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With his pants down at his ankles? One dime on the floor, is worth a lot more, than a heart, on the line. Jump start someone else's car, make somebody else’s day. My laziness, is what got me to where I am, now. Its that old effort score, haunting my days, again, and again. Financial ruin, prosperity, yes's, and no's. Successes, and failures, ad absurdum, mostly, just amorphous days, directed at no one, and/or nothing, in particular. Nothing ever gets fixed right, no one ever calls, unless, you're sitting, and staring, at the phone, it's only bill collectors, anyhow. It’s all in our heads, like the (idea of) table. Honestly, this regurgitation, is driving me absolutely insane. All of the best parts, were somehow deleted from all this. Nothing changes, except the plot of the sitcom, and mere (fuck you), spatiotemporal position. What can I say, on this page of paper, that he’s never said before? All I keep coming up with, is that I don't know, but it's important to keep trying. Amidst absolutely nothing, and less, we must keep looking at the same things, the same body, and zit creamed face, and somehow, survive! No matter how much we hate "it," and, ourselves. Maybe I'll take a shower today, then again, I know that I won't, I like to smell this way, it's like a funeral home. The cops drive by here (Feds?) slowly, with their lights off, at three in the morning, on the wrong side of the street. What you call political, I call forgettable, laughable. I’m not the least bit scared, or nervous, I don’t care. The current law, allows the stupid people, to just walk away. Most of the time, we just sat around. Take it, or leave it, but not… with you… Let’s get drunk (and drive around). Avoid plastic religious figurines. We have many race tracks. There was once a hope of there being more to it, than this. C'mon, we'd have done it anyway, so, what does it all mean? The next book will be about pea soup, birthday cake, and smiley faces, hold on. Oh, shut up, you jerk, you make me sick. The words in this book, are so inert, and still, it’s like staring at a dead person. Please, do that thing with your legs. And none of this, is poetry, its just one, big, long, suicide note, don't ever forget this! Have you ever noticed, that when you really need to scream the most, you cannot? Get naked in the laundromat, be one of those, who are consistently feared. Be a seer, even though there’s no such thing. Be a god, even though there's no such thing. Swear in public, start a revolution, begin ...now. There are no souls, but, we are soulmates. We are not mates, either, but that word is all that applies here, these hippie words; we must invent proper words, to explain what the heck it is. I hoped the girl was, I don't know if she is. Yes, there's confusion, but I am not the confusion. Sick of the white milk wholesomeness, of it all. Up and down the ladder, substances are handy. My overemphasis, I am the only one who can, seem to make things happen, at least, around here. This is Mecca, thus, it doesn't take too long, to find something. There, I had to kick, and kick, and kick, and sit, and listen, and think that, meant something. Thinking, the world within my head, I drank everybody's water, they thought I was Satan, but they weren't scared, or, it didn't look like it, who knows? All I know, is I don't do it. Every sentence is different, this window of change, is open, I better jump outside, before it closes again. Guilt is paralyzing, here I am, with very little to show for it. Where am I going, with these huge circles in my head, and on the street? Pyramids, and questions, never-ending, soliloquies. I can’t believe what I catch myself listening to. They all race, to quicken the pace, me, with my slow meander, that involved more than a mumble-with staying power, or, over loved, and blind. We have a tendency to ail, and ail, alone. There used to be much more fulfillment, in my being. I might as well have collected milk caps, rather than write this book.
