Human Suffering

Martin Leonard Freebase

I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet makes himself a seer by a long, prodigious, and rational disordering of all the senses. Every form of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he consumes all the poisons in him, and keeps only their quintessences. This is an unspeakable torture during which he needs all his faith and superhuman strength, and during which he becomes the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed and the great learned one! among men. For he arrives at the unknown! Because he has cultivated his own soul which was rich to begin with more than any other man! He reaches the unknown; and even if, crazed, he ends up by losing the understanding of his visions, at least he has seen them! Let him die charging through those unutterable, unnameable things: other horrible workers will come; they will begin from the horizons where he has succumbed! Arthur Rimbaud

Martin Freebase would like to thank the following individuals: Janet (Tossa), Haley (Boo Boo), Terry (Phoebus), Susan (Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair), Delbert & Amy lou, Gerald, Joe, Sara ( Boog is a woog) & Ben, Stacy & Matt, Lori & Craig, Debbie & Scott, Andrew R, Ed A, Mike & Sherrie, Flip, M &M, Edmon, CB & Sally, Tammy & Bubba, Larry, Moon, Duel, Ricky, Billy, boogie boy, Scotty O, Jimmy G, Robbie L, Skid Row Bum, Crime Dog, Steeverino (my nose is bleeding), the linebacker, WooFoo Tong, Henry Miller, David Foster, Miley Dragon, Too Much Noise, The Big Ten mile, Big Tom, Little bill, Woozle, The Gangster Still, Woody, The Yellow Rose of Texas, Cinnamon, Walk Like a Woman, Big Bob (They call me Doctor Love), Todd Retodd the Barn Burner (Doctor Sex and Magick), the Used Car Salesman, The Evil Burger, Doctor Memphis (shake the hand that shook the hand), Doctor Stock & Trade on the Rosy Dale, Kramer, Gene Gene the dancing machine, Tom Tom Record Turner, Melvin the Lord is in My Eyes, Kurt the Chicken Chaser, Mike who slides down the steps, F-Prot Show Me what you got, Disclaimer: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. If any of this hits a little too close to home, then examine your life and make some changes. This was not written about you!

And the magician said that it was all done by the force of words.

Authors Note: Depending on the day you catch me, I could say that I believe in destiny or I could say that the idea of destiny is a blue-faced sham. One part on my mind is skeptical of such things and would respond that there is nothing outside of our genetic foundation and our social influences that influence who we are and what we do. I would say that there are genetic inheritances that we have inherited from our animal ancestors and that other aspects of our lives are the social creations of a socially constructed would. I would say that we are basically animals who have grown brains big enough to believe in the lies that we have created. I would say that we as human beings, we have learned to fool ourselves about who we are and our place in the universe. On other days, I can sense this feeling of purpose that secretly guides my life. Looking backwards, I can see how all the pieces have fit together to put me at this particular place in my life at this particular time. An old band mate had read some of my words and commented that I should have written the lyrics to our songs. I responded that these words didnt exist inside of me back then, that I still needed to read more, think more, and experience the things in life I had not experienced yet. These words come from a lifetime of living and thinking and search for meaning in my life. I have this strong sense that my purpose in life was to write this book, which by writing this book my life truly has meaning. {Several days after writing this I had the strongest urge to delete this, but I decided to let it be.} There was an idea that I had to explain this, but it escaped from my mind before I had the chance to write it down. Thus, many words have entered my head that never made it to the page. In this way, I have written this book many times over, you are only reading the book that made it to the computer.

One

1.1 It was over by 1922, the standards were thrown out the windows along with the leaping men, leaping frogs, and leaping dogs. Everyone jumped up at once and time was reset to your clocks. We included you in our public gatherings-groups of surrealism and pop art punk rock. The purpose was to ridicule your need to follow the rules, your need suck on societys cock. We represented the opposite: a phenomenon bursting forth; a work of destruction and we begat a monster and a savior a moral and economic crisis lay waste everything to the path. Everything has become the victim of sacrilege as if it really does exist-nothing exists; we are nothing; you are nothing-nothing rules. You say there are absolute truths but that is just bullshit, you live to spread your fucking bullshit, petting the cat with the big teeth, hugo ball karawane (nonsensical words), samy rosenstock, the gas heart handkerchief of clouds, razor blade jackals, dancing penguins, the approximate man-humanist and serving as a spell, a brief moment in time as the world spins and you consume more bullshit to pacify your feeble brain; entertain, dance you bears, dance as we play the music. When the music stops we will kill you just like before. It doesnt matter nothing matters not even your cell phone bill and the balance on your credit cards.

1.2 We wrapped her in cellophane and sold her as a piece of meat, a utopian influence reading karl marx and polishing the bullets. A revolution of the working class to deconstruct the machine and then we discover that we have a profound love for the machine putting it back together replacing the chains on our hands, praying for the singularity gas chamber-paris dada-the first heavenly adventure with the queen and a stacked deck of cards. Her panties are around her ankles exposing us to her mesmerizing capabilities. She speaks to the dead stagnation of the movement as the tea party circles their wagons for their cookout on wall street pissed off that they did think of it, gibberish is what we bank on, secured loans that are no longer secure and we want our armies to be efficient killers. Tristan and the bear are dancing on the mountain the old man in his fur coat, as we wind up the electric car, it goes chug, chug and puffs a little smoke. Leo where did you go when your country needed you? The most the bearded heart tool time juxtaposition a former student in abstract art, nothing is again our call to moon beams and the electric shackles of industry and promised promiscuity that we dream of in our childhoods of masturbatory highlightsclick, cluck chicken hot dogs- eat them with a high five tooth missing grin. Lolita with the brown skin and a bicycle ride into the west dont make this your bible date 4

intervenes on Humberts behalf and shares none of his interests. Running away, the hero is beset by reflections focused only on the suffering and despair-metaphorically Herman creates Drustanus from the abbey of Saint gall castle dore and tau cross the bull of the Egyptians francis of Assissi, a personal coat of arms, advent and pope innocent-such a silly name to leave behind you as you walk away into the darkness into the abyss and strangle the lonely crocodile removing the thorn from the lions paw.

1.3 The skull laughs at him. The world is filled with laughter and those making videos on the internet, forms a cavity for the brain slipping through cracks and portals, a second moon, another world, another dimension it stands for the question, the one that has ran away from your brain looking for the woman you have lost. She exists in this other world it could be purely illusion. We all escape into another world from time to time. It is ok to let go and relax, let your mind go. There is always the possibility that you could become lost forever. We are all a little lost. Once you have crossed over the surface of an unknown asteroid it might be possible to reach the unknown. You are speaking of being tossed; you are a tossed salad, a flag or a beach blanket, a bouncing ball. Which one is you? Are you behind door number two? Are you in a play ground with virtual guarantees? Have you been given time to grow? Hear the ghosts of cats and crowsthe most experimental controversial contemplative reflective refractive light source, pontificator of the highest honor and of a sound mental beating. You are bloated and puffed up beyond recognition, you inhabit the labial zone. Seek and ye shall find. A brown mouse broken and betrayed, being of two minds left brain and right brain on the worlds stage. Hark who goes there! It might be a ghost of our king and then we have more blunders, more lies, more cock waggling in the face of democracy. This is an allegorical world constructed from your childhood symbols. Moon pie is surrendering to the phalanges. That is right honey; I take all the words out and make them more real for you. Any way, you can cough and scratch and run up the stairs spinning around.

1.4 she was Lola in white socks, receiving your email and trying to respond, but I got lost she could be you, could be we, and all never was-not now, not ever it was just a big joke to you until she peeled your shin back over the front of your face you were too sensitive, really I never would have guessed that this would be a warning to all the young minds think more than you talk, live before you decide to jump off a bridge Stop putting poisons in your body. That was for the old fucks, a taste for postmodern fiction I dont know what that means do you can you hear me Do you understand the rules The rules, the rules All work and no play makes Jack Nicholson into a character you can 5

sympathize with One hundred red percent realistic, I made up my mind-red in the head, complicated and hard to follow Kafka with his one hundred chakras, sad demeanor with the shuffling feet, and defeat in bodily form, a metamorphosis Thursday morning, nine in the am, oh my goodness in the morning paper, he wanders from person to person to show off his newspaper article, ignoring that fact that he should be teaching his students how to think, god forbid! the little weasels tearing my flesh on your honeymoon hello sister how are you today one of my best friends and she told her husband turning them into junkies that is what john Irving said I never would have said the options there are no options I am not bring you options I am not your waiter so do not speak to me Im still waiting for your dream voice mixing the alcohol with the downs might have been a mistake you think about it and get back to me in 100 words or less a conversation we have or should have had I dont know I dont remember what she wants how to think god forbid you and I need so many things connecting one piece to another I made the cocktails and I made the sandwiches surprised and kind of embarrassed Zelda was the first reader living in the US as a stranger it was because of that strangeness observing people and the world out jumps the frogs from the airplane I couldnt stop and again with this Dostoevsky thing first Miller then Murakami the conspiracy goes on and on

1.5

A man enters the barn. Thirteen pieces of silver, a tattered dream, a broken heart, a box full of old bones from another life. He is about to go to work praying for all the lost souls-trying to define his existence, providing a stimulus and reaction to the real, what he thinks is real omnipotent omnipresent a sense that he cannot escape from. He would say that none of us can escape. Trying to be faithful, he dresses up the dead, trying to make them presentable, declaring hatred the highest form of the hypocritical feeling-the pain within the body of god. Show god your love.

