066

The poor, will suffer, beyond suffering, I’m telling you, things, are going to get, worse. Please, don’t tell me, only, what you think, I want to hear, that’s what, I do. What we say, or, think, “will never happen, to us,” happens, almost, overnight. The type C, trainers, are all insane. The body, is starting to give off, a real, foul, odor, and, it’s a different kind, of foul odor, from the regular, ones. The puppies, kept biting each others, tails, and, spinning around. The image… The darkness, of the vagina, is bleeding me, right out, of the hole. Thinking, leads to disappointment, get ready. We’re going to the, Honey Bun, we know, that we shouldn’t. One kind, of freedom, isn’t really, any different, from any other, if, there even, is, any, freedom. Oh, the nervousness, is real, so, so, real! The schooldays, are, over, but, just, for, awhile. Those feelings… Wipe your smells, onto, each other. They led, lives, making furniture, out of bones, and beating on drums, all night, long. You seem to like to, pretend, please, continue. Doubt, is so refreshing, as is, having sex, with giant, Amazon, women, swimming naked, in ditches, flooded, with rainwater, or, who knows, what else? These are not, real, wood chips, Goddamit! Survey the scene, be thrown, from the car, off, to the cave, off, to the cave. Let’s get on with, the execution, get it, over with, if you, will. The things, that we will never admit, to anybody, the secrets, we keep, are the things, we should, say, first. Skin pores, don’t seem to heal, right, they may, never. Here, I sit, and I came out here, to be fireside, and I can’t see the fire, except as a reflection, off of the back, window. Your life, is my life, my life, is yours. Fuck! Cowboy, give me back, my bottle of beer, please. Why is it, that nobody, mailed me, a T-shirt? The topless girls, cover up, when I, come into the room. Sniffle your way, through, the stupid things, you say. The cop, got caught, stealing, they always, do. Sometimes, I sleep…occasionally. Help the accused, to unwind, fight, substance abuse, impeach, whoever’s, in charge, whoever, is, really, in charge. Don’t allow any, would-be, robbers, to shoot you, in the face. Detroit, equals death (no matter). Don’t break your back, don’t do, lots of things. During WWII, I used to head up, the paper, and bottle, drives. We are not going to allow, something, as trivial, as death, to spoil our party, ever again. When my wrist, was slit open, and blood, was all over the kitchen, I felt no pain, nor, had any, fear. It is time, for variations, on a theme, and the theme, is sexy, sex (hurray-type, feelings). Occasionally, as human beings, we’re assaulted, by vivid memories, when this happens, we should, rejoice. There used to be, an out of business, car company, over (connected, to some, other, place) on, North Avenue. That’s where I did my project, no, not the lamps, I built a trail, back there. Man, I’ve been beyond, fucked-up, for too long, now, far, too long, already. The question to ask, is, what are we going to do, about, what we really want, to do? In my travels, I’ve seen, about, all there is, to see, in my travails, I know, I’ve seen, more than, enough. I spit, blame, can’t even, want, at this point. Alright, now, this is my one, and only, cue, my cue, to die. The kid, got killed, over thirteen dollars, and a simple, wooden, raggedy, walking cane. No playing, allowed. We have got to go on the offensive, against crime, i.e. take the law, into our own, hands. The elephants, shake their heads, back, and forth. I’m a part time, retard, full time, bore, I could be, a murderer. They are always, testing us…
No, ma’am, I am not responsible, for the realignment, of your cells. If you need to be spoon-fed, I’m sorry, but, you are going to starve, to death. We can all, sing along, to this one. It’s not gonna’ be, all puppies, and matchsticks, from now, on. The world, is coming to an end, there, now, I’m just like the lunatics, in the park (no surprise). All malls, are the same, some, look, more fancy, than others. Say, yes, to all of the shit, that you’ve previously, said, no, to. Bark, at the professor. The beginning, is the only place, to begin, don’t even think about, success. The worst thing, that could happen, to many women, is to get, pregnant. None of the articles, in that magazine, are, “for me,” in any way. It’s all over, yet, we endure. Ah, it’s raining, again. I must put something, in here, which will guarantee, sales, of the book. I refuse to have, another, attack. Look at the difficulties, involved, in just, leaving the state, much less, the whole cult, of pseudo-Americana. Maybe, “they,” are only, in our heads. I am ashamed, of each, and every, blowjob, that I’ve given, and, received. We can’t get out, of the perspectives, that we get ourselves, trapped, into. Sugar in my pants, we don’t know, who we, are. My fetishes, are going to get me into, a whole lot, of trouble, someday. The pub, is a trap, ready, to ensnare, anyone, who falls into, one. Nothing good, has ever happened, to me, which, wasn’t, intimately connected, with an absolutely, terrible, and awful, thing, which is the way, it works, not to say, I like it. Keep fixing it, see through, the neon, sheen. When I puked, in the bushes, I imagined, to myself, that I was helping the plants, and shrubbery, that, somehow, what I was doing, would be just the fertilizer, that was needed, to give nature, a little push, in the right direction. The police, know how, to catch me, The Authority, gave them, all of the necessary, information, with which, to do, so. My collage, will forever, remain, incomplete. So, just because my shoes, aren’t (no sandals, ever) Italian, you won’t fix them, huh? A small, change of venue, could lead to, gigantic, whatever’s. Many, many, times, I’ve dressed, in women’s clothes, for fun, and, profit. My hates, and rages, are very controlled, and, under control, see, I like to think, that I’m more radical, than I really, am. I’m not really, jealous, of anyone, I just, think it would be nice, to have, what a lot of other people, have. When I went to