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What do you want? That's a slick leather hornet's nest. They say that Napoleon’s cousin is still screaming, "echo," across Niagara Falls, and he thinks the fury of the weather, is applause, just for him. She said the street was like a razor. We will pole vault the last sixteen and a half yards. Go la, la, la, la. We end up not knowing what drugs we’re on. I made an appearance, somehow, but I didn't understand the timing, or the occasion. Parts of this were supposed to be funny, but, man, I just don’t know. Try to be bigger, and better. It could be an octopus skull, or another crustacean of the deep. How did my semen get on these pages? Be one of them, as opposed to one of those. The winds go under water, but they call them merely, "currents.” I think that I like that line a lot. What does it matter, anyway? We all suffer in silence. As for what we can do to prepare for the inevitable fall; nothing, you will fall, you can be prepared for the fall, but not how, or where, or when, it will take place. There is nothing you can do to avert it. The telephone directs me from my line of thought. I don’t know why I do what I’ve done, what I’ll continue to do, in the future. All he wants to do, is screw, movie stars. The whole perverted mess, turns inside out. Let it be dull, useless… We’re stuck in our lives. We're already dead, and we're both upset, and carefree, about it. We have no idea what is going to happen to us. It needn't bother any of us, any of it, so what? The quilt, seemed to liquefy. The cabaret will be our salvation. That is the attitude, we, as humans, are required to sew onto our sleeves. You can never have security, so get that idle rumination, out of your head. You can't even have safety, you can't even have ten minutes of peace and quiet, not the way things are now. When you know something terrible is gonna’ happen sometime, why do you act so surprised, when it follows its course? My intention was to only write in the dark, their intention was to stay out of it. Above and beyond all of this, were the elaborate fantasies that I envisioned, they were never sexual, and always complicated. I just didn't want to be destitute, thus, destitute, I became. People were throwing "sorrys," at me, left and right. There are fewer and fewer places to turn, the stapler is constantly out of the entrails that make it famous. If the situation were any better, I'd feel worse. As for where I stand on any issue, I remain vague. The unseen sun, is setting? He went into the woods, to flail his arms? Since he couldn't stop writing, he continued to write. She says she's rich, says she raises orchids. All the happy collegiates, with their phone cards, and "political awareness." And of course, I have no idea where any of this comes from. My experiments regarding change, wound up half planned, and unexecuted. There is a very clear similarity, between my life, as is, and the spilled pop on the chair, that is damaging the paper I'm writing on. I had another one of my exasperated and futile tantrums, the kind where I cry out, but not loud enough so that anyone will hear me, a half an expulsion, there was some kind of doubling over, and wincing behavior, too! They are common, these little tantrums, we all know why they occur, something to do, usually, with the way things are, versus our inability to alter situations. Something along those lines, anyway. My clothes are neatly folded, only to be carelessly thrown onto the floor again. People only mention philosophy, to gain "college coffee club fame." The promise, the experience, the hyperbole, the beyond irony effect. Oh, the wages we earn, they say this is something worth believing in? All my clever thoughts, drift away, into sub-atomic neurons, the moment I pick up a pen. How I love torturing myself. I thought about writing a novel today, about suicide again, sublimation, cut and dry. The car broke down, right when I was thinking about what I'd do if I won the lottery. Actually, it was a minute or two after that, when I was telling myself how stupid it was, to leave reality, and how I figured that I was different than the "masses," etc ... that's when reality got her sweet and bitter revenge. I can't even take my socks off, without "the weight of the world," crushing me? Oh, boo-hoo, hoo. We are the pummeled, get out the sex basket. A harpsichord introduced me to Athena, and her handmaidens. Something very embarrassing, occurred.