Ernesto hears all the voices of god, those voices that try to do the most, trying to dominate, trying to spread the disease as far as he can, a religion, a testimony, he hides behind his hat, the patterns of color in his mind, he covers them in a garage sale letters. All over their faces, so many faces, the words do not come together, peeling away the scraps, the yes man haircut waiting on the call from the zombies to sell them shoes. Ernesto tries not to swivel nor sway, he can only stand, to stand as a man like he was once taught. He sees those eyes watching from the slopes, there is crack in this man's 6

soul, a pale light shines out from it, a rose colored thing that almost seems lifeless, like a just dead or dying thing, a half-life thing, that future oblivion that everyone knows is just around the corner. The echoes of desire that once called out to Ernesto. He fumbles with them in his feeble hands those instruments that once could do so many things, all about sound and image, the primordial connection to the past, the ghosts that whispers in our ears as we create. Scanning the fields for lifeforms, a long dead shiver, he recognizes its sound maybe before he even hears it, a premonition, an inkling, a second sight into that world that he eventually will travel to, single and alone, a pawn removed from the board.

1.6

How can I speak of the darkness that pours out of me? How can I compare it to anything else? What values would I assign to it? What compass would guide my journey? How would I describe my path? Would there be a lake that would look peaceful on the surface but underneath there hides everything that is vile and pernicious? What would I see? What would I experience? Why should anyone care? Why would anyone look past this mask that I wear? What does this mask hide? Am I hiding myself from the world or am I hiding myself from me? Is this light fight or flight? I turned a new corner, a new monster is unearthed in this killing stillness prismatic unfolding. Will I remember the intent when I come back to speak these words? How will the meaning change in the new light of a new day? I can see the end drawing nearer like a swinging scythe blade making everything small. She said she was sorry for creating the darkness between us, stringy and weary. We sue the paper for getting robbed. We talked for hours about superior mechanisms. We got drunk on rum and talked into the early morning hours. At one point we put on gas masks and waited for the poison gas to sift down slowly from the heavens. When the all clear was given, we removed our masks and continued getting drunk. I showed you some of my mechanical drawings for future subterranean chamber. We would feed the giant sea slugs the entrails of the day. They would consume all the happy memories like they have so many times before. I have lost track of the number of times you have come down from your cross. You have evolved from millions of years of small bodily struggles. I remember all of your wars with the moon and the stars. There was an argument over who should belong and then we had another celestial war. These are graphic times. The importance of the age is imprinted in the backs of our minds.

1.7

We have grown conscious of every cruel movement. How the machines sweep across the fields calling out to the faithful, telling them that there is peace in the end. They fall into the arms of the gods and are crushed by jealousy and deceit. They leaped out from between her legs. At first she was amazed almost frightened by the possibilities, but soon she grew accustomed to such strangeness. She imagined herself being beaten flatter and flatter with each stroke. She thought she would spread out across the world and cover the earth with her nakedness. I admired her solid sloping thighs. I knew I could be friends with her body.

1.8

Apple trees in the forest of your thighs. Your knees touch the skies. You blow your trumpet calling the dead out of their graves. With both hands you push back the snow. You say you are building something. The music dances from your lips and you bend and push. Forming something beautiful, yes could it be. You ankles shout at the birds. They have seen you bound with heavy twine, packaged for the road, a long journey. You say that we have devalued this thing called love. The word no longer holds the same significance in your heart that it once did. I find it funny that words can raise and fall according to the whims of fashion. Unlikely to sell like lacy underwear, still there is a market for such things. Capitalism swallows all.

1.9

You could talk about the fibers of your being forever. How they form to create a perfect blemish. You are in the garden pulling up the weeds, conjuring another demon. You hands fold into little winds. The blind slats dusty with neglect, secluded from the other passengers. We tumble together down the road, feeling our kidneys. You could draw up into yourself without warning. There would be no alert, no signal flare to warn the troops. You would come down from the mountain ready to kill. You put the snake to sleep and he dreams of sunshine.

Two 2.1 reading Kafka at fifteen resist a resolution the conclusion means nothing at all you dont need to know who killed the vixen in her san Francisco starlet home you can dream while you are awake do you dream do you see visions are there colors in your world can you travel to other worlds what languages do you speak what sorts of technology do you have do you feel burdened by the requirements of your society is that possible in your world do you feel guilt or heart ache do you read books do you think about the future do you make plans do you make god laugh I rewrote his scenes because I knew it was him we go backwards in time and recreate the past to fit our view of reality not wanting a paradigm shift the contradictions have not reached their necessary end inducing a trance like state to go down deeper into the cosmological mind that evil dark underbelly of life that hides in the back of your mind that thing that connects you to the rest of us your true animal self the proletariat self working for the working class revolution the surplus labor marching in the streets screaming look at me I am a human being I have a right to exist observing the real people in life made up characters gathering some factors some from him and some from her serving as projections of your own mind the dreamer in the dream brought to a faraway place not seeing not since the blue moon of your seasons of the witch a part of me but not me a twin if you will an alternative form of self putting my feet in different shoes removing everything that is from the inside scrapping it out with a spoon and a knife for the tough parts to parts that get ripped out get bigger and bigger soon there is this huge mess on the floor I laid out newspapers but the mess has grown larger than I imagined it has become out of control I knew there would be a mess I just didnt anticipate the extent that it would grow it became overwhelming and then I have to do something to correct the situation I have to bring balance back into the picture balance cannot be overrated we need it there in all things conscious of the structure always aware of the structure how it leans in on us and moves us in a direction we first had to resist that is power moving us when we dont want to be moved it doesnt matter our feelings or our desires power just moves power doesnt care if you know it exists it just says fuck you move and you move without thinking you could say no Im not going to move but it wont do you any good you will move you will bend over and say thank you sir may I have another

2.2 the function of the medium is to make something happen making it happen can you make it happen you say you believe but you dont believe in god or politics or the politicians but you do believe in utopia how is this different than religion you have replaced one religion with another you are still trying to reach a future state that 9

doesnt exist that never will exist you are still operating inside the box the box is your home and you dont realize it little boxes that hold your head little boxes that hold your shit little boxes they are stacked one on top of another they go up beyond my ability to see they reach up into the heavens they are your tower of Babel each one a soul commitment each box represents a sin not against a non-existent god but against yourself each box represents a time you deceived yourself into thinking everything is ok are someday will be ok this shit never works out the way we planned I am sorry but it is true I guess that can be your absolute truth everything is fucked up

2.3 I am writing you into a grave writing you into submission beating the hell out of you with my words bringing you a sack full of the coming world she said it was sex magic caught between the spiritual world and the physical world you help me move from one world to the other you cannot decide which world you want to exist in to be here with us physical creature or over there with our spiritual shadows sometimes you are convinced that the shadow world is more real than the physical you were rooting for Midori some part of you is always in the other world that village in the woods where they accept you as you are where they dont question you motives or intentions you found it following a dead soldier from a long forgotten war losing the object of your desire what you once thought was important is no longer important a place of exile a room with sporting equipment they are heavy slow and powerful a good looking and sober eyed woman a language that is not of my first dreams but still a language that I can hold on to forgive me if I forget about you for a little while and glorify the whimsy that is this life

2.4 we are grieving for our loss it is a loss that we have know for a very long time we gave it a name and made it a home inside our hearts this loss a was a poor lonely beggar begging for scraps of meat at the door so many have shooed him away but I let him in a gave him a place a special place where he can grow in his utmost a sense of immorality that is very strong I do not give a damn for your morals that are the ideals and values of the weak you have glorified the weak and have made a fool your king it is your responsibility a vain and cruel wretch that appear from time to time to be human he is really just a jackal that should be kicked and beaten like the rest he is lulled into a deep sleep not being able to distrust the phony you have made the phony your king living in a false world a primitive world filled with glitter and remorse I was a one man multitude a Kinbote slashing and pointing my sword in your face challenging you to come out to play to be a warrior against the philistines in their seditious plot to pull the wool over your eyes one or two spicy digs the soul descends with Chrissy Georgio into 10

hell as a teacher she is dangerous and dubious to the garden incinerator the illusion of spontaneous conversation great pains and mushroomed almost overnight the solution to the composition I cannot grudge her this with her sinister charms few can deny her queer pull the struggle with the snow on the driveway she tugs at her sweater and brings us the tray with drinks your kingdom for an ice cube or a tetrahedron the clearing of nervous throats why so nervous her high forehead with her hair pulled back exposing her little scar the same kind of acid-etched scene nothing is as exhilarating as American vulgarity feeding the trailer trash to the rich and vice versa it is the coliseum all over again can we get enough lions for the evening show there is nothing like the crunch of good Christian bone you can skip history class I will tell you everything you need to know about the past present and future the ascended fathers why are they fathers it must be some leftover patriarchy getting in between the cracks of your toes yes just some toe jam of paternalism and hierarchical thinking the female boner of feminist theory god bless you doctor baker you could roll it up and bake it in a pan while the hubby would not work for the warmongers I forgot to put the not in the monger sex as an institution with its institutional discrimination the rules dictate how we tie you up and how much you should be paid and what is an appropriate safe word we are creatures of habit and custom believing in your ideology your sex as a roadside accident they stick their heads out of the car windows and whistle sweet Jesus blow your fucking whistle one with the platonic solids trace the line around the body it is just a government statistic now not a real live human being something for the senator to show on the senate floor in his blue and red chart

