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I forgot what the first page idea was, I read what you crossed out. Not my Johnny, not my consciousness! Picture it! Use more small, and/or, inadequate, metaphors. Now I remember, that windmill thing in the farm country, I’ll never see it again, because I can't remember where it was, but they had this huge front yard, with this windmill thing in front, that the kids could play in. Hand me down surprises, halfway to Indiana! I listened to your advice, I tried self control, but it didn't work. I submitted my thoughts, at times, to their more desperate elements. We've got to change the way that things are spelled. It's as if puking all of over the front yard wasn't enough, I've got to mentally torment myself, as well, I don't let myself forget anything I say, every gesture, every nuance, every thought, and I tell myself how wrong it all is/was. This is difficult to read? Look at the sky through the trees right now! I've long since lost all drive, or ambition, to "succeed." We look for things that don't exist, and then, wax philosophic, in our old age, about never being able to find them. All the while, it wasn't even right in front of our noses? We want to know ourselves, and we can’t even handle that, we give up that quest (or most of us do), and look to others for our liberation, which is much more disappointing. Is this the impossible book, which can’t be written? I do get pissed off, but only, “in general.” I’m always careful, maybe too careful, not to offend anybody. These are the beginnings of suburban mayhem, it always starts with property disputes. I used to believe that the purpose of this book, was to write down what words could not describe, of course, I came to understand that that was impossible. I can't even whistle half the things, voices mostly, that are coming back at me, three-fold, and twice fucked, now! I have realization after realization, on good days, the days that are bad, are the days that I can't remember what I realized, also, if I realize that all of these realizations, haven't gotten me anywhere, or changed anything. Since it can be argued that everything is subjective, I went through a long mental hospital stay, I claimed I was a solipsist. Those strange, sharp pains in my legs, I shudder to think what they've got in store for me. My memory is so weak, that I've got to keep repeating things, over, and over, and over, and still, nothing ever returns in its original form. I've got my grain, if I had friends, I wouldn't be working on this book right now, we would just be sitting on chairs, and taking turns talking, one person would talk, and the other would feign interest, then, the roles would be reversed, we'd talk about the same shit everyday, nothing would get done, but we'd feel a little better, for awhile. We would drink, every time we'd get bored, we would walk over to the store for beer, we'd blame attention (I wear nylons) deficit disorder, but, actually, we'd be working on whatever alcohol problem we had (or, were working on, having). I’m feeling it, of course, that could be about anything. There is nowhere to hide, except in college, but we did that already. Only three times, ever. Some things are possible, and other things, are impossible. Imagine my distress, when I discover that this thing will never be published. It fizzled, as I bumbled, and stumbled. This is the dream of the kiss goodbye (slap, slap, wake up). What will the final word be? No one wants to be in a wheelchair their entire life, and nobody wants to die young. The lunatics, are getting maniacal. How can I ever help anyone else, or offer advice, being as fucked up as I am? We know about current events. Stay out of Heaven!
In twenty three days, I am beginning my hermitage, there will not be any shades, or blinds, where I'm going. I'm an aristocrat, kindly treat me with the respect, accorded one, such as myself. No, things haven't been the same. Why are you laughing? I've mastered you, I've walked through the crowd, and came out the other end, completely unscathed, I wasn't even drunk at the time, there were wall-to-wall people, engaged in their mating rituals, and I managed to walk right through, several times! Could you please give someone a letter for me? I could send it on a postcard, but no one stays in one place long enough to establish a permanent address. There are a bunch of dead individuals, hanging from trees, in the great nightmare. The moaning can't be heard, that takes place on the inside. I can't even stand looking at them, without a few gin and tonics first, in fact, where'd I put that bottle? I gotta’ be at work soon, and I'm not going sober. I used to try really hard to be friends with some people, but they always remained out of reach. There must be something odd, or mysterious, about me, and I don't mean that in a good way. Maybe they know something about me, that I don't, it's inexplicable. I don't approve of what happened to your pets, either. What is mental illness? Is this hearing really necessary, Your Honor? Can't you see that I was in contempt of court, before I even walked in here? Didn't you have a clue when I asked what “the truth” was as I let my hand hover over the Bible, without actually touching it? And my cute little comments about the context relativity of truth statements? You seemed pissed, then went on to incarcerate me, and verbally chastise me, as well. Puffed out and emotional, just like a paramecium. The candles have reached their foregone conclusions, and there is a party line tuned into the plate in my head. I want to be careful and safe, but also, radical, latent, submerged, unprecedented. Hey man, where's your press pass? We don't remember what things were like before we were born, we can know history, but not the future. Empty cans and bottles, sword battles, computer hackers, are there only seven deadly sins? It seems that there could be many more. He could finger the witness, but he'd be likely to catch a venereal disease. Down the wooden stairs, at the side of the house, we decided to get into a fistfight. No punches were thrown, we tried to stare one, or the other, into submission, correct the germs that got out of line. My ear is glued on the cinder block, I couldn't stand the buzzing anymore. The glass was one way, so that I could see in, and they couldn't see out. It will never end. Reach a damn conclusion! Don’t blow eraser dust, on Suzy. There is nothing else to be said about porno shops, whether on the interstate, or in your own neighborhood. Salty phallus question and answer seminars, I am a kamikaze extremist. Even tits, can get to be exhausting, tiring. How to strangle a person, without leaving a mark on their neck? We have gone astray. That is quite a healthy sternum, and I can't see it, there is rabid disorder in the streets. Structural hemispheres are drifting apart. This is a steel girder surprise, and soon, we'll find ourselves in Rome, where whatever will be, will be. Pride was a trap I fell in, I couldn't tell what was good, or bad, on my own. Could you read this to me? I've got a gun. Could you read this for me? I've got a gun. The way that I'd think of myself afterwards, I was a little too nice for my own good, from now on, I will be an asshole. There are limits to kindness, limits to ourselves. So many bowel dysfunctions, transcendentalists, helmets, experiments, and phases. As for being positive, just stop. My heart, is in my ass.