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There are elements of this, that are snobbish, maybe more noticeable, by myself. Needy, drunken songs, just downloading resignation, and acceptance. The detachment, it seems like some kind of indifference, aloofness. It's an aristocratic arrogant kind of thing, that I don't believe that I am, but may appear to be. I am to be taken with a grain of salt, which is probably, already, quite obvious. The standards certainly change, the old, the new, more fear, impossible things to live up to. At the very least, I use the wrong words, sometimes. I've kept myself very safe, and haven't lived. All a lot of talk and a patch, real life, is nothing that I recognize. I'm not complaining, just contrasting, always with, "let's look back and see," thoughts in my head. Over-analysis, no questions, no need, they've all been asked before. Meat is all naked, underneath the cellophane. The endless sounds of calibration, things are really let go of, now. I still have my cartoonists way, of going about things (entertaining). I am Paris. See, what does that mean, if anything? I don't know what money is, staring at my memories in shoeboxes, benign. The inebriation is only evident on the outside, I am a lie. The bough eventually breaks, and we end up right back where we started, as if we were all Hindus. The bottom has fallen out, money hidden in the sand box. No lacks, only intrusions, lots of editing. My mouth won't let words pass, that would qualify as being lofty, and/or beautiful. Betrayal sounds like a Celtic love song to me. Catch the green, and then disown. Very nervous, the discrepancies were solved. They put microphones in my car, they know things about me, that I couldn’t possibly know. What is laughter, except for songs to other people? Try to earthquake through, act strung out. It doesn’t seem possible. FUCK THE CORPORATION! Hard work isn’t how it works, if rewards were what you had in mind. True colored situations, to be stripped, like this. Mirror capillaries, are caused by too much fidgeting.There are lower mammals, and their sensing mechanisms. Paper something’s, do their dances. It’s a shit that won’t come out. Change your pants. Down into the sidewalk, deny everything, backwards. This is getting bad, or at least, way off the subject. This current word salad of non-expression, is in a half and half vein. Modern day epistemology, is not any kind of knowledge, at all. The multimedia packages of self expression, that were mailed off, and sent to virtual strangers, are forgotten. They were, and remain, relics to the contract of eccentricity, that I signed in the pine tree courtyard. Faces are constants, the job goes to someone else. Flaunt the ray sunshine, to Alabama, and back again. It's meaning less, it's all meaningless, then again, but you know that already. Leave it raw, and can it fast, but don't put a label on it! We engage in pointless, meaningless behavior. Those kind of combs, feeling malcontentment, and frustration. It’s as if there were no longer a foot, there. Human beings get off on making themselves miserable. My breakdown will probably be messy. Free sex, for every shifty eyed person. I’m just not going to make it. Suck and fuck, what you can get. You, on the other hand, can go to Amsterdam, and pay for it. These two little ditties, describe my current frame of mind. I am my own “problem," this is also very clear. There will be no graduate school, for this young, "genius." Why? Well, I looked into it, no jobs, friend, very expensive. I always thought that formal logic, meant exclaiming, "thus, Socrates is mortal," with a suit and tie on, but alas, it is applied calculus! No book I've ever read, nothing I've ever done ... Anyway, sorry I didn't call, I wasn't avoiding you, I’m very sorry, that's all I can say about it. Still at the home, still not happy. I'm only lacking in the small stuff. Actually, I'm over-exaggerating, but the hard part, is that this, might never change. Wake up at 2, work, 3-11, drive around, go to convenience store, work, sleep, shit, eat, drink, hate/envy, sit. You know, I'm unrecognizable to myself, a thing, not of my choosing. We really did have it good, sitting in the mall, a long time ago. I feel like a victim, and don’t like feeling that way. Everyone is vacuous, everything is grey, lifeless, formless. Maybe somewhere else, but I know better. Fake laughter resounding, rain smiles, say more. Try another target.