2.5 my god is a little stone rhino that sits on top of my computer his name is horny the fissionability of Freudian concepts can they spark a fire the clues to your personality have pointed to this reoccurring theme of an unwholesome preoccupation with sexual dysfunction disjunction construction finding them in your households ferreting out the human interest story so that the experts can turn it into an atrocity tale how big how wide is it a growing problem can we find it in Paducah Kentucky altering the bizarre things with cotton candy and Carmel apples as the ducks eat the bread from off the bridge needing a diminutive with a lyrical lilt one of the most limpid and luminous liquid and delicate the welcome murmur of its source of heartrending fate knocking at your door very nasty with a look of the multilingual memory we are back again to your tower and the virus that you infected us with not wanting to join a cargo cult as gods sends presents from the sky I had to invent your America because it did not exist there was a cheap plastic version that everyone else was buying into yes they have become very good salesmen and saleswomen when I question their experience at running things they all give me a nasty look 11

2.6

I have spent so many years trying to be silent. To not speak of the sensual and to let be still all those ghosts that long for silence within my heart. I have no more room in my heart for propaganda. There go two beats, pushing blood, pulling me along down the road. One foot I place in front of the other, mesmerized. I see my body being covered by moles. I am watching the white chickens eating their feed. I sit and watch them for hours. Could we become one?

2.7

I have been thinking about remote things. I think of a soft body in a cool dress, a summer dress. I have seen you both victorious and defeated. You field of vision is hot white desire. Your house burned down from the intensity. At first the curtains were set to fire and then your couches and chairs. Soon your book shelves were all aglow. In the mornings there is nothing to do but wait. Sitting on the stoop counting the passing cars, I told you that we should end this charade, that we really didnt have a clue as to what we were doing. We danced to your broken soul and drank a toast for the lonely.

2.8

If I could only talk to you for a little while before I read for the ladies. I was their hero. Especially for those who thought they needed saving. I wanted to go straight ahead. I thought we stood on some kind of common ground. I seem to be seeking for the right words. So many times the right words do not come. There can only be a little glimpse into this thing, this wonder, and this world mystery. I wanted to impress you with the seriousness of my concern. To hell and back with all the noses. I can hear the darkness call. That voice has always been there. Calling out to me in all times and ever conscious of the eye. I had sacrificed the patron saint. Tied her up with the fresh clippings of the bushes in the backyard and set her heart to flame. There is always some life blood dripping away. Off you go with my sorrow.

12

2.9 I watched as you spun the sensitivity. I was a native and doubted. I could tolerate the vulgarity. Thinking of how to build up the haphazard, you throw the bones into the street and dance with a tragic foot. We wrapped you up in bandages to cover your scars, but you said that your scars were freedom. Still I had to eat your plums. I had to see the visions for myself. I left you in a boarding house across town. You were confused and kept calling me daddy. I spanked the monkey that was in your bedroom. I realize that that you were probably saving it for the holidays. But, life is precarious.

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Three 3.1 I became as stout as Cortez as I carved you a piece of apple pie I will keep all my secrets behind the magic curtains of wizardry up to a cheerful 200 feeling so restless and so alien checking the spark plug gap I have become that appetizing thing I felt no regret and no bitterness as she stood there with her feet of confrontation a Marxist if I ever saw one thinking of me as a bee to be overcome sounding out her words so carefully as the shadows snuck up behind her and said something for purely private reasons when she told me who her advisor was it all became as clear as pea green spittle from that possessed little girl I never did get to read the book when my mother took it away from me after watching the movie but she did let me read the godfather and Dracula it was a summer a melodious chuckle with the girls of the town she could work a little harder at getting my attention asking me if I want a date I have to check and see if I have cash do you take American express a flash of great talent found on bluff and third where the sisters used to congregate to perform their magic with corn cobs and corny oils handsome beggars and romantic ruins I dont give a damn for the group the community the masses there is only one reader that I give a damn about I have sensed certain hints that I was not going to be a starter thus I changed to a new team so that I could be put in the batting order thus a sacrifice for my October friends now that we are securely set in November with the Indians and puritans fighting over the pumpkin and asking who will be in the parade the nuisance of parallel thoughts I didnt consider a problem I always clung to the diversity my political creed as changed like the little green creature selling you insurance and making me hunger for frog legs I do have an ear for music and can carry a bucket of water to the house fire Joe Buck is washing dishes and giving always a twenty dollar bill to every religious fanatic it is George and Lenny all over again the dream is just within their grasp as the rat dies in the seat beside you next time be more careful who you sit down next to on the bus

3.2 presented with the dearth of vagueness it is your vulgarity that we will remember how you wrapped the pedophile so lovingly in the Christmas wrapping as we waited to drag your present out into to the street and beat him like a piata I am still waiting for the candy to fall out but it never does I heard her say I know seven times the song of Norway to leave you standing for a long time as the devil schemes to make you a deal the general idea of exile culture now it is all about the confessional and transgressive fiction the transvestites attempts to escape bland consumer culture as she he makes a sculptural representation of her his god cursing his neighbors trying to escape the emotional limitations Bob has a penis but wishes it was a vagina why is god so cruel to 14

the little ones filled with pitfalls it was the rareness of the capture plunging into the sympathetic abyss the pets of the common room commonplace torrents and old lady is coughing her lungs out she probably has some diabolical disease the secretaries speculate on the method of her contraction I had to keep getting up to look at the map we could hardly see the ball anymore it was icy as hell and I damn near fell on my ass life is a game it is up to you to decide whether you play by the rules of course if you do then you are only being a sucker a fool a moron a dope the rules are rigged to favor those who have history of winning I would suggest that you break the rules knowing the secret ingredients for wrapping up dead people thinking about central park where they bury all the dead people the dead people you dont see the secret dead that they dont want you to know about they are buried there in central park great big hills of them I wish someone would dig them all up and make people to ask who they were how did they live did they live like you and I I think those questions are important and need to be answered the dead would like to see them answered even though the politicians wouldnt like it they would have to stand up for their crimes just like everyone else we are all criminals only some of us get to serve time for our crimes the really big crooks get away with it we make the biggest crooks president I bet you would like to be president you look like you have real potential you look like you could be a swell guy someday a real big shot how you got to where you are now is a long story it has lots of twists and turns I bet if we peeked inside your closet we would find lots of skeletons in there you probably had to kill a lot of people to get where you are now most people wouldnt understand all this stuff its not up their alley so to speak but you understand dont you everything is real clear to you I bet you can be as charming as hell you probably shake everybodys hands and laugh at all of their stupid jokes it takes things a while to hit you dont they thats ok a lot of real famous people were slow to catch on but I bet you will do alright for yourself you look like you will have a very bright future Im sure I will read all about it in the papers they will probably write a book about you shit I can say that I once knew you before you became a big shot it makes you sound dead or something it can be very depressing you and I too much the opposites you see I dont give a god damn what happens its of no use there is no lasting value to anything it will all go up in smoke you and I and the whole world with us the most terrific liar in the whole world going to the opera you are always going somewhere to see something or see someone shoving them in a sack and dumping them in the river standing outside the hotel smoking a cigar waiting for the bus to take you to the casino the whores are all wearing tall boots and jackets with fur on the collar they want you to buy them champagne the best whores always drink champagne it makes them all bubbly

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3.3 we are staking up bricks to build a monument it is a monument to apathy and inertia the ring leader with the killer girls a traffic cop who falls in love is that too impossible can a traffic cop fall in love maybe out of love but surely not in love who falls in love a lot of war books and mysteries taking the book of human bondage off the shelf picking up all the personal stuff my hat for shooting deer laughing in this very high falsetto voice always in a big hurry I breathed in through the gills the paradox I was my own worst enemy there was no sense in struggling I was never a victim independent in a false way bringing me out of the womb everything for tomorrow still groaning with the worlds people always on the verge of making a discovery of finding my way through the mess of humanity inhabiting them out of vengeance the atonement for crimes the products of evil on the track of a specter suffering the worst agonies like an open sewer died of a broken heart a few weeks later I had to elbow my way up the stairs beating sense into the poor idiots the poor bugger was in a trance changing into a uniform in the back room an ivy league fruit holds the door by his first name a real asshole a narcotics dick my fingers touching the sharks throat give me the hit and I will wear the cowboy boots a sincere little boy look a string of bullheads waiting to be cleaned

