do something, there are no guarantees, no labor negotiations. If you find yourself wanting to, more than retch, listen (or don't)...those hums in your head, could be considered, contrary, frightening. Upstage the pasta, answer the question about tornado's, turnbacks, and guilt. Share, motherfuckers, share. Bark, bark/bawk-bawk... the government is busy, bomb-proofing the court buildings. The clown, provides ceaseless entertainment. Sure, some of these words, are indeed, misspelled. Reality may be unrecognizable, as it is, some breeches, just can't be crossed, some britches, just can't be gotten into. The pages are stuck together, what's been going on in here? The floor behind the counter, needs to be swept, and mopped. Whatever happened to Bombay Fields, or whatever it was called? Oftentimes, the disposition of the server is, to a great extent, reflected in the gratuities, received. If you want to write about dildos, go ahead. Soon enough, someone will reach over, and turn that radio down. Please, stop counting. Show a little moxie, and take your suit off, before going to sleep. What is this girl, some kind of creep? My lungs are probably not as strong as yours. When sleepy, sleep. Maybe that particular mind game, shouldn't have been played. Ding dong, up, and down, that thing. Loop it around, again. Talk to the dead. Drum loops were used, to approximate percussion. Fold the ears, in. Frantic, exalted, raving, tantrums. Never trust a writer, who saves his letters. Document your visions. Do not scour this dirty piece of plastic, wash softly. The lampshade pretentiousness, whispering about craftsmanship. Start stripping, knowing full well, that the goal, is to get up in the morning. Nobody ever replied, to my letters. Had I talked about clouds, it would still have, pissed them off. Arrhythmic, arthritic, arithmetic, allow the curved lamp, to blind us, but, less than they used to. The more sense, things seem to make, the more time you should take, to double-check, everything. In order to keep costs down, most local stores, have stopped carrying any products. All the products that I used to use, to make myself look like I'm on that shelf, over there? We wake up, at some point, having forgotten, what was known. My nostrils are in a great deal of pain, we are not repainted, with, or without, our permission, yet. You treated me like a fairy, you gypped me out of my pension. Buckle down, and get to work, buckle up, and get ready, for some car crash excitement. In many ways, I’m the perfect example of what not, to study in school, do with your life, and so on. Interesting/frightening people, doing (regular, average) boring/banal, things. The middle of the day, was airbrushed. The game is called, eye contact. Move your garden variety ass, out of… how could we, have done this? We can’t really “capture it,” can we? Keep certain thoughts, in the privacy of your own heads. Rub yourselves up, against baptismal oil paintings. Try another door, fatty/slim. The paisley wearing, unlikables, were not invited. So many no’s, so far. The three-ring binder thing, never happened. The onslaught, was merciless, the beatings, profuse, the carpeting, a deep shag. As far as innuendo, affairs, deception, lies, pain, anger, revenge, remorse, no tin foil. The pie is in the oven (another double meaning). To be a little freaky, too far out, performing isolation experiments, on yourself. I need stronger medicine. Whatever I have been trying to communicate, by writing, has been, lost sight of. Pick up some stainless steel, blurb, blurt, the biggest burden, becomes our physique. By some sort of accident, or another; we all slip, silently, into our own, “true callings." No one really knows how, or why, a dowsing rod, works. One, by one, and after, the other, we all drop dead. The challenge, the role, is to rage your way into the grave, unquietly. We are college degreed, janitors, we are victims, of suicide. We all know why we commit suicide, before we do it, very few people, put any of the real reasons, in any note. Who was I eyeballing, in that otherworldly satellite? The routine, is continual. Morons surround you, only if you, yourself, are a moron. The two liter bottles, are imitating entropy. Beware the campus chicken statues, the pride, and joy, of the entire university. Another job, extinguished, anything is permitted, here/now. The only thing to offer, is confusion. Those things don’t need to be underlined. Let this whole thing, stand as a testament, to its author’s dissatisfaction. Make a fool of yourself, on the highway overpass. Maybe we really did have it good, sitting in Fat Boy Mall, a long time ago. Hide the truest emotions, remove those paragraphs. We are vegetable floozy’s, complex labels, difficult to defy. Our sentimentality, gets fist fucked, our disgraces, become even more, pronounced. Forget it, let it, go the other way. To hold on, hold on, to what? Find something that needs to be painted. Is it a crotch, or a beard? We are extremely pleased, with the side effects of this. Just, change one word to another, to make it more interesting.