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Help me help myself, again, it's a bit of a joke, at this point. A life full of cartoon absurdity, and broken mirrors. What is our last hope, final recourse? GIN . Shocked by Miranda, how could she do it? Kissing girls, on plastic covered couches. I’m going to melt it ! The shadows all shook their heads, no. There was no fishing "accident". What did you do that, for? The little white lies we tell, to gain admittance, everybody really knows, somehow. Crash landings, in soybean patches. Caught the "French Disease," in old Indochina. In spite, or because of, what I want, I'm standing still. Walking through the woods, sparsely dressed, as usual. Why me, as this? Things are not too much one way, or the other. The excitement of omniscience, and omnipotence, fades . The comings, goings, "the look back, and see what it was". Reconnected, torn apart, lonely, isolated, detached, distant. There is no such thing as insanity. Philosophy is the disease, of which it should be the cure. But then again, it's just looking at things in a different way, I don't know what I'm doing. Sunny side up eggs, are not scientifically recognized; they expected to find guitars, that sounded like screeching birds. Buried, unearthed, buried, unearthed again. Pale recollection, like two metal pretzels, spun in rings. Interpretable, mathematical messages, on the radio. Forcing cucumbers into their mouths. Approached with the plastic bag, the part way haircut. The truth is spilled out, staining the rug, and warping the wood. They will turn you into a shopper. They had an oval mirror that (no picture of me on the flap, no way!) made everything reflected in it, look, “funny.” Another year, another cavity. On my honor, calls, but what the fuck? Parking lots, are where we end up, loose bolts, rusty screws, inflated heads. Her professor is on drugs? I get so angry and upset, that it would appear to be humorous, it seems as if I must be joking. Fireworks, definitely. All these dead people we read. This is no lost weekend, this is it, Charlie L. Wilson. Careen off of Hitler's, and Saskatoon. I’m ready to say something outlandish, about my earning potential. Waffle irons, and wasted time. Is it really so crazy, so weird, so phenomenal (see, I don’t think so)? All of my confessions, have been confessed. Darling, kindly keep your drugs, out of my coffee cup. The crows went wild, over on Beach Road, as if a movie were being filmed. Gas stoves, explode. Tall reeds, ornate carvings, designed to confuse. They forget all about the probability, of misinterpreting the data. Variables are unique, controls, are usually only thought about, afterwards. A small smattering of applause, for the family movie, film, and slide festival. Again, with the table? How shall we address you? So what, if the meaning of life, is found in it's dissolution? The lights go out, is all we know, we are complexes, monkeys, with pink haunches, chasing each other around the teepees, trees. I’m not a storyteller, because I can't stand repetition, saying things twice? I can’t find the bookmark, or much of anything else. Refuse to talk about the things that they do. This, in an all-out effort, to be individual, unique . It's still as if it's, "not real", no matter how much I do, or say. Nothing makes any sense. Fight, until you’re dead. I blinked, at the wrong times (my only explanation). How to get your kicks, while reading this book? Count the contradictions! Boring, and docile, with it's skyscrapers, blah. My body, now has the consistency of cottage cheese. I will make promises I can’t keep, baby. Let’s tear him limb from limb, rip him apart. Fuck marketing! This could all be nixed, in an instant, perhaps, I am all wrong. My hands are fluttering, and I don't know where to put them. There is no pursuit more worthless, than trying to save the world. These cranial fluid rats, are floating around my head, like crazy. The albatrosses, are our attempts. The spinning, now, spewing, later. Well, then, it wasn't really X, Johnny. There seems to be more death anxiety, when I finally begin to live. Vicious kisses, planted on asses, everywhere. Wednesday is the day in which to regret everything, vow to change, slide into the back row. The disease has already entered my brain, spread through a small section of the community, and it must stop, right there. But, this is always the day after the declaration, despite the illusion of, "I mean it this time". Itchy teeth, means art, imitates life, and life, imitates art. Everyone wants to be everyone else, that's why nobody knows who they are. All the forgotten truth, alcohol, was only a partial solution, for the Rin Tin