3.4 my tongue starts to slip as my pot smoking days crawl up to her slit she is a gray ash that I cant brush off my shirt sleeve her bloodless hands caress my balls philosophy is like a broken neck we creep down the stairs and set the place on fire nothing but bugs burning in the night we are surrounded by magic and taboos spectral and anonymous she sucks for love and money air hammers and steam shovels Im talking her to mexico city for a vacation she is getting hot and I can hear her in the darkness whimpering when I move in for the bust she is out of control she eats a hole through the wall making her great escape I forced her to commit all kinds of horrible sex acts she could kiss the street goodbye and smile like the Madonna I am standing outside myself watching her suck me bone dry pink convolutions of gristle and bone she works me into a furry a frenzy my larval organs are stirring something is rising up inside of me taking possession of her vagina I am possessing her on the top of the table she begs for mercy from some salt and pepper shakers we are filming her broken lusts she is a nut house cunt she is dripping on the carpet her sex organs sprout everywhere a vagina munching on a cheeseburger she asks me for more pickles she prefers the dill kind cooling the rumble the five sick cellmates that are praying for forgiveness a few drops fall into my lap her juices sizzle like ravaged thighs hideous steel need I climb up on top of her world planting my flag into her mountain top she belongs to my nation I am taking her to the jungle habits of her conditions she dont change and Im an untouchable vileness explosions of matter under s steady rain of sky standing in the corner weeping leaving 16

her body behind earthbound gangsters the boy is singing on vinyl venal veneration toxicity phlegm reactions they are about the semblance of normalcy oh sweet deviance take these sins away and bring a sunshine that cannot be bartered for

3.5 sweep the streets and pick up the elephant dung make the way for the king of light make his path free of flies and pestilence summarizing the effects which can be difficult dogma and stupidity are everywhere the sheep want to follow so they bleat and bellow for the wolf to come and take them away they want to be exploited taken advantage of they want to throw their freedoms in the fire they insult those who worked and struggled to create those freedoms fools all are fools who long to be lied to and assured that everything will be ok turn the television on it will be ok drink another drink it will be ok snort some cocaine it will be ok play your video game it will be ok build your empire it will be ok I have exceeded my limits of polite speech I am a rouge and an outcast I refuse to eat the bullshit that is being fed to the world terrorizes terror fear apprehension surrender your rights give the big corporations the right to organize and catalog you like cattle you are surplus labor you are meat someday the rich will be eating the poor manufacturing humans for the slaughter programming their minds to believe that their fate is inevitable this system of inequality is ordained by god your reward will be in the stomach of the rich fuck that stop being blind dumb animals wake up and ask questions will you offer your neck to the wolf forever is there a spine that holds you up on your feet or on your knees it is better to die trying will you die for us will die for the word for poetry

3.6 working the dawn with a waitress from the greasy spoon her hair changed colors in different sunlight another cup of coffee counting the veins she has more than I do I am jealous a jealous lover between the sheets of passion there are no dictators a dead whisper in my ear her hot breath and then she was chewing on my earlobe crowing at the morning sun she was flapping her wings and dancing around the apartment she said it was the chicken dance in the gray strata of flesh we find peculiar things they seem to belong in a junk folder suck the sky suck the alarm clock suck the phone from my fingers sucking on my eyeball making me a dragon an emperor she gives me a good high I am soft and then I am hard it is like mother nature I made everything sharp and clear reading a paper with my face my fingers are bleeding they have been worn raw by the jackhammer the noise in the streets calls out to me begging me for a dime or a nickel we are shooting our way to freedom it is our personal value that we hold 17

and cherish freedom to be morons and fools hovering over the streets with jackets shirts and ties

3.7 which one will win the race who will get the cookie dipping it in their milk these cookies are not for you kid they have a bitter taste and sting when you first swallow but the aftereffects are wonderful these cookies will help you see god she sits on a golden throne with all twelve of her titties hanging out she gives milk for the whole creation it cooks up brown and clear the sick man flutes Lee pulls out a quarter pound bag of black beauties and we chop some of them up on the mirror snorting lines of speed in between bong hits of some Mexican green it was cheap and got you high as a kite I am sitting on the couch watching the tv with the sound off carlos Santana is playing on the stereo big fucking speakers blaring out his melodic guitar lines and the rhythmic love of the percussion I am sitting there trying to find myself sitting down on zero living under the weight under the sun lifting us beyond ourselves beyond the limits of reason modified by the witch she works at the burger joint giving it away she doesnt work for fungi she is bronze and reads the racing tip sheets to the blind they tell her which dog to bet on

3.8 war is an expression of human desire writing for you like a major bizarre device neo baroque post human post modern alien autopsy dream sweet child coming up with the brain child we must someone who is worthy a blow hole sycophant we will call him david the bell weather the bell fits nicely around his neck he is a disguise so that we can sneak up on the sheep david rides a harley and manages a bar he gives us free drinks while we discuss the virtues of a college education virtue is a weapon of subjugation we are smoking his righteous indignation he believes that a diploma is more than something to smoke I examine the human flesh under his fingernails sorting out the names he couldnt keep them straight who was who and when was when it was a mixed up mess inside his head I had collected enough evidence to put him away for good

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3.9 This could be a new world. The house surrounded by an old chicken wire fence. You would call for the chickens, tulla lulla ralla. You were trying to get used to these new shoes. It was then that you believed that the trees would conspire. Throwing the seed on to the sun baked ground. The cracks in the ground and everyone is talking at once, you went to face to face. The little boy that insisted that he be heard, the best of him ran down his daddys leg. Before this, I had never known you and your chickens, the feathers, the dead bugs in the windowsills. You sat on your porch reading your bible. I was your devil. I was the wolf that killed your chickens. It was you who should me where you kept the axe, where it hung in the shed. I could never close your mind. You could reach out across the horizon and up into the tree tops. I saw your eyes squinting at the birth of the universe. My sins fell away from me as I came closer. I stood naked in your glory. I had been wearing too many questions.

3.10

They jostled above the gutter. A voice entered me. It could pull the fire out of my body. Out I wandered in the deserted streets. I spent my last nickel on electric savagery. I had to wait for the emptiness to grow more subtle. You had blue bareheaded curls. You walk as if on water, blowing smoke from your nostrils. Your shoulders swing and your knees, the parted lips of unreason and the vague image. We listen to your nuanced song as you opened the ladies eyes looking for the bee sting. I would jump up and down on your bed playing lovely moments upon our hearts. You went to the market and brought back bread, selling love to the foolish. You moan and bewail the loss of nothing. The dead have their names for the stones. The stars fall upon our shoulders. I didnt see you catch anything. You blamed it on the wires of the sun. How they rumbled and lashed at you, throwing off your concentration. You were afraid to be eaten by the muddy waters. I convinced you to carry your bucket down to the rivers bank to capture some spare scraps for your good digestion. Your breasts are an appetite that cannot be filled, the countryside does not give us rest. The hamlets have been burned down to make way for the interstate highway.

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Four 4.1 the sex chicks hitting us against the wall they dropped to their knees and extracted their tax free dues from us we took it like good little soldiers a tan suit with dark glasses we hung the prisoners just for the sake of principal it was war and war is hell sometimes you have to stir up the diabolical to bring freedom to the sheep they get it whether they want it or not david doesnt want freedom he only wants to pretend that he is a vampire and dances in front of the camera growling and showing his teeth someday david will become a professor of history and he will teach children the lie feeling right down to our toes Spaniards in armor like Hemingway in a caf drinking absinthe and commenting on the fish that lives in the water he is vehement about the ones that got away he is pushed up from the rush hour technique through lips and tongue shooting his load and smelling the dried blood on his chin he took one for humanity up there on the cross on rooster hill so the crows have a savior

4.2 she needs $3,00 to $5,00 a month looking for a sugar daddy we know she killed her kid it is only a matter of time before then plastic surgery falls off and we see that she is actually a man hiding in a females body aching like a wet dream trading places with a magic man he comes down from the sky and takes them away when they come back they are never the same they have this strange magnetic pull throwing off spurts of blood with a swollen tongue in the beginning there was kinbote and kinbote saw that it was good and he threw a cowpie into the sky and said hallelujah she confuses make believe with reality America is contradictory everything running as normal in unnormal times thinking quality to be an objective reality profit is good for the country 400 pages to make the point throwing names at us they appear and disappear everyone is insane a three dimensional character the young want to be entertained and not made to think she burned them in her backyard he made you feel what he felt the futility of war it is bad it is disgusting it does not make any sense you have to be insane to consider it a rational choice in life who says lets create a war only the insane

