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We're being buried alive! Who put us here, in the pit? We did, well, why would we do this to ourselves? Beats the hell out of me. Help! Help! Heeeelp! I thought he would catch me in dead man's yards, but turnips turned out to be more intriguing. Count the tumors, Libra bean spreads. Steal the mint and parsley sprigs, lick the (it’s happening) discolored ones out of the can. I died with a forty ounce, ding, ding, in bottles. You didn't like my taste in your mouth. What taste? Light me like an ancient stove. They did it like ants, for fun. Fired Megan, let's keep it, 'til it starts to smell. Brown in places, fall in love here, 86 degrees, was not enough to keep the top on the root canal. Rarely, have mere beans provided so much pleasure. Read it on the canopy, take a turn, use the sniff guard. Blame your parents ... inhale! A switch, to prove the last generation. All aboard the nervous system, pull-crunch. Steven's bobbing, alphabet monkey tricks. Ears ring louder than phones, a real gothic left turn, flitty, sitting, wearing panties, anything's permitted here, in Flyville. Well, that job's been extinguished. Carbon date those polyester knee-highs. The cable car disaster, resembled a tricolor orgasm. Every risk I’ve ever taken, has made me look like an absolute moron. Kind of expensive, for a bump n' grind car crash. Your watch, somehow, says all's well. Lots of lucky limbo fans, are sure to catch it there in Hamburg. Good morning, they bellow, and it echoes in my head. Blast the bread, go for the high score. Stair slippings, hey there, exposed genital region outside the library, red sweat (be a pervert) pants, at the truck stop. Why stop short, why try to impress anybody? It's not going to work. Elementary school can take a lot out of you, eh? Melody has this peculiar habit of, "cracking her neck." That guy blinks too much, like someone's about to hit him, and he doesn't know who he is, so, he takes what he can get. There's no party in this house tonight! Spilled into the ooze, just like an animal would. Prove it to the world. What? I don't know, just prove it to the World. Called a name, precious R.N.A. Twenty-five cents, doesn't get me out of the house fast enough. The value of styrofoam, the vicinity around it. The thirst that's never quite quenched. I was a Tuesday alcoholic! How has he managed to offend everyone, in such a short span of time? Nobody calls, you are still (punk me, ding dong) expected to be there? Beware the campus chicken statues, they are somehow, the pride and joy, of the entire university. Give me a label, for free. Hey, gold girl, love him. Hold off, waste some time, before doing anything so controversial. Punk rock walks, good for the soul, not your criminal record. No one, but a small handful of individuals, have any idea what the hell that means. Please don't tell me who this envelope is in care of, the cord of the radio/tape player system, has knocked over the bag, containing paper, and other garbage, and is causing me undue stress. Mention no names, I can't... plug anything in, right now. Yes, with two proofs of purchase, and one dollar postage and handling. My love for you was some silly, playtime, funny, pretend. Give this a classification. You mean, there are secrets inside? I said something about the sexual virility of women who ride horses. Maybe I should quit, now. Let's take a look! It folds open, revealing new information! Forget all about what you once were. They will pick this one. Market research, told me nothing about this. The old days are so, so gone. The highway incident, is something I’d just assume keep to myself. Astonishment, pure astonishment! In his head, he had sex with three women, at once. We try to assimilate the things which mean the most to us. It’s not easy, believe me. Yet, no real laws were repealed. Only I would fold that thing open, now, I've got a bigger mess on my hands. They keep changing the date on us. How is anyone, going to ever know, what day it is? The falcon, from his high perch, spies an unsuspecting victim in the underbrush below, he swoops down, notice the grace of his decent, moments from his prey, seemingly deadborne in the air... he strikes. Ow, what the... shit, get offa me you, shit, let go of me, aah, my eye, my eye. We wanted to be real. They don’t even know what they know. Everything is fucked! Gone, are the beret and glasses, which has to do with something else, entirely. Make something happen.