Amsterdam, back in ’53, I must have, fucked. I’m not allowed (crickets, Popsicles) to feel pleasure, ask someone, else, okay, now, where was, I? No, I’m not as fruity, as I once, was. All I do, for exercise, is walk, and even though, I walk, a long way, there doesn’t seem to be, any benefit, from it. Do yourself a favor, and call a taxi, a cab. Smoke, incessantly, if you must, but, don’t act surprised, when you get cancer, or, worse. This crazy, skin guard, material, it’s causing, different kinds, of fevers. County jail, got me used to the color, orange, “flip-flop,” shoes, daytime television, fist fights, and olestra. She was my (look, you have responsibilities, now) messiah, but, it didn’t last. Go for, joy, bliss, grace, etc. The differences, in opinion, that we all, have, we’ll always, have, and we might as well, stop, trying to be, a unified, singular, functioning, organism, right now. You don’t really, miss, them. What lifestyle, do you, refer, to? My life, is an absolute, mess, it almost, can’t be cleaned up, yet, I am one of those simpleton, losers, that the, really, knocked up, people, constantly, make fun of, nope, they, have a broom, and dustpan, handy, when all they think, they are, turns into, dust. Vegas, chute your way, to a leaner, you, which is, to say, rub the fat, away, forever! The photographs, are designed, to force you, to touch yourselves. If I should curl my hair, up into an afro, do you think, that I would still be, respected, at work? The seven inch, single, sold, maybe, seven copies. I’ll do anything, to get you, back, if only, for one, one… I need you, want you, desire you, sexually/physically, as well as, emotionally, and with true, and genuine, feelings (I love you). This is all, as surreal, as a straightjacket, as figurative, as a plastic globe. The ingénue, rushed into the room, and started making demands, I told her, to sit down, and shut up. Pop, must be brought, from the backroom, up to the “kitchen,” as needed. This is your life (don’t miss it). All of the scones, must be wrapped, and put into the day old, basket. The ashtray, is broken, loons, sit in cars, talking about, “hockey haircuts.” Discussion, is furtive, at best. They will continue, to tempt, and taunt, you. I don’t hold out, much hope, but, I’m still, delusional. It almost, happened, occurred, took place.
No artistic, stretch exercises, please. In 1976, I ate a piece, of the biggest, birthday cake, ever, baked. My body, is not my own, anymore, and, I’d do, anything, to have my old, body, back. Dandruff, attacks my scalp, as I dance, on the desk. The tremendous, guilt, from what I did, in Vietnam, will haunt me, always. It’s all about ball bearings, roller cages, and cable wires. We’ll catch the circus, the next time, around, even though, there is no, next time, for anything! The year 2008, starts, this upcoming, Wednesday, or, it might as well. Sometimes, we get more, than we would think, to ask for, but, it’s always, look, don’t touch. The pizza, is in the oven. Other people, can only treat you, as badly, as you, treat, yourself? Experts, are presumptuous, money, must be saved, abilities, must be appreciated. Payback, for the null, and void, they’ve given, us? Our comfort, is just about, enough, as it, is. You listen to it, all day! Put the penis, into the vagina, again. Love addicts, wander the streets, in need, of one fix, or, the other. Sir, I didn’t plan on, fucking your mother, it just, happened. This is a hypnosis, kind of, sleep, where you keep doing things, that you, don’t, want, to do. People with overactive imaginations, get themselves into trouble, more often, than the average, person. The guilt of (let it, go) expectation, is depressing me, again. If you turn the other cheek, they’ll slap you, there, too. I just, didn’t agree, with the conclusions, that the church group, reached. I don’t know, where I get my ideas, from, nor, why I write them, down. The experiments, regarding change, wound up, half planned, and unexecuted. College, the cancerous, byproduct, of cysts, left out, on the counter, too long. The left handed, right leaning, governor, was beyond, irony, beyond, the dollhouse. Oh, the wages, we earn. It looks kind of ridiculous, to you, because, it is, indeed, ridiculous. Gretchen, who the hell, blew this? Women, doing any kind of yoga, turns me on, too much, it’s at the point, now, where I can’t even go, to the meditation center, anymore. I’m begging you, for help, I don’t know who you are, or, what kind of help, that I need, exactly, but, please, someone, help me! My skin, is so fair, and soft, I don’t wash it, in order to hide, these facts. I can’t afford, hernia surgery, I don’t have any insurance, so, I am forced, to live out, the rest of my days, with my balls, stuck up, against, my stomach lining. It is time, to begin, some kind, of hardening process, all over, again. He was (so, Spanish) tinkling, when he got, popped. When your penis, feels like a dildo, in your hand, it’s safe, to say, that you’re sufficiently, aroused/excited. Once, I tried to stick a heated, curling iron, up my ass. Naturally, I’m a lunatic, by saying this, I’m saying, that it is, natural, to be, crazy. Give me a zoom, in, on her room. The hardest thing, that I was ever forced, to accept, was that I’m not very, smart. My eyesight, is failing me, rapidly, they say, soon, all the vision, in my left eye, will be gone, followed, shortly, thereafter, by the right, one. The best thing to be, in this world, is a hermetic, do-nothing, who doesn’t even know, what partying, or, hanging out, is! I’ve been doing intense, tongue exercises, but, no one, will ever, know it. I know, that I’m a filthy, disgusting, horny, animal, but, nobody else, needs (or, wants), to know. The smell of rust, is coming from, my arms. There is no reward, for being a good, moral, person, but, there sure is, a punishment, if you’re not, and then, some. The diseased people, in a family, spread their nets, out, and draw the healthy ones, into, their sickness. Ordain me, or, excommunicate, me, now. It’s dismal, prefabricated… Melancholic, wayward, forlorn…