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Fermenting, no money, or, the opposite of what you say, is true. There is an opposite of this. And the coal, will be made into gold! Get ready to do what you're doing, for a long time. You know what falling dead borne from the press, means. Making up excuses, for the dried apple serenade. Got to get back there. Repeating, I love you, twenty-seven times. The discord blanket, gives us goosebumps. Don't battle any invisible demons. Safer and cleaner, in Big Rock town. Everything is as old here, but not as utilized. All that thinking, about picking up rocks? Don't steal our national treasures. The receipt is in the bag. Escape, this has nothing to do with perfume. Looking into the changes that have elapsed, in, what, the last five minutes? I smell a hoe-down brewing, but I can't smell myself. What’s next? Freedom is sort of... ranch dressing was a bad idea. I'm so sorry, if I’ve offended you, one and all. They would never let me jump from one random association, to another, so I'm getting my revenge now. It's easy and difficult, take a little time off. He threw down his shield, and ran like hell. Some parts discovered, in a used book shop, stop it. I'm ashamed by my performance, and will try to do better, next time. Half-assed efforts, are not likely to prove amusing, however, perhaps a little leeway, is in order. Things are thus and so, because they're thus and so. Rejection was my second language, I never thought that things would actually get as bad, as they have, lately. This is extra, and doesn't count for, or against, anything else you've accumulated. Perhaps, if you brought your bag with you, it wouldn't be necessary. Somehow, my body knew that I didn't have a dental plan. Constant pain, chronic and continuous, holding this pen, is a chore. There is no sugar in my diet, so, how did this happen? Lick it off. Everything really does catch up with you, thus, my teeth are falling out. We used to think we were pretty smart, didn't we? It'll never happen to me, remember that line? I've been thinking a lot about cancer, and you know, it's not death, that bothers me, but the insidiousness of the disease. Doctors chase it around the body, with radiation, poisons, and drugs, yet it keeps eluding their efforts. What a modern, and clever, way to die. Nature remains forever, one step ahead of us, thus forever out of our reach. We wasted life to be stimulating, satisfying, etc. We will make so many mistakes. There's nothing to fear about non-existence. Take a shower, and wash the stink off, I'm battling my own image, always. I used to want things, too. Refuse to be, what they expect you, to be. A big basket of fresh fruit, what am I complaining about/what am I doing here? Two singles is better than none at all. All that wasted time, all those wasted years. Don't cringe up in disgust, write it down. Make your errors into a testament, for all that's deplorable, and laudable. Make yourself famous, by just throwing up all over the bed. Falling down in her kitchen (as a seduction technique). Such sensitive feet… grunt in the warm room, sell tickets. Bring back the subtle.
Leave dead bodies, alone. Not too interested in the exploitation on TV. Are you gonna untie my shoes, again? We’re running out of just about everything. Where were you, when you had your last chance? The smell of leukemia? What? Second case study, the use of gander, ex. nihilo, in research programs. Paint the bathroom, teal! No other possibility. This is the shit! Get down on your hands and knees, this is the best part, by far. Glass head acetecholine transfer, get away from me, you fashion plate. Hobble the back fourty, with dignity. The wood floor, spend fest, cinder block, dime store, lucky Lenny, fruit punch. It’s his thyrhoid. Caution, is dangerous. How to have them beggin' for more, laying half on the bed, half on the floor. That face, mount the hippocampus, sneak through the back door. Corpuscular bubbles, will protect them. Smoking in the garage, punting into the primordial soup. The termite lynch mob, oh, yes, she will be thine. Only to be avoided, in a south side, eat snatch, cut off, lump-in. Hemorrhoid scrapings, settle into hammocks. Check under the seats, look through the body, side panels, the exquisite ear twist. Open up my thoughts, Dr. Cut First. I walked from heel to toe, through a cowlicked, lizard factory. My lips ache, peeling the grapes, septic tanks rust, leaving squeaky juices. A tattoo of the right kind of fish, the ego-shaped air freshener. Can we come along? It’s a merry-go-round, now, it's clozapine. The old pulling feathers trick? They greened us, minced us, gauzed, and left us. Find them on the floor in the hallway. Two fifths of formaldehyde, stuff the quiche in your throat. Self sabotage, doesn’t yield to exhortation, or logic. Stick out your tongue, there you go, buttered. Yesterday, I put scores of apostrophes in, today, I take them out. This is how things have been going. Lip spread upon the griddle, for noose throttling, square the circles, lickety split. Go to Purple Puff, and enter our new, and improved, Blue Lagoon fantasy booths (the rickety kind). Mutual decisions were reached (dumped). Lower the interest rates. There is already dust all over everything, and