Price/number 21, is that how we appear to you? Well, let me just say, you make for a pretty picture. Roll in glass, on acid, my funk, punk, beauty queen. Didn't I meet you in the back? I do it all the time, but, I really don't want to. She was a lot smarter than her cohorts, there are not many of those. Fate, escargot, many times, and opportunities, with, and without, a third party. Rolling on the dog puke, I didn't really mind the smell, I couldn't talk, except to explain myself. Just too old, and weird, and complex for me. And to believe, we thought that we were simple, I was a bipolar nightmare! I care equally, and in proportion to, the amount of X, in which, I don’t care. Be more general, do more split open paper plate stuff. Crumbs on the pillow, I've got enough blankets; salted her wrist wounds, bought one for everybody. Sex with her therapist, looted the radio store, why can't I just be silent, why not leave through the back door, without any good-byes? Martha got all maudlin, and disturbing. The new golden rule, I can kill you at any time I want to, and you can kill me, it adds some risk, a tragic element, no? She got a frozen hot dog, stuck in her vagina, and had to be taken to the hospital. Pitchers of stale beer, each. We sit, and just, kind of, look at each other, because, none of us are alive. Dandy Dynamite, lives on a tug? That’s me, on the right, holding the little rubber rabbit, in my hands. You know what it is ... its a big dead, wet, toad, that you stepped on. Pounded into the earth, and flattened, probably, while I was out there, one night, smoking a cigarette. Oh, I see, I'm supposed to be impressed, by your ability to dye your hair, with freon. Well, golly, you guys, and gals, just define the scene. You keep doing that for us. Tell us about how many difficult risks, you've taken, and your emotional scars. We will all feign empathy, and put you in a happy, private place, in our heads, in the meantime, making you famous. To ruin you, destroy you, to get you out of your dreams, and into your life. There is a meow, outside my door. She was sharply dressed, at Superhut, impeccable, and superb. Tear your rectum, out! Do you like pavement? There are forgotten plastics, all around the room, tin foil stars. This may, or may not, be written in the language of total filth. This is a lot worse than I thought it was. He said it felt, “just like a pussy.” Held back from my number, by (oh, who cares?) mathematics, movement, expressions, statements, of this sort. All fault, goes to the glare. If you can read, and don’t, you’re ten times worse off, than someone who never even learned how. My tail feathers, pulled. Varieties of experience, lighted porches, salted food, left out teenagers. Saddened, but, not too devastatingly, I can still leave the room, I just don't want to, or, at least, not for awhile. The fact that we've never met, is of no consequence. I drink tea, you drink hot chocolate. What you can't see, is on top of my television, I spotted the house, I saw the marbles, in the jar by the window, I see the vines. Don't talk to him, he's dangerous. Don't throw it, unplug it, I can't cover my eyes with my hair, as well as I once could, but shall be avenged. This is only what this requires, surprising as that seems. My essential ectoplasm, meiosis, grey patterned, formulations; bring your references, we call them back! I’d do almost anything, to have a better brain. White shirt explosion, voices like yours, mumbling, looking left, and right. It takes an awful lot of driving around, to figure things out. Stuck in the driveway, again, or, out all night. Nobody's involved, everybody's dreaming. Proper names, innuendo, affairs, deception, lies, hate, hate/love, pain, anger, revenge, distortion, alimony, child support, lawyers, judges, go to town. The Curse of King Tut, is coming to get you. Another "might have been," opportunity, slipping away. Fun at the industrial site, fun in the basement. Beating you mercilessly, into that deep shag carpeting, your fists are clenched, but you can't defend yourself, from this onslaught. That heir, that ham, out of focus, the spelling blocks, glued to the refrigerator. While she's still in Europe, I can't keep my hands out of my pockets. Goddamn you, bitch, I loved you, too, we had our chances. Canola oil, all over my feet, motor oil, on my hands. This is the power of the written scream. They will be like everybody else, high, and drunk, looking like a librarian. It'd be a nightmare, if any of this came true, anyhow, buy it, put it in the box. How did I miss so much? What is this, some fluttering, naked, tittering bullshit? Plain English, engines, the anger (from what?), from succeeding. Others get lucky, then, try to be gone, absent, away, anonymous. No watch on my wrist. They stand in pairs, from the back, they look like ducks. Imagined cesspool, sexpot, charms. Run out of the green room, say your please, and thank you's. Overenthused, red headed, cherubs, invade the management positions, at every place I go, and weird people (you can't tell what age they are). Talking about insurance, I'd join in the discussion, if I had any. Parliament, my cuff-links are rusting, somewhere, in a pawn shop. Sister fondling? No, I’ve never heard of that band, I just drive by. The two-time, grey sponge, a sponge, with a face. Get off of my mattress pad (makeshift), on the floor, funhouse. There have always been pretty girls, the current crop, has ancestors, remember. I'd have probably liked them better, back then. If only we had known, or, didn’t. "Next exit." What? There are no exits, and chill, way out, know the facts, travel in the "correct" circles. I can’t write anymore, it hurts. You are the crest of a wave, on an ocean I’ll never see. Yours are unbearable, but mine, fresh as a daisy, little flower butt’s. Some of those phrases, I never did ask about, I know about the purple worshiped monster. Do the crab grab, do the snake, do the praying mantis. A full scale feud, an angry mob, sex with a lamb? Man, that guy was really sound/stoned. The street is in one of those magic moods. The awnings seem to softly whisper, "Hey, come on in. " Look at the horizon, lets just smell each other. Who hovers in the background, like a cold hunk of steel? Basically, the exact image, maybe, placement was different, maybe color, I don't know! Gimme somma' that sniff! These shoes make me completely normal, these are normal shoes, for normal people, I am normal, with these shoes. That book was on the table for days, and the salt was always out. The absurd, and ridiculous things, that I do, are no longer satisfying. I believe, that I spend too much time asleep. The cheapest cookies, are the most delicious. I was one with the thunder, for about a half an hour.
