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They screw, when you're not lookin! What's the temperature in Medicine Hat? Mathematics, why do I loathe it so, fear it so, hate it so? Because I do not believe, that there are any right answers, ever, under any circumstances. There, I've said all I ever want to say about that, although, thanks to the power of attorney/client privilege, I must. Jumping up and down, contemplating beans, scars on my body, unpronounceable fears, I forgot. Now, I sit with two friends: sentimentality, and dejavu! Make me meaningful, let me like an pine corn, start. My hand is pink, my face, pale. That almost killed me, anything is easier than that. They always wanted to change us into something, they tried to force us, to conform, and they almost succeeded. Names, and faces, of people, in one skyscraper towns, and a couple of fairly big buildings. Leave a good thing, again, prodigal returns, are never the same. Worshipping flesh, in work, and deed. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, one thing is certain, but we don’t know what it is. No, not physically, just her voice. It’s in the clover. You are really ... what's wrong with you? Quid pro qua, being? In itself, being for itself, intrasubjectively? Candlelight power, provides something mysterious. Somehow, twice, on acedecholine, blushing, for the brains own valium. A handful, recall the source. Top gram, kicked the desk, landed in the corner, licking grease off her fingers. Still vaulting destitution. There is a large element of fear in society, the fear of getting caught. There is hair on my arm. The remnants of Susan, were delivered today, by train. So we learned to walk, with a swoon? Take the overpass, past the abandoned, Happyday Inn. There's no restaurant on the corner, anymore. I use language, meant to obscure the truth, the way to be, the way to understand. The smash and grab era, actually, it was more of a stumble in, and linger around, with an armful of bizarre items. Yes, that is my body fidgeting, where are you taking me, man, the second hand store? Everywhere I looked, liquor. Suffice it to say, we’re finished. Jealousy is the ruination of the common. This is the feeling that I was trying to describe earlier. Trying to become smart, is what made me dumb. I've had almost, kinda, one too many veiled insults, from you. I can’t believe how dull and boring, all of this is. She says handsome, I cringe, and look away. The end, has yet to be determined. When you need the thoughts, they will not be there. I’m going to continue to shout. Most of this, is not appropriate. It’s all sweat, hope, and misery, at this point. We were almost, respectable. A fourteen year old boy... still! Fight the losing battle, reluctantly. So, all the old analogies, don't work anymore? We look endlessly behind us, and call ourselves happy, to have a justification. All the go-go time, is gone, was wasted. I’m gonna’ fist fuck, your ethics! There are places, and this, is psychotic. Question mark take home exam, you've got elfin magic. When I was poor, when I was nearly destitute, living on the fringes, of right, and wrong, dangerously close, to classifiable, mental disorders, when I couldn’t control my movements, thoughts, sensations, emotions, nightmares, wet dreams... something happened, miracles, or tastes, I think I was happy. I wandered, and I roamed, sold all my distractions; priorities bent, and demented. They cut down the Elm trees, the street now looks, like a cemetery. For no reason in particular, I'm just so sorry, there could have been more, that I should have done. Now I can't hold in my feces, I just look at the world go by, through my rearview mirror, and then, deny doing this. Insomnia is not to be recommended. Steal my ideas, send me the tape! Standing in an echo chamber, cigarette wrapper objectives. Liver spots, if you’re lucky, wrinkles, if you're lucky, grey hair, if you're lucky. Stop if you're not, look around, try to see, for maybe the first time, what you have, right now. The reasons come from the inside, mister, off into another sphere of reality, through orgone holes. It’ll be all luck. Call me by my fake name.
Bound, folded, damn it, Monty, let me lament! More from the land of ordered chaos, just to prove this thing is whole. Your favorite aphorism, the daily flow, a modus operendi, buying time. The 'either way', argument. My underwear is stuck in my ass crack, due to a lack of wiping power. This is what makes it so attractive, neo-lucid, true highs, sleep deprivation, laxatives. Yeah, I checked out your beat poet, mythos, blood, everywhere I looked. In the park, come the catcalls, in the middle of the night, reminiscing aloud, about underground reservoirs. Some find pleasure in torture, some, in torturing, but what you can't say, you can't say. The value of the uh-huh. Audience of my endocrine system, let me lap at your urethra, and then sew it back in. There's got to be something, in the midst of the crowd. Upon further dramatizations/demonstrations, it is each other, that they measure themselves by. They do not make it up on their own, they may look at you, next. Always stay right in the corner, near the door, and never look anyone in the eye. Look at them funny, but don’t make eye contact. My dramatic personae, is sordid, conceited, amuck/amok. Nothing to lose, I'm still broken glass, no matter what happens. Wonder aloud, mumble/talk, to yourself, express, in thought, what you can’t say, in words. Relate to them all, something you heard, let them all know, leave them alone! One must imagine Sisyphus happy, by what measure, on what planet? And anyway, what “secrets," could have possibly been stolen? I will not work for you, I want to be a postmodern, then, live to see it. There's a leak in the sprinkler head. Red doors, to trip in the vestibules of. Upon final syllables, turn up the volume, on your end. Dry-cleaning, keeps it like new. Yeah, but you know there's some twin brother, at home, in her bed, with a hard-on! I've been a sicko, for ten years. Squirreling all over Amy Hempel? Infinity, on hands, and knees? Hypnotized, by your left turn signals. The true role, is frankly, not much at all. Can I be a contributor? Formulated axons, pale, blue, lust affair, send it down the sheets, and her, beside me. Where are these, “magnificent works," that those guys were all talking about? My snot rag, smells like fast food. My rickety artifice, ingenious methods, serious, ardent, sincere, and efficient, small asides, are really, bivouac areas. To say the least, I’m tired, and sick, of myself, I ache, with the burden of self, and give off fumes. Broken blood vessel, radio show, I sometimes want to die, between this, omit all obscenity. My advances were rickety, and half assed, most of the time, I just pan away. They’ll see, someday, maybe. If any of this made any sense, I’d already be rich. Are they fireworks, or is it only thunder? I’m telling you, I smell an odor. It’s all in here, all of it! We’re already in over our heads.