Tin, backwards. Suicidal eyes, but don't you dare mention that crap to anyone, ever again! Blind in a maze of full glass/half glass, nine falling stars, projection, sublimation, reaction formation. The cell is the basic unit of life, cancer spreads through it. We are the epitome, of scars down the middle. Pets are very dangerous television screens, kindly, cease suggesting, that I eat such and such, and drink, this and that. Fire on the surface of Lake Michigami. Coping, by not coping, laying claim to "mistakes", spending all of my time, in the in between room. Sleep face down, in case of Hendrix. Atoms are spontaneous , just like our Betsy, here. Difficulties with the incomprehensibile, comprehensibility, of the editing process. Math is in the middle, I am camped out at one, or the other, extreme. We always create it all. Opening and closing the meaningless drawer, was all that mattered, during the interpretive era. Perma- paranoia phases, precognition. From things making perfect sense, to, not, suddenly. These are the invisible strings, that attach us all, fuck it up, appear, and disappear, at will. Very cobwebby lives, we lead. Turtles are cowards, I am a turtle. This explains the ducking in, and out, of my shell, like a Peking strip tease artist. The carburetor, this, for whatever it's worth, is all I have, and what I'm alive for. To deviate from the norm, is becoming the norm, the norm, has become abnormal. Why did I mark that page, in such a way? The moaning is getting louder, too. It’s a killer, and then some. My life would appear to be in some way, dedicated, to going over, and over, the same old loops. You just had to lick her at the picnic. Party at the flake pier.
Another alcohol-related arrest. Consequences, punishment, hopes of redemption-pffftt. I couldn't care less. Renunciation, not redemption, say that, over, and over, again. A big part of the turnaround. Cannot, means cannot, and that's all, folks. Once in a lifetime, is all we've got. Do the sniff, and check, of historical records. Ego lunch boxes, are better than two by four attacks. Lower appendage reverberation, clock type inventions, with dots on the side. Distant sinks clog, in his memory, the fish don't celebrate, this year. The fruit bats, feel like lead, unused. If you buy this book, you’ll have a book, to read, this isn’t about bean bag toys. The screen is sticking. Hence, I was "in becoming". Try to avoid the icky feelings. The world is strange, I am normal. The days of stability are gone, for good. Inhaling helium, smoking cigarettes. Slammed against the smear, with a splat. They just floated away? Always the last one on the road. Stop opening, and closing, the cupboards. "So what do you guys usually do around here, for fun?" "We usually inhale from this." "What is that, Susie?" "It's glue, Charlie, glue." Located, focused, and scarred, leaves tracked in, stolen articles of clothing. More and more unreal, with every "give, no, you give" argument, that I observe. Chevy Cola, on the flipside. After all is said and done, my friends, we're still monkeys, wearing slacks. For the thirteenth time, we were told, "it's much brighter in here". Told the nibblet, that we were scientists, that our message was this: you are just one more thing that we don't believe in, anymore. See the way, find the hole, the raw, and unwholesome, bizarre, and inebriated. Is this country so... wait, don't answer. What is this, "I hate you/don't leave me" disease, going around? Gone, are the good old days, of "girl, as inspiration", and forever, it seems. Gone, with climbing trees, and catching toads. I am going to keep this cheap suit on, for twenty seven days, and nights. You look like Darlene Galapogas, in those high heeled shoes. As usual, she was going down, the escalator, while I was going, up . It's barely tofu, barely legal. Literally drowning, from accumulated fluid in your lungs, and other, "medical marvels". Borrowed the bike with the flat tire, and trashed it, as well as a television, and other odds, and ends (try to rub the mustache out). Found out about films, found out about proximity. I press my pants, I wet my pants. What is it, with the six foot, plexiglass, swordfish? To this day, the muse of all these things, is unknown. Admitting to the death wish, and hoping that I've grown out of that phase. Shin splints, plastic arms, that have been punctured. How is it, that one person, can be so many? This is a fundamental, ontological question. Patient 6240, engaged in enunciation's. Dreams of women’s underwear, to catch the urge, and hide all of the evidence. Pretending to sleep, wake up, have a good time. So starkly ridiculous, that I can't begin to tell you, about