Looking at them, studying them, trying to get acquainted, with eons, and ages, of fictional facts. There are subliminal messages, on my diet pop bottle. Go get ‘em, Ding-a-Ling! Coitus is like a haircut. Some kind of reject, I am. They say in effect; do drugs, be fun, drink cola. We used to be different. My head has shrunk so much, it’s becoming more round, in shape. Dim the goddamn party lights. You know he wore women’s clothes? Far too much mayhem, malfeasance. I blew a gasket, in regards, underlying, sexual tension. Please, another staple, doctor! Join me at the end of the world, I played it over, and over. Our credentials, are nil. There was an element of grease. I tried to reado it. Fondle quiche, don't eat it, I know you'll be up before me. She seemed genuinely proud, of his psychiatric dysfunction, how she always had to chase him down, how he could not stand dust, or things being out of place. All I heard, were keys, all I saw, were helmets, all I felt, were jiggles. Smell the skull, my lymphnodes implore you, to clip your coupons! Cheap cremation, to be spread upon the affected area, rubbed in, with a circular motion, of the hand, use sparingly, let dry one hour before relations with your partner. I don't even see them, much less, know what they're thinking about. Overplayed inebriation, twelve hour repercussions, dreamless sleep, comfortable alone, not in groups. Let us use the inflatable doll, occasionally. Pencils always remind me of illegal sex acts, and Easter morning, for some odd reason, so, we might as well screw everything up. Awareness is a pinch pot tit, he's fucked up! Frightened by you, at the top of the stairs, we share the same outlook, attitude. Who's reflection is that, in the one way mirror? Oh, its the jolly green bean, and the ghost like image, of an old fashioned Hermes, a fake fireplace. Glad this thing provides so much warmth. The marching band still practices, down by the RIP building. The beams are holding this house together, and if one should crack? “Please, let’s go pee in the corn field,” he said. "No," said she. "Why not?" explained the man. "I don't want to," said the girl. They dropped the conversation. I really had no reason to smile. That's the way I like it, I'm out of cigarettes, and don't have a car. I used to live one block from a store, I don't anymore, now, I live in the middle of a forest, without trees, replaced with houses, and pointlessness. There is nothing within walking distance, from here. Kelly tried to take his pulse, that was not the problem. Into the amputated crash test, unfortunately, it's all uncaused. Despairing, I could have at least, let my presence, be known. See her hug, and love, the entire bar, see them clean it all up. A faded face, I really, am not that intelligent. Your supposed search warrant, violates my rights, you wormhole, fuck face! This is not effort, it’s drinking a lot. How much are you willing to pay? Where's that one about cleaning, and sleeping in peoples front yards? Old burdens, don't leave our heads. Last night, for a change, I didn't make a fool of myself, couldn't pose, the white/blue, background. Someplace, in the bottom of a desk drawer, somewhere, my likeness, remains. I need a how-to book, first, lady. The twit ran out, screaming. Glue it to a stick. Dangerously attracted, sitting in the car too long. When is this book, going to be published, in Braille? Slapping his arms up against his chest, and doing, “invisible bench press” movements. You’ll soon grow tired of being poor. Talking to himself, this is what’s referred to in medical literature, as catatonia. SMILE! Why am I such an authority? Because I vamped him, I am the King of Rats, and I caused your accident! I ran to the other side of the bridge, taunting the police, once I got to the other side, I screamed, at the top of my lungs, “I'm in Troy," as they cuffed me, and threw me to the ground; and then, into the back of the car. My ass is packed (like sardines), with hemorrhoids. Sweat is pouring down my forehead, but I keep jumping, up and down, I can't tell the trees apart, from the telephone poles. She is the phoniest of phonies, a thief, and a murderer. Burning, and of course, it's all wrong, and, kind of evil, to tell you the truth. You smell like fabric softener. That is a porch, that I used to stand upon. And for another view of the cemetery, go to the Democratic county headquarters. I was always just a weirdo, with nothing to say. That’s what’s good about it, no one knows what it is. He got cancer, from the insulation! Most of these things, go unexplained, so, after the bombs are dropped, who will you cry to? It seems to be too repetitive. Interbreed, give money away, wash, thrill.