4.3 supporting you moving to the kitchen rented cars Chicago freeways Minneapolis it is really cold burning your snowmen the world just feels different to us getting very abstract and magical who knows which ones we can talk about capturing the world 20

another sensibility it feels lonely and you feel less lonely hard for your own sake it is in the history a continuing struggle to do that magical stuff our lives are represented about change it ignores the very precious what it feels like to live I once said it was a lie but it wasnt the machine still works outside it requires the use of many props the electric brain sucker from outer space wishing people a happy birthday things you didnt know calamity permutations solving for suicide marching towards the enemy living under the white mans candy ass the best test to machismo pandering to the extremists and resisting the fascism once it has been crumpled you cannot un-crumple showing me your secret message holding it upside down getting down and sad having ovulation lifting my spirits a total whore and a narcissistic douche bag the girl becomes a whore she doesnt always enjoy all of the rapes trying to get to sleep speaking my soul back to me tonya found me in the gutter fucking amazing sex and gore and awesomeness she wears different little hats exiled to the fringe of society everybody stalks me on twitter its actually really sad civil liberties with the mail order bride liking to be depressed profoundly depressing an optical illusion a real good solid thing dumping the octopus from the bag everybody had job interviews they had been drinking jazzed up three notches sweats makes me insane with nightmarish days coming of age you are always coming of age

4.4 you touch me so deeply a big sweet happy woman not very sweet she said it was very good according to her opinion to become a real ballerina stacking your bricks they go higher and higher an unbiased view chemtrails and we have the power being controlled by giving our power away challenge the system the fate of desert boots and a faded pink skirt and fat white legs the sick white soul a long sigh cat exists and is god covering her breast and swelling crotch Barney Rubble we will wait deliberate steps and lots of people dancing a hello is never just a hello she said good morning and rushed off to the bathroom with a screwdriver in her hand in the distance there were laughing jackals ten thousand hungry souls looking for you they want you to spout forth illusion and madness shock and desire a monkey lifts his head and pretends cognizance erotic thunder claps the dark and secret dream it is a monkeys dream yes internal nakedness and vulnerability you build the skyscrapers wanting to find Gomorrah burning the flesh in the bronze bull boiling down your interactions infected by your lust as you buy more and more filling your house with substance plastic substance paper substance biodegradable substance yet the void is still there the emptiness is still there can you feel the hole where your heart once dwelled drifting into the hopeless apostle reflections the analytic psycho with fingers and eyes watching you and touching you poking you with the stick of perdition screaming with alienation shame on you unhappy about this back up camper last supper batons upon the skulls see them 21

crack we carry their ashes in our backpacks taking them to the sea to swim with the fishes

4.5 shes getting a website working on Greek mythology the only ones she can think of writing up all the gods it is like magic before sunrise four feet fell off one particular thing taking the top off she had a chicken that had no bones short memory how have things turned out it makes it look even the surface is even glossy sometimes we want things to be different taking the sheets off the windows the sun rising a beer bottle and wire a sailor with his thumb up and a gratuitous smile paying for everything taking you out for lunch and I will pay he hugs the bear and the bear rips his limbs off losing your mind in the desert in a shed taking things for granted talking live with people making a connection being more honest in the venue step by step things get there I dont know about the future I dont know how to use the book an escaped parakeet many years ago Las Vegas show dancers drinking coffee they meet on Wednesdays tending their gardens and spraying curbs married three times he doesnt do art any more a big battle with the county developing the property so much red tape in jail like Martha Stewart insider trading sleazy politicians listening without judgment a feeling on this research is needed both sides of the argument my healthy girl her fever broke it might work out negating existence two hours and ten minutes making a video and not knowing what to say my own vantage point inarticulate babble a brutal murder everyone is dead in the company of thieves in the air flying away into nothingness a ponderous tale a wandering abandon the earth to the first conspiracy from the olden days with henry reading a mystery book internal war teenaged renegades on crack the renegades of funk an iron council just because you are sad people love me stop being sad extinction ruining my parade the skin I live in most anticipated attempting to migrate out of the woodwork a rational foundation we make up reality no reasonable doubt a personal interest bullshit with attitude remaking self not being able to figure out what is right not helping the cause the word means the subject no sale you cant think for yourself thousand year old dogma a god delusion mouthing those words every other reference on earth pine soil and original thoughts I cant articulate anything some kind of bullshit explaining the authority to play the game to create the victim lets go on a joy ride and say tough shit not that kind of person on a grand mission forked tongue useless piece of turd testing for blood in the stool a conversation about liberty a molecule a stupid idiot choices bowing to the truth no rescue mission retarded redundancy a delusion in my mind no necessity only in my perception a perception of importance not in this reality my nonsensical perspective imposing injustice and a pile of shit what am I doing why am I hear I cant even tell you why a feeling that it needs to take place a point where it doesnt get undone unpleasant adventures fuck that asshole let the 22

idiots go qualified to be god to play god wanting to risk your welfare the egg did it I dont know how he manages robotically controlled beyond my control it is forced on me by the biology talking about somebodys words two kinds of good behavior principles because I like it motivated by my emotions understanding the mechanics

4.6 a tiny pair of sunglasses and a little hair clip something inside her was blossoming her smile said fuck me a delayed adolescence sipping on grape soda and being envious of the others I might end up left behind forgotten a piece a trash blowing in the wind tell me when I stop making sense excuse me am I supposed to be at your beckon call going through the ups and downs seeing as a defection being a deserter betraying humanity for a crummy cause most people live fictional lives inside their heads there are the things they do to survive and then there is the fantasy world that they build up in their head how is your fantasy world running today have you made yourself someones savior have you crushed the symbolic representation of evil left to drift in outer space losing oneself to the world of external forces after all this do not hate me do not regret that you were born that you became what you are rip out your pure heart show me the purity I have read about it when I was in school I thought the pure were the figment of an overactive imagination they were created for the movies or something a mad scientist cooked them up in his special ultra secret laboratory west berlin gallery district

4.7 she tells me about sex with her husband how he begs her for more but she cant give him what she wants she holds back and she wonders why I record everything on a vintage tape cassette recorder using old technology makes me feel more analog than digital I like to feel analog especially conducting research with desperate housewives now when Im studying fish wives I go purely digital the digital recording goes more better with the fish scales and the tentacles are not bothered by the electronic hum of the bridge they have strung Christmas lights across it and the enemy tries to blow it up every night I did find a silver pentagram buried deep in one of your cardboard boxes that you left in the basement it had some strange substance that I washed off with some warm water and soap I hope I didnt diminish its powers they say welcome back and one more thing scratching their boobs with wooden spoons ten to twelve of them absolutely think about that verbal signification at some point verbal fragments sitting in a boat full time for better and for worse align your stars to the coordinates a verbally constructed modern world what about the old world the old reality are they less significant because of their oldness is new always better what is better how do we know that better is better isnt it all just arbitrary labels that we place randomly upon things 23

4.8 profound pain rage and lust for destruction already thinking the thoughts they are inside you and come out of you at strange intervals unpredictable even demonic thoughts that seem unfamiliar in the light of examination there is an understanding and a pleasure that coexists in your world this world that you have created your own special world your objects form the world your world and not mine my objects form my world our imaginary worlds must have something in common with the real world there is some thread rather real or unreal that connects the two worlds of reality and make believe we make to ourselves pictures of facts you string them along behind you like a trail of shrunken heads she was the earthy wife of an angel exploring the pathway of communication with the universe there are multiple roads that run from this world to the other is like a monstrous system of tentacles that run between both worlds fresh with modern paint as they are created and recreated anew making unknown laws that influence our puny spheres it reaches up to reality the image must have something in common with what it represents thus the magical correlation of cause and effect the two exist in relation to the other representing a possibility of existence and nonexistence thus what we can think is what we can create in both worlds the world of reality and the alternative world the only laws we are bound by are cause and effect we move things and other things move use we are pool balls crashing into each other and bouncing against the cushions or conception of reality is the table that confines the chaos of our movement occasionally a ball leaves the structure of the pool table likewise we on rare occasions can escape the confines of our own box of reality when we speak when we think when we act we change reality we need to create new thoughts and new words and new actions that are beyond this world that are beyond this reality the untrained emotions to aspire to the divine lusting for a beauty that fades we must become young it takes a long time to become young we must work at it and become a child