it. In the thick of the sidewalk, just skating across streets. To the next level! This is the tail end, of my destruction. Faith, or bravery? Smashed things, stolen things, smiley faces, torn to shreds. The importance of the missing documents. Parts shattered, and flattened, lost, in the flyswatter. Blur after blur, of innuendo. Ending sentences, before the last few words are stated, frightening people. Mime her, inconsistently. The Spanish treatment, but still, no one knows why, these things happen. People who like stuffed animals, won’t buy, or like, this book. Forget the tutu wearing dancer. It’ll un-do itself, eventually. Vanilla funerals, for starters. The sissies, are all weary. The fact that she was only fifteen, made the perpetrator, "want her all the more"? The trouble is, that people don’t read, anymore. The light reflecting off the water, looks like a million fireflies, at night. Should've put a date on it. Eat the ruptured spleen, and appendix. If you didn't eat so much, you wouldn't have shit so much. She grabbed his tits, in some sex crazed, role reversal. In the rubble, like a pipperoo. Lets keep being, and doing, what, and who, we hate, so much, lets do the same thing, everyday. Lets die doing so, dedicating our lives, to it. Crashing the car into the side of the house, where cheap super eight movies were being shown. You’ll find me down by where the pool used to be, in a bad way. Let us prey. There is nothing, friend, nothing. We just want to be able to live, without these pressures, and perpetual torments. The processed program, the prescribed pattern, the long way, bus ride, into a decaying crotch. I hate you, so damn much. This is some kind of thing, that’s happening, man. Smoke me, blood. Self protective, bullet proof, jock straps, tuneless, given slippers, go for pennies, punch the bouncer. The species is propagated, all because of some book, people read? Write down what you end up saying, after "you just can't stay quiet about it, anymore". Is it any wonder, that they kill? Dumping words into angioplasty, St. Anslem’s brain, in a cyronics laboratory. Get out of my confessional booth, worm. Months do drift by, like moths, or butterflies. Unusual novelty, quickly forgotten. Yes, my alibi is conspicuous, but I'm just fucking with you, officer. To be blind, but, still seeing. Cameras rolling, while we make ourselves vomit. Good for you, is good for me. They are, "being their art", whatever that means. Old Flanagan, does back flips, Doreen, sits at home. My crimes against the state, will be my new tape recorder. No ketchup, so this mineral water, is for everyone who's dead. Why are they reading tree sap? Describing with pride, on the new, and old, applications. Life gives way, goes away, which is another way of saying, that the center will not hold. We get our come-uppance, whether we want it, or not. To not be diseased, but, to only look that way. Listless, and lethargic, or maybe, just bored. No mercy for the passionless. We are all weathermen, or women, with something to say. Hate, is jail time, ordering the same lunch, everyday. Forget about the clip-clop, of the marionettes, it's nothing. The corn fields, make way for condominiums. Makes a great gift, a fabulous consolation prize. Say yes, to real gasoline. This lacks a certain, something.
Where are the infamous, lost pages? I owe a lot of people apologies, and do not pay back. Multiple tickets, for speeding, on Lone Pine Road. I didn't choose, to be a roasted pig, squealing, but we all know what denial, yields, we are that . We're all exactly who, what, and where, we always planned on being, made ourselves be. Wasted high jinx, men named Fred, florists in the alley, choking to death, after the poetry reading. These are the scratchings of a child, on the bars of his crib, this is the truth, about wholesale boredom, and rejection. Water trickling down the slow drain, there, that's “it,” in a nutshell, that, and some epithets, some curses, swear words. The song we played, forty-seven straight times, during one of our self ingratiating phases. The only way to get there, was intermittently, why rewrite, when the original draft, was like me making a moron out of myself, in a drunken haze, again? Erratic, and jerking, thoughts, centered on the old days, of broom handles, bobby socks, and plaid skirts. No freedom, just lying there, we lie, while telling the truth. Canyons in the way, explain the fascination, trepidation. Our excuses can't dislodge us, like, “oooooohhh, I'm gonna’ make my movement.” Hot flashes of self hatred, but only twenty four hours after the fact, or incident. I don't know why, but I always feel the need to apologize, for being a