A double standard? When there's no such thing? Crossed out paragraphs, to hide the truest emotions. Far too sensitive (come to the seminar)? Finish the job, despite the malamute, walrus protestations. The basest thoughts, that no one here, or anywhere, will ever understand. Why should I share them with you? It's going to take me six years, just to sort them all out, for myself. Prickly sausages spell, “sabotage.” And speaking of that, have you noticed that most things, don 't resolve themselves, that time, doesn’t heal? That the pain just gets worse, and worse, easier, and easier, to hide? Twenty-four hours a day, is too much for us ... we just piss it away. A higher race of man, would live very differently. I will find the fringes of society, and there I will stay, I will go underground, to shock or impress; my friends, I have nothing to prove to you, I only write to stay alone, first. More solvent! Second, to (stay alive?) communicate, without having to look at anyone’s face. To just watch your lips curl up in condemnation, the subtle facial tics, that only say, “you are worthless, you are boring.” This way, I can throw it all down on paper, and not have to endure your snarls. Oh, by the way, I love you all, that's why I hate you, to the core of my being. Paradoxial, contradictory, yes, it all is, and thank you, for disagreeing. Damn you, for your induction, generalizations, and belief in anything, I make no statements, I move my lips, and tongue, around. How loud can you scream, how insanely can you dance? Make an asshole out of yourself, make people buy you pitchers of beer. Why are people so sure of themselves? How can people be radical about anything, outside of themselves? The water main is broken, I've got to bring home some floozy, and fuck her on the floor. What I’m required to do, all I have to do, is finish this book, it’s all I want to do, it has been years and years of this. I'm driving around, he’s obsessed with teenage girls. What we just witnessed, was blowout Ohio, totally. For once and for all, dye your hair the color of blue/green algae. Don't worry about me, I've got a lot of things to live for, now. They wanted to pin me down, take my blood, test it for whatever they would have tested it for. You’re the Captain, they’re, the voices in my head. Too much misery (not even real). I should know that, by now. Allude, never admit (too late). Why bother trying to hide it anymore? The secret methods, are being used on us. There is nothing to say, for the first time in history, there is really nothing to say. This is the burden we carry around, these are the clothes we wear, this is the car I drive. Longing for a conversation, about anything. But you see, when prompted, I can only talk about the weather, the TV, politicians. Me, not "them," me. This is getting stale, but for the record, I've put many dollars into my car, all in all now, that's why I work. I really like the pavement. You know how (fly the seat into the rug) obsessive/compulsives operate, they're not getting any better, nothing gets any better. Stopped reading, to "figure things out," nothing to figure out, c’est la vie. We die, and don't have to stare at the wall anymore. Friend, I'm in a bad mood, as I write this, so don't pay much heed, yet, sometimes, writing shit down, is really therapeutic. Do you remember that time, in front of that house, on Lafayette? I was ranting, and raving, like a madman. I did that again, nine months of frustration, let loose, in a ten, to twenty minute, monologue. Utter despair, loose brain matter, kissing me good-bye. This time, with a total stranger, in a nightclub bathroom, I was sober, nobody was listening, I let it all fly, we did that everyday, I've done that, once, in what, ten years? Cacophony, owls, ether, headlights, holes in the ground. Our hopes get taken away from us. Who’d have ever thought that things would take so damn long?
All anyone has to do, is ask, so, why doesn’t anybody? Remember this, ask, and it shall be taken from you? Paint splattered boots, this only looks like death. They look so clean, so pressed, and lint brushed. Cops stop me, frequently, and are very interested in where I'm going, what I'm doing. Pull that finger out of your ass, and smell it (so perverted), pull your dick out of your sister, and kiss me? Take off those women’s clothes you wear, when your roommates aren't around, and hide them in the bottom of your closet, before they get home, wipe the jism off your leg (inappropriate, vulgar). Everything’s back to normal now, he thought, and said, over, and over, again, to himself. To reassure himself, to keep from cracking up completely. Yes, I left the scene of the accident, but I didn't get caught, and, when I'm drunk, I'm not myself. And of course, that's why 3/4 of the people, drink in the first place ... to get away from themselves. What was fifty years ahead of its time, then, needs to occur now. My neck vertebrae, are stiffening and sticking, I'm sure to lose my teeth, someday. What was our ex-roommate doing in the coat check room? Death, may very well be easier than this, I don’t really want to know. Scrub the shit out of the ass of another, we've got to make money, somehow. That's