065

There is just, something, ghastly, about a urinal! All successful people, are assholes, for a reason, it’s what made them, successful. I’ve gone, soft, in more ways, than one, and, it doesn’t take, very long, just in case, you’re worried, about when it’s going to happen, to you. Let’s go on, to the next subject, now. Avoid, your granulated, friends, take solace, in yourself, do it, but do it, incognito. You are not on the radio, no matter how much, you were taken aback, or, how amazed, you were, the radio, was off! Go on, out, seek, experience. I can’t believe it (it’s like, parallel parking), it’s incredibly, far-gone. Have a, meringue! You, chemist/bastard. Let’s create, some social, situations, just for the sake, of shock, value. Feel the cashmere, and, what’s, underneath. You have nothing to do, except, this. Leave her, and her million dollars, out of this. It’s no, use? What it’s like, is like, partying, with ghosts. Flick, a fink. A llama, walks through the lobby, of the train station. Let me creep around, the graveyard, with you, discuss, the virtual, interchangeability, of regardless, and irregardless. Break a promise. Nevermind, that, let’s resume, our talk, on nihilism, campfires, hooks, for plants, dots, and loops. Alcohol, is best (like diesel), enjoyed, sober. Work your, “scratch magic,” into the, “college room.” We are, utterly, in touch, with, the truth, hence, insanity! I want to get down, on my hands, and knees, and shave off, what is grown out of control (and context), on your, personal, private, jungle floor/rainforest. I’m, “on break”…on break. The counter, has to constantly, be reset, at zero, zero, zero. Let’s imitate him, again! Well, most, of what we’re told, is, just, not true. Right now, for reasons, I don’t understand, there is an insane sense, of excitement, probably, from the sounds, of those geese, going crazy, outside the window. I’m not just, “upset with myself,” I can’t even tell you, what I am, not because, I’m trying to conceal anything, but, because, the word, for what, I am, hasn’t, been, invented. More sex, explosions, guns, full, frontal, nudity, expensive clothes, and, a whole bunch, of mysteries, and scandals, these are the movies, we spend millions, to gawk at? I’m busting out of my shirt, not in a good way, at all. My nose, is becoming like a chitlen, or, whatever those things, are called…hocks? Hole, my ass, open. There has been another, vicious, murder, in town, another, bloody, bloody, killing. There is nothing, about me, that I can, stand, anymore. Orgasms, are what keep us, around, it doesn’t matter, if you do the work, it takes, to achieve, one, or, you have, “help.” Fluffy face, please, give me, just, one minute, I’ll take you. This is what, schizophrenia, is. The people, that, want, to slip through the cracks, do. Your fantasies, will become, reality, please, beware. Soap scum, and mildew, are beginning to overtake, the grout, in the shower, again. It felt like, an invisible fist, hit me. Design a new style, or, something. If I could hate myself, anymore, than I already, do, there is no telling, what, I’d be capable, of. The unreleased tapes, are that way, for a, reason. Please try to…ah, forget it. Magazines, are a ten minute, stroll, through “pretty, pretty.” There is going to be a very, very, exciting, scene, I’m not going to have anything, whatsoever, to do with it, but, it will take place, oh, it will, take place! The coldness, of trying to be warm, in a world, like this, catches up, with you. My plans, were interrupted, thank goodness. Ignorance, of the law, is no excuse, it won’t stand up, in court. My brain, the inner workings, of my brain, are going, backwards. The swelling of my leg, is going to keep me, confined, to bed. The book, ends, right in the middle, of the most crucial, part. You blew it, they know you, now! Mix surrealism, and existentialism, together. They, too, are, sleepy heads.