Love yourselves, and then, if you care, you can represent the goose, in any way that it chooses to represent itself. What about my needs? Hidden in the sandbox, waiting for that big surprise! An unwittingly accurate representation, of snot. Places are all full of names, cars have horns, to give you a sense of urgency, and power. Hot cider in the front yard. The dreaded inside lane. Drawing mirror dragons, alone in her dorm room? Remain forever out of style. We sure were coy, weren't we? The bobbing head, plastic doll, in the likeness of a Canadian curler. It just sounds like earwax, so far. Keep it in the sink, if someone visits, puree it. A couple people being conciliatory, thank you, for your high-pitched fangoria. Dance your way to the overpass, backwards. He’s crazy, there's a dead goose in his back seat. Not a responsibility, more of an obligation, a gesture, a Ludwiggian koan, candle drippings on my shoes. Repeatable joy, at the push of a button, you can entertain yourself. The processional dirge? Destroy your telephone, fumble to the singles bar, sit there, like some liverwurst. Puck n' hut, a career path? All over my hero supposed, in the drive through. A trellis, a Franco-American pick-up line, secure the feed bag. Heroin aphasia, in the gestural prompting, of a tame stool. I shouldn't have taken out stock in Parnienides. In the pocket with that, young man. Most of my audience is dead, to be perfectly frank with you. Third floor, Moore hall shakedowns. Load me up, torn, look first, then flush. My thumb really hurts. The homecoming extravaganza, was bittersweet, indeed. This way is archaic. The blue hair people, whine, and can't say when. Girls without "morals." You're asking for trouble, nobody will notice, you make me second guess, when you abuse me this way. Not really guilt, just generalized delirium. Finish it off, what do you need to keep getting up and walking around for, is it too easy for you? Moving my finger down the page, people are telling me that sixty-two is bigger, and then there's dead silence. Tripping over their own feet, this is no quasi-soccer match. Definitely a small indication of one more thing, call now. I'm writing a book, and no, I'm not so sure how good, or bad, it’ll be. I probably never will. I don't expect much, but why can't there be something? This is a confessional. Goodbye, genealogy, her hips are up, and going through totally twisted, and bizarre, motions. Balancing on one hand, there is melee inside the craft tent. Red ink, appropriate. The lost art of interpersonal communication, has them turning away. Just blast up the heat, and shut up about it. Tune in the radio, it's not kicking in. Switch pens, right in the middle of a commercial break. There's got to be a better way. Now we're digging somewhere. Hands turning bizarre, keep trying, hair on the paper, it must be that time. Counting indefinitely, as embarrassed about it, as anyone else. Turn him in, crimes, incomprehensible. Firebombing the citizenry, was a bit overzealous of us, wasn't it? Heat, we need more heat. Stacked in piles, with worms inter-exchanging. They're all tipsy in the hunt club. The greatest work/pay ratio, is where you'd least expect it. It seems as if certain people are not welcome in this coffee shop. Why tip? My whole body smells like cheese. It’ll be ten years of trying to explain myself, at least. Green magnet trees, there will be more. We could do some things together, have a really good time. Spilling over into the margins, as if it would have ever made a difference, whether they were there, or not. Hard work is all there is. I want revenge, now, no more patience. Look at the good things you've accomplished, since times past, when you'd chew your fingernails, in tenements, looking for some sage. Three years of convoluted, “findings.” More than murder was committed, that particular evening. There are no more excuses. It makes me feel better? I can’t believe I wrote it.