it's only been about two months, but, hey, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm not criticizing you, but shit, we are all alive (only), right now. There is no tomorrow, there is no yesterday, we're not guaranteed our next cup of coffee. The virus could very well, kill, all of us, we must change this cesspool around! Never has urgency, rung so clearly in the air, now, or never, I hear. If there was, or is, any message, I want to scream, it's… "Now or never, now or never." I want to freak you out, I want you to understand. I have no use for me, it doesn't matter what religion you would care to mention. "God," does tend to easily explain everything. Maybe you should try a week without, just a week, if you don't like it, or it's too hard, you can always go back. You may find you have no use for it, either, and further, you might just find that you're better off without it! Why is that vinyl billfold on the floor of my room, depressing me so much, right now? It's so cheap and tawdry, stamped in pseudo gold colored lettering, worst of all, it's crooked, it's stamped off center. The back half of every book on the shelf, right now, contain endless accolades. They must perform unspeakable acts on each other, in back rooms of social clubs (I always thought there was something weird going on in the faculty lounge). Roxie Bluelung, and the orange decor, live tonight. She finked us out of everything. It isn’t even doable, to be honest. Hone in on a big, blue, balloon.
Functional language, fictional dialogue, the way things are stapled, a universal exchange of fluids, is what we need. Now, I'm tempered to dripping faucets, I had to crawl the fine line, quick hymen surprise. They used some… the times I took a shit in the toilet. Do you miss it here? All the times you used to (hills you'd climb, and drive by)... but the shotgun said it's time to leave. Let's glowworm, to the Hubalabu. Red, like on a bingo card, miserable radio fodder, always fails. It’s just the beginning, for you, baba. Rows of buildings in the line of fire.. twenty-five, and close to death. Chink in the coffee cup, invisible ink memory traces, are lost in the bottom of the styrofoam cup. Wake up to wanderlust, every morning. Burn down the storage shed. Failure to serenade Rami Krishna? He is/you are, the amphetamine queen, ali-oop, for the bench press, look out. The long lists of letters, and words, attempt to spread a message, enlighten, illuminate. Listen to the sounds that surround you, do something about them. They have a list, for everything. Handle, dig it; ergonomic. Let the days keep happening, this is what I'm doing. The crotch must be rubbed, like a symphony of something. Lipping the formica. Gimme’ that fucking beret! Get it, how you want it to be. Con job on 696, my sides are imploding. There is no time for this? Shoot a flare up into the sky, prove that you exist. First in the patch job, is this what the kids are looking for? I’m bewildered, bedraggled, astonished. What type, or kind, of sarcasm, were you referring to? Reconciled differences. Voices like going to the ... are all the clients like this? Does anybody pay on time, and in full? Who's making those orgasm noises, in my house? I don't go for that! The walls do crumble down, but usually, too late. Pure horror, very rarely faced, until the end. The single most destructive thing that you have done to us, is make death, kind of, "unreal," separate from reality. We kind of disassociate ourselves from it, we completely cease to care. In the factory, people "die," only to head out afterwards. Mug of raw glucose to wash it down, people die, over, and over, again. My ear is crumbling off. Thus, the wife at home, led to think that there is, "some kind of weird reincarnation, going on." Ever notice typecasting? The sarcasm is screaming, not me. It’s as if my voice, didn’t/doesn’t, even exist. The clouds looked just like cauliflower. Bugs and birds, buzzing and flying, attacking, annoying. We’re dadaistic nihilists, surrealistic existentialists… Spray me with mace, make me explain. It’s all buttered up. We feel too fancy to be organic. Dream in flickers. We sit there, being entertained, like quilt makers. I don’t work well with others, I disrupt and disorient, derange and delude. Do you notice how moral, and neat, and clean, everything is, over on that side of the street? They make it more, and more, believable, and that just makes it more, and more, sickening. Earthquakes and fires, hurricanes and floods, if it doesn't affect us, personally, nobody gives a shit. There's nothing particularly wrong with this attitude, in fact, it's possible, that it can't be any other way, but just notice how numb you are, just think about it. People are dying, right now, like goldfish, bloated, and floating upside-down, we just flush them down the toilet of the mind. Friends die; marriages end, just because one, or the other, partner, just can't stand the boredom, anymore. Everything is relegated to mere statistics; illiteracy rates, high school drop-outs, every Tuesday morning. I had my first nervous breakdown. Fuck punctuation! This math had a greater effect than that, it got me to notice the people behind the numbers. This is not poetry, this is not a drill, no one, can handle this.