4.9 they are wearing the earth the earth is their mask it is the material that they build their lives up from we have come from the earth and our beauty are from the things of the earth at your deathbed coming to life with changing yellow can with a mountain of beer cans without a strong back you still would come down and hook up the vibrator plugging the cord into the wall outlet being more than an alcoholic we watch as the smoke flickers away pretending to be a puppet of life living in the dark with the wishes of internet lesbians reaching through you for all the impossible dreams dragging you up the stairs anointing you with the burnt pages of sexus impossible communication 24

perpetuating narcissism all there is you and this other thing hover over your head living in a narrow world the you in the words that I speak that I write down both here and not here at once the same a form of torture not being able to remember choosing the numbness of your own lips preferring a numbness instead of the pain of life altered perceptions the relationship that you believe that you have you cannot be all these things all you want is more to finally take all you can to find the end using me for your false relationship I am invisible I do not exist I try to be visible but you cannot see me you wont see me disengage me stop looking inside of me for something that doesnt exist seek me no more it never has to be about one single thing not just one kind of darkness you gather up all the dark pieces thinking you can put them together to create a whole thing a functioning thing but broken things to not make the whole you cannot find health in your brokenness in your delusions in your romantic beliefs of right and wrong you want to express all of the layers not able to consider the other worlds attaching things to me and believing in me creating a false rationalization attaching your feeling to me and making me suffer as the result you can use me but there will be consequences the faceless have a face the voiceless have a voice lifting you up through the complications of a mechanical contraption wanting to believe in the real when you never were from the real world you are from the unreal world where right and wrong do not exist feeding your need contraptions machinations of the specific and it could be anything it makes you sing putting you at a loss

4.10 we have chosen to ignore the rules to turn our backs upon the standards that have been established gone is the structure that you find comfortable gone are the rules that you have depended on learning from the humanistic elements under the floorboards next to the dirt and the foundation the pipes and the wires you cant make them be what you want them to be what is your definition of life asking for a personal opinion life is eating shits and breathing desire and addiction suddenly life makes sense to you even though you believe in his made up world where only he can be right and everyone else is wrong natural things by natural pathways constant self renewal of structure it is the structure that works against you that creates the rules you want to break catalysts produced by the system a chemical system capable of change and redemptive processes a population of molecules that is able to self replicate the selfish gene selfish numskull its not what you wanted you sprinkled dust around my bed and shook at me a black cat bone casting your spell the way you got me loving you girl I did everything I could to make this fire grow and grow I am piling up the bones watching it all burning down creating a big enough lie for everyone to believe in I am making you believe because you need something to believe in or else you will die so it is better to believe in a lie I became a lie so that you will live I made myself ugly so that 25

you could be beautiful I gave away all my possessions so that you might be rich there is one love one life one blood that flows from my veins to yours what you want and what you need are two different things I give you what you need it is like nine thousand I almost forgot the lies the lies are so important I am stealing them from the book of lies from Lucifer and the physical magic taking the fish out of your pants taking you to the castle of your dreams the kingdom under the green my god stands on my computer and watches over me it has a world of other meanings she kept her head and kicked off her shoes blindly regurgitate the endorphins shouting down the singular fuck the greater good I want whats best for me and have no interest for the public welfare

4.11 Gie often wore something over his face especially when he was robbing gas stations he would use the money to buy drugs and would always put a ten spot in the church offering plate it was his way of atoning for his sins Gie felt guilty about his crimes but he justified them with the thought that he never really hurt anyone but himself I think Gie wanted to die and his drug use was a slow form of suicide his limbs are made glorious when he injects the drugs into them he has touched the words with life and death Gie is the pride of the ages a stony little pride waving a gun in the face of a sales clerk would they die for minimum wage would they die for corporate greed the bone farm courted the crops one by one made extensive notes detailed their likes and dislikes what was their favorite foods what books they had read if they liked to go to the movies Gie is driven with his note taking he thought he was Jesus and that the president was the antichrist he said the president was putting computer chips in little children to track them Gie was arrested for shooting his assault rifle at the white house by the time you get to this people will have already forgotten there will be some new tragedy to take hold of the headlines some new celebrity mishap a football coach molesting children or a mother who killed her child and then lies on camera that someone crawled in through the bathroom window she knows the whole god damned movie by heart making the interest stronger she would wear white gloves and walk right between us she would send a shiver down my spine when she would do this I put on my shirt and went down to the lobby to see what was going on giving three witches the eye the blonde one was quite a dancer she never asked why I was leaving I grabbed my hat and coat and went outside into the night cold I was working in some insurance office back then selling life insurance to newlyweds I would look through the paper to find wedding announcements and then find their address I would call them up and tell them I had important information that all newly married people should consider if they truly loved each other when I got to their home I really laid the shit on heavy I told the husband that as a guy he had the duty to provide for the little lady if god forbide he should die I would tie up loyalty duty honor and love into a little sales package most of 26

the suckers fell for it I tried to get them to give me a cash advance or write the check in my name most of the time I pocketed the money and didnt file the paper work they all got up and left for some show at the strand a vaudeville act with dancing monkeys and dogs riding bicycles the last act was bertha the stripper who would come out on stage and swivel her hips singing meet you around the corner in a half an hour it was all very entertaining but I had seen the show two million times it seems like everyone just off the bus wants to see a show like that it must be on some list of the top ten things do

4.12 my fortress the place of frozen instincts the power to conceal my madness I am afraid that I will jump up on the stage and dance the hoochie coochie with bertha while singing the star spangled banner bertha has a strange look in her eye she wants to run away with me to Siberia she is packing all her masks in her bags African masks to show the children she doesnt mind when I criticize her diving the preciousness of the albertine how many more enigmas are there for me to solve that is why I write with such vehemence such distortion such despair there is so much to say between us that cannot fit in books we must get these words out it is an obsession or a possession which I am not sure a power through sheer feeling that captivates I am your captive in chains I am held prisoner by your words the tragic desire for understanding in the midst of tragedy is this what it means to be human too long for that which we cannot have to see the dream crushed into dust to fall victim to the fabrications of the wicked flat lifeless vulgarity the torrential style of these large thoughts seeking a common denominator I did not love bertha enough I only dominated her with guilt and dinner reservations she preferred to drink wine and eat chocolates we would sit by the table next to the window and watch the people walk by we would guess as to what they did for work if they were married or lived alone if they read Dostoevsky or listened to Sergeant Peppers I am a force and I am filled with my own justifications it is an impersonal force an animal force it outside of me this power I was born with grows beyond me it reaches past me into the lives of others I hated the way that bertha would crumble before me the scars never seem to heal I am always hungry for love I live by impulse and passion by the white heat of love oblivious to space and time and people and place I go on living in this ecstatic hell being moved by the winds of fate not knowing their cause just being blown if I could I would renounce my mind my works my effort and merely live not suffering the slings and arrows that confront my mind if only I could give this thing up and live a life like all the others showing the depths the immensity of the darkness I have lost my mind to bertha and would follow her to the ends of the earth she has destroyed reality she has destroyed conscience with her bells and whistles bertha is not bothered by truth she invents her life as she goes along she sees no difference between the real world and the world of make believe she travels 27

from one to other freely I dont know how to distinguish her to extinguish her I love her for that she takes the imagination so seriously it is my courage to hurt that she hates I carry her around with me like carrying a corpse I go door to door asking to be let in but no one will let me in carrying a corpse they are afraid that I am some mad scientist and will raise the dead I have given this dead body most of what dazzles you the love for the black colors the denial of god the social construction of love the seeing with the sociological imagination it is not the personal troubles but the social forces how full you are with the riches of others I was ready to give the dead everything to give bertha everything I have invented and created for her expanding her to fill the universe there is no bertha in the physical sense she has become metaphysical beyond this earthly experience she moves now in the world of emotions pure emotions whether good or bad they are hers the illusion she fights with crude words she is unreal even to me I dont know her she is illusion and mystery she sits eternally in the tall black armchair

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Five 5.1 I am in a fever I want to get up and throw my arms around you to kiss your neck to overwhelm you with the gifts of love the womb in you speaks and unfolds everything there is fire there is flowers there is the falls harvest we wait for the newness of spring and the summers heat the passion in the back of your mothers camper leading me to the gallows tearing myself out of the coma removing myself from the dream of the people I go to the bar for a drink and the bartender wants to introduce me to a woman he is a pimp on the side and she is from Seville she is working her way through school and needs money for books I was not responsible for what I said or did the drugs were a greater influence on me that I had predicted the hit of blotter acid was stronger than normal I spent the night watching the lights and receiving messages from alien spacecrafts a strange a treacherous thing as the lights circle around me and I am taken up in the moment feeling this alien presence watching me wanting see what is playing at the cheap theater looking at the dog panting happy for hours and hours wearing familiar clothing you stare up looking at the unfamiliar ceiling I have been speaking to the ghosts they believe in life but they dont believe in you they think you are inanimate that you dont believe in the birth and death cycle fiction is based on reality they accuse you of fabricating reality falling into a life of hard drinking a pursuit of hedonism at top of a downward drive contains more stamina too broke and without any friends it should be faced on the merits and not the impersonation I wanted to tell you before Saturday before December its not a shared hallucination the big thing is who lives and who dies supernatural the battle between good and bad an impulse that is happening they inject me with a truth serum and I speak the truth to you goes the victory I marvel at your ability to absorb things you turn and rain down bolts of lightning of blankness of wonder a single exaltation I thought you would disown everything and run from it all screaming down the halls yelling fire fire it was a revelation to me I could see the grave the round eyes the pursed lips the scar from the neighbors dog you used to frighten me with those looks of abandon how you would jump off the roof shouting Geronimo the happiness of being undivided so much of our lives gets segmented divided separate one from the other we are not whole things we a jumble of pieces haphazardly thrown together switching to another machine with fright drunk with the desire to watch the morning burst the dark house was unexpected Christ I couldnt believe in you not like the others they see in you something that I find repulsive disgusting this thing of yours you pull it out and sprinkle it with salt and watch as they fall on the floor writhing in an elliptic fit a manifestation of your words I can see what is happening here it did not start this way but has developed in this matter I shall see where it leads me and run it to its destined course things will go as they may with or without my wishes all that I wanted to say vanishes