If I could make one person think, strangle the crane, de-thaw the frozen embryos. How do they bring them back to life? We're always "growing up." Drop your personas. Not too regurgitated? Avoid "psychoisms," be unreal, rural; read, experience, for yourself, be, for yourself, nothing to "prove," nothing interesting, for its own sake. Intersperse the results of your efforts, fantasies must end, the delusions, as well. Because, only effort counts. Life 101 is a sham, no more snippets, there's always much more to "it," than these simple vignettes. Do it incognito, don't endlessly malign, don't just focus on, be upset by, obsessed with, fixated at, engrossed by, encapsulated with, anything! You must take action, stop it! A simple arrest for drinking and driving, will ruin your life. Against everything, on principle? Stand for something, you. Write, not just dreams. Realize, regret, compare, this "running in place," is not getting you anywhere. Social situations, beget time. Shock value, for the sake of shock value? Difficult questions, plausible answers, integrity, character, intelligence, values. No one's watching, you're not on the radio, television, or on the bookstore shelves. Shut up sometimes, control, control! Clichés kill, slow down, establish a rapport, compromise, see the forest. Get it together, before you die, I know it's hard, don't stop, don't ever stop. So what about your problems? The very technical shot, of the empty pool, made it to the rough cut. More, haven't we had enough? Where do you live? How can I make her see that I want to have sex with her, without being too obvious? No, I don't want to hold her hand, just sex. What is wrong with him, what is the matter? Burning matches, only makes the smell in the bathroom, worse. “Willie the Grip," is tough, and unshaven. I've never done anything that was really wrong, really illegal, well, a few things, I don't want to talk about this right now. You got an erection. They key to all of it? Caffeine. Escape from paper, footprints, and cheese on a stick. Trying to get people to think you are attractive, popping pills, no, vitamins, no, candy corn, I can fix it. Burning kerosene lanterns, just to appear old fashioned. Stop the voice, kill the fly, quit the job, and bust out of town. Serial killers are usually not the nicest people around, well, who knows, maybe they are. Run away! Leave her out of this. Expecting lip gloss, and looking like a million dollars. Automatically, searching for contingencies. Long enough eyelashes, only get some people started, for crying out loud. The book has kept me from more important things. Shut the window, do something. Add the overrun’s to the subtotal. When conditions are bleak, no one's going to be there, to stop progress. Shit, before flushing. The whole thing is being explained to you, if you could only listen! Another day, lost. I got the lupus. Question the witness; "Well, he just rammed right into him.” Who walked where, what does it matter, how specific you get? I paint with a broad brush, and I have a lot of problems. Call air traffic control, the whole street has been shut down. The feeling of a black coffee overdose, fuzzy recollections. Morons are surrounding you, leaning right, and then left, the whole world is punched out, in different perspectives. Cold air, is what goes on around here, only what it appears to be. Stay with us, while we play classical music. But it's so odd, cope! The backwards letter, never heard of me. Goodnight, Sam. He, well, it looked ... but who would ever go through all that trouble, just to get attention? We sell carpets, and vinyl floors, aluminum siding, water alternatives. I had a vision, of blood all over these pages. First of all, I don't seem to own a brain that works, that said, I will endeavor to explain why I am writing this. As you are no doubt, already aware, my speech and language characteristics, often do not make a whole lot of sense, hopefully, writing this down, will put things into a sort of perspective; doubtful, but possible. It takes forever. We do a lot of things wrong. I’ve lost my sight. There is this fascination, of late, that I've been exhibiting, for exact times, and exact dates. My entire past life, has ceased to exist; incompleteness, though more evident; ceases to mean anything concrete. It seems like apologies are in order, for my behavior. I don't know why I still believe this, we've “discussed" this, I know, but for me, as you're aware, “discussion," can turn out to be a virtual reality world, of burps and gurgles. Since I don't know who, or what the fuck, I am, well, overcompensation, seems to occur. I am the metamorphosis of futility, and desperation, the two don't work in conjunction with one another, but, rather, divide me, incongruously. Some of these words are (I’m drooling) misspelled, I know. Anyway, former ways of being, are no longer relevant, or effective. Thus, I swim in swamps of silence, constructions of my own design. A netherworld of bad handwriting, and childhoods relived, dive head first. I am obsessed with death, and all things that come with it, namely, nothing. Trying to avoid that, in ways that aren't common, has led me into some pretty absurd predicaments. The absurdity that I have attempted to avoid by becoming "authentic," has rendered me, more absurd. The clown, ceaseless entertainment, humor as a shield. Insanity? Well, yes, but even that’s relative. There is nothing to do, shouts are met with silences, what the hell just happened? Philosophy is just the tool I use, to amuse myself, I use it like a "marital aid." Some breeches, just can't be crossed. There are realities, that I can't even recognize. This constant worrying, every car, every phone that rings. What difference does it make, which side of the house I stand on? There must be blood on my brain. Events and circumstances, mean absolutely nothing, anymore, I just drift through them. Happiness seems to involve all kinds of comings and goings, to no ultimate end, or purpose. They talk about meta-systems, and patterns, lines that connect, and reconnect, I think this is clear. Eternity, for me, is staring up at the clouds, for five minutes. Trapped in the world of things, and terrified of them. People are talking about me, using other people’s names? There is this, and that, and that is all. The dark secret, was hidden. This is some complex confusion. We fancy ourselves cutting edge, twenty first century, modern.