what she struck me as, velvet. There is a way, we just don’t know it. A picture hanging from the back cupboards, concealing menus, and formaldehyde. Patience just stops being possible, after awhile. Maybe it was her high heels, that made me like her so much, she never had any idea. We’re still reeling, and spinning, as if on some ride. Don’t get involved. I see the disgusting falsehoods, that people live for, all around me, I see the same stale, worn down, grey buildings, with all the paint peeled off, I see hell, on every curve, and side street, I am only alive, to tell you about this. It could have gone the other way. An overdose of antidepressants, just to feel better, the compulsion to just feel better, drove me beyond right and wrong, to here, to this. All we’re required to do, is climb it, then, slide down. Specifics, people want specifics, this is not the place to be sitting, then. Get up and move to somewhere, where something, can get done. Pick up your shit, get off your lazy ass, and do something, now. A eunuch, that’s what I am. I threw her number away. My boss isn't pleasant, not at all. I failed to remember something extremely important, like not opening the shades, or putting the salt shaker in the pantry, instead of on top of the oven. It doesn't matter, that I walk on eggshells, every time you’re around, it doesn't matter, that you try to make sure everything is beyond questionability, when they walk in. The years started to meld together, like days, some time ago. He stepped over the breech, with cloven hooves. Endless pondering, too much pondering. Always, NOW (I can't believe you). None of the tricks, work. I will swell, puff up. How long have you worked here? Do yourself a favor, stop gambling. Maybe, a twenty-five cent raise, at the end of the month, maybe, this happens all the time. The limits of vision, disallow any foreknowledge. If and only if, the world would crumble apart. People die in an instant, yet live, an eternity. People only say that life is short, when they are about to die, when they're healthy, it seems like everyday is endless. Every stumble, is a fall. There's a key in the lock, and reason to be happy. Lucretius was right, fear of death is nonsense. Why should we fear the absence of being? When we're dead, we can't hear the tears, after we're gone, there are no senses, no perceptions, I ask you, what to fear? We fear living, that’s the problem, that’s the tragedy, more tragic then any Greek in antiquity, had the foresight to envision. Scratch, crawl, naked; open up your sex hatch, baby. It’s very hard to predict what will happen. This is the one conscious admittance, take out the trash. Do something about it, now, that's what I'd call a serious attempt at gaining attention, it doesn't work with a grown man. Influential, basically, we just bummed money off people. Do you have strange, physiological fears? Mine is that I will die of a stroke. Accidents, decapitations, I'm immune to blowjobs, they just don't work on me, you judge for yourselves. Who ever knows? But I'll tell you this, we're all born blank. I am a lesbian, trapped in a man’s body, that’s about the closest thing to an explanation, I can give you. I've heard this somewhere before... forget it. You know, I'm really unclean, my underwear is really dirty, stained, through and through, I am not embarrassed by this, in fact, I'm proud. My (surreal jewelry) responsibility is to myself alone, and nothing can ever change that. Finally, something constant! Whose laundry must I do tonight? Is the floor dirty, do I need to mop it? Are the customers happy with their shopping experience today? 7:30 A.M. Do you know where your children are, right now (school, ha, boy, are you ignorant)? It just won't do, this just won't do. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, dollars, fives; what's going to happen, if I would live so long? I'll keep learning that it's a complex thing. These pesky humans, they defy any comprehensive label, they, aren't "they," at all, they are individuals, with completely different outlooks, opinions, beliefs, experiences; no “human nature." Yes, ethics leads to crisis, what is ethics? I am ethics! Wanting, and not wanting, things, simultaneously, is an all out, impossibility. Foundationless, it is subscribed to, for its own sake. If you violate it, you will rationalize it away, likely, or get caught, and go to jail. My ego integration difficulties, aren’t even worth commenting on. You'll try to weasel out of it. To think and be, exist, for oneself, alone. Rhetoric, writing, literature? Our ambiguity, and propensity for evasion, catches up with us. How puzzles infiltrate us all. What is beautiful? How do you know, why is it so, can you explain it to me? He talked about forms and stuff, he was "difficult," to quote the cat’s meow. There is no mind, so we'll study, basically, the boring parts of psychology. Since we surf, it'll be more interesting. Talking, writing a "what's in store?" Read it beforehand. Social science, confusing many disciplines. All very exciting courses, simultaneous orgasms! Want it? Yes! Then finish MATH, you jerk. Someone turned the radio off. Modern, is a present day myth.