tripped out, weirdo, so, please accept, or reject this, in the appropriate manner. Meet me, absurd. Scapegoats sap energy, no meaning, no nothing , no anything. I'll roar, like the lion that just sniffed around in your tent. An ingrate, in remission, guilty, with guilt. Reading biographies, to find some clue, or secret, of how to kill time. Pulling our way to the urinal. Sometimes, staring up through the skylight, is all there is to do. Insignificance, in comparison, or just in relation to, some ratios, some math. Bluntness, stripped off, epidemics, spreading, but still haven't reached the point of, "I cannot stop crying." Evolution works from the inside, out, not cross-denomination¬, utter repetition. Scrape it off the road, and load it in a plastic bag. Hands in the toilet, again? Dead fingers, out of fashion, into the box of fiddle, thump. We are animals, Admirals, this is nonsense, so are we. I’m not losing it, I’ve lost it. What’s in your shoe? Crunching ourselves, into returnable, glass bottles. You're on the wrong side of Telegraph, fella. Dismal Land, because I never liked it here. We don’t even bother to explain the stains on our pants, anymore. It took us forever, to make that thing, and now, it’s missing, it’s gone. Start it, with a kiss. Apparently, you can breathe, and still be dead. Trite, egotistical ramblings, and jumping around, for attention. Are you o.k.? You can’t purchase ambition, or motivation. No style, no class, panache. Stop driving around. Tamed, by the books, and questions, leading to further questioning. Still, logic puzzles, with no solutions. School, at any level, only equates to perpetual duck, duck, goose. I'm cut to pieces, and like it better, this way. Always, being on the rebound, and being condescending, or otherwise, removed. Through backyards, and country clubs, rivers, and rain ditches. Those who "know themselves," are not long for this world. There is no endless process, it becomes, "give me the gun." Sadness, is the only missed opportunity. Polish off the bottle, and contemplate, play with yourself. How dull, to go on the way that we do. It will all be fished out of the shanty, in good time. Invisible tape, and invisible everything. Go on, and give me your diseases, is the refrain, yet another, test, yet another, system. Faces, and crickets, voices, and frog croaks. Like a bulging glutton, in the middle of a binge, I set my sights on horizons, too far away, to see, from here. The new dream of Wauwautosa, Wisconsin. The moon has nothing to do with the tides, it’s just a coincidence. The rhetorical difference, between a "5," and an, "S". Tighten it up, or at least, significantly, reconstrue it. You don't have to pay! Make it mean something, even though, it really doesn’t. New, automatic, plastic dolls, doing the neophyte twist. It’s like drugs, but not as much fun (schizophrenia). The majority of people, just don’t mind. Numb in the afternoon, in between heroes, in between commercials. Eyeballing, the bowling alley. See the shiny stars! Rub her, the way she likes it. Caress, do not merely, rub. Looking at nothing, but grease, now, they try to look innocent, other ridiculous postures. Who's incapable? No "interests," to speak of. The end, written in cursive. Nudity shocks, experts say. People want you to, dare you to.... I never used to be this way. Another, in an endless delta, of Peachtree Streets. Sold short, cheap cigars, wigs, cybernetworks, combs. Nine parts nilly, the other one, shut. Quarks, fame, time, is money and money, is time. The water supply, has been laced, retrograde amnesia, sets in, I want to kick the living shit, out of that pretty, potted plant, because, I'm potted, I'm standing still. Too honest, to be indignant, too many waysides, and chunks of molten metal, pounding. Qualified statements, stacks of paper, and notes. Read, and re-read, the letter she wrote to you, that actually didn't say, anything. Foggy mirrors, in the old days, the horror of the drafting table, pattered curtains. The flip side, of the proverbial coin. The "Amazon woman," fantasy, is the young man's, most cherished. Indifference, putting tinker toys together, all for naught, imagery. The end of my driveway, seems to be getting further, and further, away. More questions remain unanswered, still, talking out of my ass. They chased me, as if I were food? Predictability, surrounds me, chosen more often than the leading brand. A habitable, communal, compound. Getting the foam of the milk, all frothed up, why? Talking to myself, losing the argument, it sounds like a teletype, now. The supposed drug store, had one of everything. Self doubt leads to worse things, don’t engage in it. Restricted, repeated.