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Right when I didn't think I would ever laugh again? Somebody wearing only one sock, thinking absolutely nothing of it. I don't remember what I was mumbling, half aloud, to myself I tried to exclaim that I was not a humorous person, that I didn’t want to go to Vermont. A certain subsect of responsibility, I abhor, the one that keeps you in the herd of lemmings, jumping off into the abyss; I am the lemming, that slowly, over the millennia, evolved into a muskrat. It’s amazing, the things you learn during a war. If there were a God to help me, I’d beg it to. You know, the kind of mammal that no one recognizes, while dead, or alive, but there's a "kind of a beaver," crossing the road. Me, with my glasses on; a stuffed owl, with glass eyes and a broken beak, and worse, still screeching, "who am I," to anyone within three hectres. I'm pacing back and forth, trying to burn off the flab, have some kind of emotion. Any real feeling is better than the way I've been doing things. The last swig of coffee, looks, and tastes, like my noir ruination. There is wire wrapped around my spine, hiding another, smaller-boned, ornamental surprise. She made “Bohemian Empancipations,” that didn’t really proclaim anything. That's all this town has to offer, posturing and evasion. I've seen the broken flower pot, divine. The elite can be found below the bottom, these days. The self analysis is over, I'm at that critical passage of, "being in the world." Without the opposite, or corollary, this is enlightenment? I wasn't going to let her get away with it, again, not this time, I mused, to myself. Not this time. Yes, I hang down my head, but not as low as most. It’s just gone on too long. Scoping out the people, eyes hidden under a hat brim. I never show my hands in public. People wonder, but they always will. It's a shame, to say that things get stolen. No matter how careful you are, you can always count on there being a snake in the grass, with no regards for anyone, or anything, at all. We want real barns, with real silos, and want to see the color of the harvest, the sunrise… This is my way of describing hot steam fusion, idolatry and hero worship. How to set up a proper mecca, right on your mantelpiece? The twitch in motion, that finally gets us on our knees, and flailing. The small, "what's the use," gestures, that we make unwittingly, every time we are reminded of our plans. The frozen rain has left a sheet, like a tarp, over everything, the triad of frogs, looks remarkably more real now, than in their ordinary, concrete graves. The rose bushes all take on a broader significance, even more so than there being one for every year they've past away. And when the branches shed their skins, we get obsessed with a few common denominators. The key lies somewhere in the discovery of how our heroes, get to be that way, beyond what they reveal to you. We're looking for new archetypes, in all college catalogs. A new fashion movement, a new way of staring in a far off way, towards divinities, unknown. I don't know why I took off running into the scorched field, but it was something that needed to be done. All the whooping and cajoling, my companions thought that I'd really snapped this time. The other two, were always ahead of the times. To demand justice, from every spruce tree within earshot? Entranced by her accent, her chattels, the gap in her teeth, I could’ve sat in that apartment forever, and I would, if she'd have let me. We wonder, always, in vain. Feel the discontentment, disillusionment, go to work, anyway. That was me, awash in the riptide of dandelions, or in a fold-up, wicker and vinyl chair. Sometimes, it’s worse than total disaster. Solve your own problems, nobody else, will. We traipsed through the barn, after being out all night, with bottles of spark1ing wine, and demanded to know where the vehicle was. "Where's the vehicle, lady?", we slurred. No one wanted to show it to us, only sixteen miles on it. So, we stole a few of those construction barrier things, with orange lights on them, and left, down K-Y Avenue. Yes, it was in the country, I took a picture of it. I thought I was clever, when I stole the generic equivalent, out of a friend’s medicine cabinet. People wondered why I was rubbing her "pearls," against my teeth. There's my fingernail clipper, with the orange stains, thank you, loaf eater. These are nucleotides! Angst becomes ennui, envy, etc. We will regret what we’ve done.
Listen, hey, no, lets grab some fire exit signs. let's mess up his sleeping situation. That damn mirror, do you want me to freak out again, freak out and leave, again? Don't tell me nothing is wrong, you've been sitting here for hours, silently screaming for attention. That look of bewilderment, and confusion, on your face. C'mon stranger, let it all out! Uh, a trasformer must (it’s a crazy act, all this) have blown. To all agents, spunk, dribble, gas, less. I could hurt you, you could hurt me (that’s how it works). Say everything, from toilet training regimentation, to the last rebuff you've had, tell me about your report cards, of C plusses, and B minuses. They cheated us out of it. He said it felt, “just like a pussy.” I see more dead animals than the average person. We’re all the same, we're all "victims," if we choose to look at things that way. As for me, well, the bananas aren't rotten, but I wouldn't want to eat them. Life is a shit sandwich, and we eat it, you could just as easily spit it out, but, I'm trying to make a point here. Look at the guard post boars, the next time you drive past. I woo-hooed my way through Cleveland's red light district, I saw the steel factories and cheap motels, I saw the innocents, I heard the flits, shouting at the car. They were pointing with their other hand on their hips, thrusting one leg forward. The ladies of the evening, lived in the salt mines, with rubber arms and copper teeth. Fooling around, everything all completely swollen, what’s going to happen here, next? I stuck my finger in the holes where the spiral cord was, until it rotted, slowly, away, I saw, and smelled, Erie, and what I'd done to it. It’s hard to tell what’s an accident, and what happens on purpose, around here. I blew a half an hour, throwing matches over the pier. In another city, at another time, I jumped in the sludge of a chemical spill, some kind of river, slipping and thrashing. I don’t know if I tripped out, or what, but something was very wrong, for six days, there were allusions to foliage, and newspaper t-shirts, backwards walking being good for the bowels, needing salt, needing it. There are blueberry patches, for awhile. The vacuum sucked me in, hardcore. Yes, I’ve got a split personality, or a close approximation. The night I said I'd never smoke like you do? Candle lit and unhappy, not much to enjoy. You just didn’t want me to be bitter, at that particular point in time? “I've learned to control my biorhythms," she said. How? "With drugs, man, with drugs." Scrubbing out the fruit basket?! Drop the subject, you sniveling, little bitch! Pounding down so hard on the face, the floor was sliding around, TAZ tells us what to do. Warmth? Above freezing, at least. Attempting to scratch the furniture ... but ... declawed, I'm fading. Do it, the way you thought you would. Running on fumes, maybe lying, the sickness unto death. Get that caterpillar off of that thing, there is a fish in it, and it's normal. While explaining what an idea graveyard was, down came the whip! I almost sang out! That's a full moon, thereby, explaining everything. Make out in the garage, when no one else is around. Practice, practice, that's the mentality of those who have everything. The image is bandied about in there, the truth cannot be told. There they were, and uncommon, was my jealousy, stupid emotionalism. Can neurosis be that common, but this fun? Frozen and asexual, gimme a piece of it, no skiers allowed. Get to the Tibetan plateau, and we'll screw the guru, now, we’ll erase it. Yellow ends, page forty-three. Some kind of sponge did all this damage? Appeal to their higher natures, try.