There are probably some books you could read, that might help you. Ha, the DNA matches, now, I will show you all where, and when. Now, we will cook some food. I can’t seem to stop, despising myself. You martyred, self obsessed, self absorbed, self depreciating, self loathing, drip-dry, log. The most gracious, at least, of those amongst us. There is currently a solar system, crashing around, in my adam’s apple. Here comes the stripper; get ready, Rome. Karmic, in a delusion, in the woods, nowhere else. There are rhymes (maybe), worth talking about. A clearness, of (buy it used) comprehension, a confusion, of aims. Gum out Edna, will get everything right again. Now that the pen is flowing, and certain club sodas, have been consumed, a restless type cough, she has a gun. Laying in the shade, in the afternoon, I can't find time, for phantasmic, tribal rhythms, or conspiracy theories. Its not my fault, I'm neither, completely free, nor, completely responsible. I never choose for mankind, my claim is dead, I had a name, I had some thoughts, not any longer. I can’t get over it, even though, I’ve long since, forgotten, what it was. Friendship pin, disclaimer #2: In the event of an actual emergency, what you are reading right now, is simply social commentary, you’ll find no clues for my conviction, no reasons why, or wherefore, or anything. You cocksure, roach spray inhalers, this is not state's evidence! This is not supposed to be entertaining, or describe anything, its simply my reason to go on living, that's really it, for right now. Bless me, Senator, for I have sinned! Sitting at the Victorian table, and writing down nothing. Is this literature? I don't know what to yell! My title, my last good metaphor is, Wrestling the Blue Heron (an idea graveyard). Revised and expanded, a book, if that’s what they want to call it. It's not as good, or bad, as I thought it would be. Put some dollars in the hunchbacks box, things are much worse today. This is a veritable, venerable, kind of rock salt, it would appear. I've managed to lose every single pen, worth owning. Big, initial, leather, fight? Our immediate pain, brings the question back to the forefront, out with you. The only savior we can count on, is ourselves. What did it say, mirrored fun, magic egg? Then the spies got personal. Maybe we’re just not good enough. The filtered, rag time, lunch buffet. Exhaustion surrounds you, with itself, my veins are bubbling, now's my big chance. Grain alcohol, will never be the same. Was it a wish, or a folly, that sent us down the road, that day? They all called me a liar, they used to shake their heads. I cut my leg, walking through all the toys in your basement, too many toys, the first string of bacteria. Perhaps there are things, that should never be said, more often, those are the things that most need, to be. Giving into eighty-two tender, we watched the cars burn. Wadded up in the laundry room, we kept the place immaculate. Something has to happen, sometime. There's got to be life, outside this house, those people, and genetic testing, I don't know where to start. It never used to be written down, I'm low to the ground, awaiting the missile attack. I’m out of things to say, I try not to be too obvious, but I’m an obvious letch, just the same. Egg timer, tru-test, admired by people under thirty? Why are her teats, so large, and dark, were they used, roughly? She's invisible, on the hill, but goddamn it, she's got her books. I'm trying to give reality, to experience, otherwise ... otherwise. I get the feeling, I'm not the only one, you feudal society animal. Blood on the forehead, yes, I understand, one in a million, plenty more where I came from. Many howl, few go beyond it. It will soon (someday) be done! I'll know where to mail it, and bang! Enigmatic, anemic, enigmanic; see how they sound the same? Do a little editing, active embellishment. What an undertaking, it must be thick. I will not leave the house tonight, under any circumstances, the answer is, for the first time, NO! More than strength, is what is required of me, now. Look at the typesetting, the spacing, examine what you want it to be. I drank, to alleviate the inner voice, to exterminate it. I’m way more than miserable, now. We were left to seethe in the dressing room, with lingerie on, half drunk. Ah, someone else to yell at me.