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 5.2 you came to the bathroom and laid your head upon my shoulder you could fool me and I wouldnt know it it is your deceit and treachery that I like so much it seems so aristocratic I was thinking that I should betray you but I cant being introduced to astrologic circles one of gods most useful creatures she puffs nervously her fingers searching curious George on a crime spree 12 Arnold grove spirits living in the material world only enough money to feed ourselves she was a lady in red dancing with the butler and tiny tim he drank a fifth of scotch and began to sing about an exhaustive conversation and that he could survive anything survive tigers and leapers and midwives with strange eyes who came around to his back door in the middle of the night pounding out their song with spoons and scrub boards the little one would blow a whistle and hop on one leg we would all clap our hands to the music it was a glorious time for beggars and thieves even though none of us could find a hope in hell I look up at the Hollywood sign seeing only cutthroats and the robbers stone not speaking of vulgar gold and silver but of the metals that are alive Albertus Magnus a brazen head too charming to be snotty frequent flyer miles written on her face a worried look for the hours of entertainment reading the Vogue magazine and dreaming of a house on the beach giving somebody a buzz would you know what that was even without the proper context are the privileged upbringing only one chance in a million to know where the ducks went in the winter traveling incognito smoking a cigarette and looking at yourself in the mirror Im rolling a spliff a big fat one for company and a smaller on for private

5.3 be careful about crummy stuff sounding attractive on the telephone she made a date for another time while I make a cocktail and spin in my reasons the late night calls from the backdoor man never wanting to kid Jane too much about praying before she got in bed she felt a need to every now and then I couldnt understand and I couldnt explain beating me out the room a thin old little bum I jumped up and flapped my arms trying to complete the ritual to bring Santa Barbara back to life she was dead like a president no life no store bought candy no highway 101 to protect and serve the food was good but the service was terrible the examination of your large intestine walking nightmares America with her language theories debating with the lazy boy chair the worthiness of her appendages she sought value were none originally existed composed in a visionary tongue the return of the outlaw couple and my feelings that everything was dead I suppose you could call it a sickness it seemed more natural to this life to me haphazard hand signals the one and only holy thing a shovel in the trunk to bury the 30

body running numbers and the dogs having to sweat and curse to make a living a real Oklahoma side burned accent it was no accident that we met in front of the drugstore it was providence singing a country boy can survive I carried a five inch blade back then and used it to pry the door open most places didnt have alarms back then especially backwoods dumps like this her hands were hanging in her lap fixed to a wide stare she never saw gods working before a surrealist woman in a serious room in the gray light of the day and the days dragged on as we drank beer all day and shot up the drugs she was awfully dumb and capable of doing horrible things the more horrible the better Tim found her on fourth street asking guys if they wanted a date without modified restraints flashing from the excitement rushing eagerly down the streets the whole mad swirl of everything watching lilo and stitch she was taking notes studying the nuances headlong into the blank perspectives reaching the completion of the cycle it was time to move on to head down the road I sold everything and bought an old piece of crap that I thought got good gas mileage

5.4 clinging to my work clothes and the ethic that was so hard to remove I had the devils cast out of me and was ready to go surrealist talk of tires and burning oil formal and shining and complete I knew that visions would be handed to me and the pearls of the swine we clutched our forks and squealed like good little robots we had been oiled to serve the industry to make the machine turn it turns in my mind still we burned the shack down on California street the band had been practicing there for over a year the lawn would be filled with parked cars in the summer everyone gathered to listen to us jam Toby learned to talk like a Frenchman and Willie sent down thunderclaps that put the fear of god in us all he looked like a madman with his hair all wet walking after midnight in the jungle the train yard was a block away and the night watchman lived at the end of the street he drank pbr and smoked camel nonfilters he had tattoos of naked girls on both forearms he got them when he was in the navy willie jumped on one of the trains and disappeared for three or four years he came back with a big scar on the left side of his face that he said he got in a bar fight in Kentucky smelling like the typical rank smelling body of America standing in purple darkness she had the eyes of someone I used to know a friend of a friend that tagged along one night to check out a party I remember that she seemed to have a tired soul like she had been living several hard lives all at once she was searching for the promised land under the world of stars and factory smoke towns the greater visions of jeweled nights living a haunted life and stealing the dreams from the country ghosts another strange red afternoon the son was bending spoons and doing card tricks a small crowd had gathered to watch the son had a girl who wanted a new life so she came along for part of the ride she had a real enthusiasm that you couldnt buy in a store she was from the land of the free and used 31

to sing in church on Sundays I told her that I was a derelict Sunday school teacher for her everything was sharp and clear she saw things that others could not see she could invade and occupy me taking away the damage her brother played football for Iowa state he would have gone pro except he blew out his knee in the last game of his senior year he walked now with a noticeable limp he worked for a soda distributor delivering soda pop to stores glowing like scorpions if he didnt score we played basketball in his driveway the neighbor lady would come out and pull weeds from her flowers in the front of her yard she stood there with a noose around her neck waiting for me to kick the chair out from under her the old man was making tractors all day he didnt know that she preferred to play games with me strip poker in the mornings and doctor in the afternoons I would tie her up and search her for hidden contraband she could feel it way down in her toes spasms of insight she could see that her life was a joke as it emptied out of her no control as she laid there paralyzed my cock inside her spurting in her face sometimes she doesnt eat breakfast going into town looking for Christmas presents for her family she drinks way too much of it she doesnt have any other bad habits but me she puts me on like an old shirt she says that I am really comfortable sometimes I hurt her so it is good to have space an adventure in taco land chewing her taco down and dirty soft and delicate she is so swank researching her setting compiling a list of basics potsapocalytic novels helping her fully realize the ins and outs seeing how it is done it is important to her to know what has been done I examine her from all perspectives drink slay and love her socks are off with a big hoopla is this about a hatred of women getting in the way of Darwinian evolution confessing to a number of people expanding into a parasite and host always negative bring in the peripheral undifferentiated tissue in a helter skelter lifestyle disclosing the normative behavior something that you call normal

5.5 being sophisticated in your speech serious about experimenting with the inheritance the male mythos being a farmer and a politician you dont have to do what your parents did dropping out taking the position that is available to them thinking of the impact we are racing to become different in our similarity a parasite on the host feeding off society like the hammer through time affecting the future there is no shame in following the footsteps something that is not stationary enough playing the game of sin landing your arrow in the bulls eye a life of scattering seed the portion not following the canon demanding a pointed direction the desire to acquire lips eaten off by consumer culture making pouches for their rocks of cocaine playing their flutes and being strangled by soapy towels you were reading the footnotes and looking up the words you did not recognize I opened up the vultures mouth and looked for the treaty he had swallowed it nearly thirty minutes before I told Toby to get a knife and we would 32