Two tickets, no energy, and spy games. I doubt it’ll live up to expectation. A little island, in a big ocean, the sun’s already set, on you. The sweat box shoved us out of it, like toast from a toaster, or crap, from an anus. My problems keep getting worse. You’ve drank just about enough, well, when ... last call. They tear down things, that they shouldn’t, and build this crap, these ghastly, repulsive structures. I’m not as boring as I’ve needed to be, to get this done. Memorize her contours! I am not, a juvenile sex offender, perhaps, you’ve mistaken me, for someone else. That’s where they get their methadone. Chirp your way up the panty hose. It won’t go our way. It could all be summed up, in four sentences. There was not a mark on the pages, I feign disappointment, think of what you would have put down on paper? Funny how magically it all works out, how I don't have what I don't want, even though, I don't know, that I don't want it. Waxing crescent, not waning, old town Keakuk! We break for a commercial, this, there cannot be, but, come, they someday, surely, will. They are not to blame, for anything. Enemies you don't want, can be made, in an instant. Nothing is worse, than a Christian enemy, they are the most cruel, and violent! The headline was perfect, one in a million! Not straight up, but kinda' over, but the point can't be stressed, enough. I flogged myself, in the swamp, with a cattail, I painted the tadpoles, and let the baby snapping turtle, go. Look at what runs down the drain. No more shitting, in my room. The oak falls, I'm sorry, but also upset, for my own reasons. Listening more to the sound effects, than the arguments, are you disturbed? “Yes,” said the young man. “Well, what of writing?”, said the old man. “What writing?,” said the young man. No one wants to die of a horrible, bloody aversion, yet, many do, just like that, they are gone, like fireflies. Not enough ink, yet, books piled into corners, and mumbling that ethics is for sissies, while playing with dolls, and wearing lambskin leggings. I don’t live up to my talk, yet. No, no, you kids, no hop the jumpie! The smell of rain, is the same as worms. Photos of naked women, with muscles, in factories. Then Marty said something, along the lines of... “be pissed off, and walk home.” Dead, or sorry? Better to blend in, and disappear! Toys have lost their effect on me, I don't talk, I think. She came here to get laid, and left alone, like everybody else. The way she looked at them, amidst her sewing bee, social group? Pink push-pin, with wallpaper, something I read in a magazine, a number I need to really call, and add to my collection. Rules we abide by, signs to steal, or tear down; real, naked, moving, flesh! Use a tissue, that’s repulsive. So…whoa, it got early, fast. I agreed to, but, I don't want to, this could apply, like much I say, in a variety of situations. Remembering her, forgetting all reality, just in your own pornographic, ice cream shop. I’m just pacing, chewing towels, like I said, opening, and closing, the refrigerator door. Be very careful, society frowns on it. How does that behavior, make me an unfed cat? I don't remember the names, but as the coward said, to the hero ... in those old fairy tales: “Sadly, the addicts rarely are the ones to die.” It’s those who are pure in heart, and mind; and we're all going suddenly nuts, in here, completely, freakingly, nuts. And there is nowhere to go, nothing to buy, and now, I'm supposed to feel waves of guilt, and compassion? We're all wrong, always? And regrets don't follow us to the grave, they stop before that; at the moment of death. Take your mood out on others, strike back, for how they raped you, in front of everyone. Not all of us, can be sane. Remember the animals you’ve tamed. Rip a fresh fart, out. Encourage them to be free. The tree’s beauty, ignored.