I’m a lousy writer, and simply, not good enough. Right when things, can’t get, any worse, they do, and we deal with, that, now. I’m already, your slave. The plastic bag, taped to the refrigerator, was, icky. Destroy, build, re-build, destroy. You’ve got, to do it, yourself. It would appear, that I spend, a great deal, of time, feeling sorry, for myself. What is the best way, to let a woman, know, you want to have sex, with her, without, being too, obvious? The more I, plan, and, go over, the plans, the less of a plan, there ends up, being. What does it matter, how specific, we get? The word, maturity, was written, at the top, of a sheet of paper, it was the only word, on the paper. In answer to your introversion/extroversion, question, both. My overall, look, or, feel, internally, or, externally is…well, a little rough, around the edges. I even enclosed the cost, to cover, postage, and handling, but, all I can say, is that I’m really happy, that unsolicited manuscripts, don’t get, read. Apparently, there is some distinct, kind, of conflict, going on, between, shifts, down at the plant. The more fucked up, I get, the more together, I think, that I am. My life, is like, the peanut butter, left on the knife, soaked in water, for hours. My skin, is soaking, in nitroglycerine, my leprosy, my leprosy, I wish I was, a lesbian. Why are all the pages, in my magazine collection, stuck together, oh, oh, nevermind. Let’s knock, shit…I will put on the funny mask, and do the silly dance, the farm animals, will revolve, around, and around, all the while, making their stereotypical, noises. Books, are a coward’s, refuge, I read, more than, most people. You are reading the words, written, by the last, of the un-medicated, mentally ill. The rearview mirrors, on three, out of four, cars, that I have owned, in my life, have been torn off, in fits, of rage. Wear, whatever, T-shirt, you want, on-stage, whatever you wind up wearing, it’s obvious, it was very, deliberately, planned. Don’t blow it, again. We’ve got to double check, the times, and dates, of when, things, need to be, done. Drugs, ah, drugs, oh, yes, I know why they are used. The lot, was full. Most things, are really, stupid. I’m so ugly, and I reek, of odor. Jamaica, is a person, place, and thing. Very few of us, will ever, “make our moves.” I drank the water, let that be, one more, reason, why you, shouldn’t. We know, what we want, we just, can’t have, those things. As far as I know, I cannot hide the fact, that I’m a real, sick, pervert (in any way). Remove all individuality, from the work, in question. In 2098, if you happen to stumble across, this book, pause, for just, one moment, and reflect, that the writer of this work, was once, alive, just like you are, now, and, at this point (your time), he is, dead, forever, and evermore. My dreams, of being a rodeo clown, were dashed, by that six foot, four inch, homosexual. There is absolutely, no hope, for me, too many, slow lane, drives, wrong way, exits, dribbles, into, or, out…not looking ahead, knowing not, where, I’m going, no turn, on red. For absolutely, no reason, I am going to start making up, words. My roots, are dangling, right out, in front of me, just like, old times. We need more diabolical, plans, than, “let’s go out, and get the mail.” There isn’t a lot of hope, for me, I just, seem to be, one of those people, who can’t seem to, motivate, themselves. My neck, is so, stiff, that a swift breeze, could knock my head, off. All the…all I…my mouth, is begging, for penicillin, green beer, spills, on my pants, the corrupt cop, laughed at me. Oh, those, twists, and turns, those, twists, and turns. Things, in the widest sense, of that term, have not worked out, for me. The tightness, from carrying bus tubs, around, has gone away. The frustration, doesn’t get any easier, to deal with. We’re like the punk, in the chocolate factory. I want to scream out, and all I seem to be able to do, is whimper, a little, to myself. Ignore, your addictive, triggers (bang-bang). As you can see, some chemical imbalance, is at work, here. I am a snob, but, don’t have, any cause, any justification, to be, anything. This cake, is baked. Remember, the subject. We must stop, stumbling, over the grass. Cut, the bullshit, out. The pups, are asleep. We used to like to play, with, sticks. It would be enjoyable, stimuli, if I were to tear my face off, and stick it, on the coffee table, knock over, antiques. There is nothing to do, so, go on, do it. Contact, bang, boom, vrrroom, vrrroom. We’re pretty much, obsessed, with sex.