Hold still, I am not a roach clip. It's just terrible, terrible crap, but it gets stuck in your head. Chase her into the storage room, panhandle an egg muffin, drive them drunk, to the lumber yards. Huddle in the sanitarium. Colors merely prove annoying. Two years is more than enough time, to finish your “masterpiece." Say yes to the pen and pencil set. The grain elevator, on a quiet suburban side street? Slide right into the Hee-Ho Christ; slam me, queer, fuck me, screaming, hold it in. I wonder what she's doing now, still homeless in the fallout shelter? Misting heavily, with the whew, wheeeew! I can't believe it’s not dairy! The warm frontal lobes. Darker is better, into, and out of style, snap/flash. On the floor, near the nightstand. Hopscotch night fever, put it in, now. Goddamn the funk, punk, see me open up the slut. Ten, to twelve years, to die, the cries of the uninsured. My foot, sniffles; punch in, punch out. See the China doll, at Larry's, cows live, eat oats; sleep in Bronson Park. Wet from use, an ongoing acrobat. Peace be unto, forgive yourselves! Out of car, pointed in my direction, old, busted up, automobile. There are more in that town, cold sore fever. Thanks for this time saving, money saving, plan, hey, the hat, the antiseptic! Friedrich says, "Slap her around." See it in the tabloids, crush it with the news, cum into the wadded up sheets, undress in complete silence, face west, get down on your knees. We engulf ruffage, obsess over the Tabula Rasa. Don't start, I'm not asleep. There are people going crazy, right outside my door. The extra-embroidered way, of knowing that the real downtown, is down there. The perfect shit, man. So south, out here. Take some time out, right now, to read the good stuff. The show will stop, very suddenly. Our sins bridge the gap, in between the two void’s. Write with only lower case letters. Atoms conglomerate, willy-nilly, in the environment. This is precisely the selfish fall, that I have feared. You’ve got to catch the bubbles, before they pop. These are pretty much, nonsensical notions. Get the following into your heads, and memorize it! A salmon, will run you, fourty dollars. Talk about the heat index. Fear, ambition, passion, love, luxury, and the ceaseless, futile search, for sex, must all be conquered, and extinguished, within yourselves. It's likely, that the foregoing sentence, has never been seen by you before. Commit it to memory, not that I have, but, hey, this is not a self-help book. Remember, we assume that the teachers have all the answers. Assumptions, whoops-e-daisies. The images and associations that I use, are only meant to convey the phrases, with the maximum impact, on the reader. But, are they true? If there is such a thing as truth, then everything I've ever written, is not true. If there is no "truth," as I suspect, everything I've ever written are just words, describing memories (real or imagined), and all kinds of psychological theories, endless speculation, figures thrown in, as well. Very aware, of the struggles inherent in life. Is love, just death anxiety? There is a deep and moisturizing, dichotomy here, a method in the madness! So, then in fearing death, we waste our lives. That's it right there, tally-ho! That's it, right there. Listen up, now. When the mask is torn away, the actuality, remains. An ontological scrubbing, with the wrong tools? Love cannot save us, from the ugly, and painful, deterioration of the body ... that we've got to watch ourselves go through. They will not appreciate you, they will take you for granted, and take advantage of you. The Italians were chewing their fingernails, pretending to sleep. The war ravaged soldiers, are still falling to the ground, with missing appendages, fifty years later! Are you still listening? Hang on! A cold chill starts at the toes, and makes its way up, we tremble all over, the breathing becomes irregular, we’re paralyzed, this force is emotionally, and physically, draining, numbing. Senses clouded, the talk of time, and pain, worth... writhing, writhing, writhing! The walls crumble down, most people don't have any last words. Strife, indecency, sixteen hour shifts, no days off. You’re going to have to fix all this, not eventually, soon. As we submit, we regret it.