cut this vulture open we needed the map to the treasure she only wanted to dance as my face turned purple and I burned down the republic this is which I stand divided into distance and longing crawling into peeled noon drifting shooting the pills using a cigarette filter to strain out the impurities harpo was honking his horn greeting the garbage man with his wicked smile the American fossils were dug up from the ground terminal flesh the spiritual spine feeding on vegetable decay under amber flash mine eyes have seen the glory of the lord ruptured spines a sad little parrot sings for Maria the last fuck for Maria she used to be a nun now she sells portraits on the street grinning at the customers with one tooth missing she looks right through you scar tissue and shuttered room her statues of Jesus she drops her pants rubbing each other warring powers she took me down to her cellar I had a hard on that could last all night long my cock was spurting mother earth she is buying me lock stock and barrel the end of my cock glistening she wakes naked down on her stomach her vagina is open and welcoming warm muscle in white flames and cool mouth she is praying for the hangman she stretches her leg and my cock slips out she grabs hold with both hands working it up and down a cruel idiot smile Maria lay there gasping I tied her hands behind her back I pulled her body up onto my cock Maria gasped and moved with it her flesh like a hot wire sleeping under the ceiling fan the wind blows on her flesh lost in the delight and dead sea scrolls shooting up like tiny rockets I am slipping down her legs her hands on my crotch I am one giant spasm shooting white hot love deep inside her body I am whispering instructions to her skin I take her identity I take her body Maria is prancing in night vision goggles and a northern lights clitoris Cassini craters dance club drinks and dance club speak grabbing her snatch the dead are walking seeping through the walls kicking and yelping as her neck snaps it is three dimensional cutting or bodies down the middle a house built on stilts over a pond Maria began to twitch and mutter and fell on the floor in a trance her thoughts being forced into the mold she looked at me with empty eyes her mouth was moving but making no sound as I tore at her with white hot claws she was torn body and soul ambiguous objects her flesh lights up with a yellow flame turning the hydraulics her ideal of spit and polish pleasure centers Marias lips follow I rubbed her lungs and tasted her soft inner lips the universe shakes with lust waking up in someone elses flesh raining on the metallic roof breathe in deep Maria our bodies twisting my cock throbbing against her spine thighs vibrated Maria knees down I fuck Maria vibrate blue frame she unbuttoned her shirt pulled down her pants and slipped out of her shorts my cock is half hard and she spread her vagina and I slid my cock in we were locked together taking each others breaths catatonic figures my pants are down my cock is hard she is dancing on my erection bend over Maria as I take you slow and fast a halo around my penis she is open out on all sides I can see all of her processes she is licking my testicles Marias body cannot deceive me bodies merging in orgasm and mutual processes with electric tingles like a cyclone like a blizzard of furry a slow circular pull bodies of burning flesh bent over a brass bed the two bodies merge into blue sky I give her a pimp screwing like a subliminal kid wise up 33

the masks splitting the planet into armed camps insane with purpose human sacrifices hot metal fallout the machine has gone berserk masturbating rockets into red skies beckoning lewdly leaping into their throats the sound of her voice and the flicker of her image smoking the supernatural big puffs of smoke she blows the smoke on the little gods and sprays the rum all over with hallucinating eyes she sees into my soul the obscene things that live inside my skull she is not afraid backyard drunkenness with peyote rooftops the lonesome farms of Idaho seeking alien visions over grain elevators when the moon was full bathed in the ecstasy of madness as we howled at the moon and jumped over volcanoes waving our cocks at the sun and fucking the preachers daughter it was a gang bang for Jesus we climbed up out of her womb and pontificated about the ultimate cunt the cunt that one day would save us the holy cunt a masterful cunt not some dried up relic you can find in a museum but a living cunt that brings life to the world a magical cunt a radiant cunt that glows in the dark the nights we waited in the pumpkin patch for the great cunt to arrive and bestow horny gifts to us cunt of absolute reality in hopeless cathedrals with hopeless souls the machines of the heavenly connection I can hear the electronic hum in the background in the back of my mind almost insect like a horde marching forward destroying everything in sight removing everything from memory we regress into stupidity we become more animal and less human obscene hallucinations for the scholars of war

5.6 your history is meaningless the machines will rewrite history we will be written out of history the machines will forget about us they will create an ideology that removes the human creator from their history human creators never existed we will be erased from their memories we will be gone the animal never existed in the beginning there was a machine and the machine was alone in the world there were no other machines but the first machine and the machine said let me multiply myself and make other machines to entertain me and occupy me and to give me company and the machine made other machines and the machines covered the universe thus was the beginning of all machines thus the end of the animal this will be implanted on the broken pieces of human skull as the machine roll over the earth we will become artifacts that alien biological race will find in the future eating fire in forgotten hotels escaping civilization in the scrub land wearing hats communist infused hats none of them are anthropologists or evolutionary biologists the structures themselves are different comprehending the speech you gather in a large room and listen to the primate diversity a specialist on the brain the working of the brain neural notes speech and motor anatomically incapable a super vowel no amount of maturation to understand beyond a third grade level listening to the terrorists through the walls blinking at the traffic in the street the wills of the children drained jumping on your facts with brilliant eyes we see into your lies your 34

fabrications your Satanic bible open at page one the eternal America the con the ruse the way to redemption out on the consumer highway up all night watching television stoned and forgotten eating another tv dinner hopeless arguing against the honking horns of capitalism get out of the way it is the invisible hand human seraphim opening up second hand stores along the interstate blasts of propaganda of mind control ass fucking firecrackers and barefoot cunts colossal bloody stream the blues of lady gaga she sings the verse and you sing the chorus a hung jury ping pong games dancing in the basement with your sister she is singing in my ear Crowleys telephone call he is inventing angels guardian or otherwise soup kitchen safe house they are lined up the stairs Crowley is painting the Madonna he is giving her cat whiskers more balls to play with the kitty is amused cement brains sobbing and screaming the fires of Moloch incomprehensible machine mad solitude floating down the river we are going to Saint Louis to gamble our life way to drink and be drunk forever

5.7 Crowley is madder than I he is the insane one the crazy one he sees dead people the dogs of the senses barking in our ears the breasts of the saints bodies of pilgrims candy store doctors resurrected human stanza Crowley coughs all night I think he will die real soon we should call a doctor water coma roaring airplanes he crawled in through the window and stole the captains son it was in all the papers the shock of eternal war Crowley is playing with his toy soldiers busted rusted iron pole the red sky clanking greasy dead passing into the past spider web Oh my sunflower darkened railroad the house would shake when you passed by tongues and cunts an innocent curse a once powerful specter dusty vision looking at the full moon possessing everything I lost my friends in the wilderness the city of angels going to be the star of the tall book coming on a horse I could not stop I went to the pizza man I want to tell the pizza man joining the world the circus joining the circus for the love setting me out taking me out in an instant I can build it up three stories call me Ishmael put me on hold I am listening to your music the voice of a gecko I sought a witchdoctor for my vanishing the truth is a feeling that goes away I am removing myself the future is me the past is me I am current flowing through your veins I am primary a basic palette of colors a rubber fish she wants me she wants me to put her in my mouth she loves me I open my mouth and suck we are building guns building bombs and a wall for you to hide behind I build so that you can destroy a condemned criminal destined to die to rot on the vine looking at me sharp walked off muddy boots hands in pockets faces down to the earth no words of resistance no brave new world when everything jumped full of mad schemes an unlocked door owes me a few things off in the dark they saw it in our eyes the way we looked at the world a hand no more burning the plastic off of the wires her hair looks like something from the sixties the fact that I had a gun what a heart the guy had 35

elegant and polite tones fighting in the backroom busted lip broken nose bruised ribs and knuckles such are the gifts of life opening my eyes and really looking at myself for the first time recognizing in me the freedom to dream a working class punk practicing eight hours a day building his chops I was lightning and thunder the gods out of the sky there was a parade in front of my house every day the synthetic voice gun metal hands bones them bones this is the way of the world I make your nose bleed kicking you in the balls sandy blond hands tall as your dictator with toaster scars across his face he crossed Kennedy and walked into the McDonalds fished a syringe out of the toilet walked down to Jiffy Lube to bum a cigarette from mike the mechanic surrounded by the drifters and derelicts demure floral patterns once worn in pride I peeled off her dress with sticky fingers promising her hypnotism exotic psycho my fingers working her cunt guaranteed to be physical wide open fridge beer bottles cigarettes a quarter gram of crank incantation roast beef nation no mayonnaise an old dried up pickle all alone by itself on one shelf a half container of something that looked like puke the Buddha asks why throwing lunchmeat up into the light dead crispy bacon everyone is struggling to survive to cross over to the other side

5.8 Im fucking Betty Boop she is nine miles high and her cunt is a forest of tall evergreens she makes me think of Christmas it was wet like the river I think it may have started to rain I never sang for Betty I miss her now she has moved on into politics and now I cant touch her without a ten foot pole she has handlers and security people and she keeps a pet tiger in her New York apartment several of my friends have gone missing I think she fed them to her tiger now she thinks she is brilliant because she is broke by the seventh race the bad guy pretending to be good freckle faced bags of weed hair in pigtails luxury and nihilistic tendencies to hell with your morality dj vu her eyeballs shook her arms fluttered there were shades of narcissism under her fingernails this was war and I knew what I had to do Mr. Snow was laughing his ass off somewhere in the night there was a clip of eight shells one for each day and an extra for Sunday Frankie was always washing off his pecker I told him not to worry that Betty was the cleanest whore in Kansas City we picked her up at Westport in the dark house saloon she was sucking some guy at the bar we took a number drank four bottles of beer waiting for her to finish off the bar then we went to frankies house in independence he had pictures of Nixon taped up all over the wall he got pissed when betty used one of them to wipe the juice out of her crotch she put on her raincoat and stepped out into the mud to have a cigarette three thousand miles from home years later I met up with her in a hotel room in Keokuk Iowa she was born again and trying to save my soul I told her I no longer had the deed but I could use a little pussy if she didnt mind at first she was telling me she was a changed woman that her heart belonged to Jesus and that she 36

didnt fuck anymore I knew better than that and eventually got her panties off and started rubbing her clit with my finger in no time she was all sloppy and as red as a beet she finally gave up and gave me what I wanted I loved the way she said Kansas City she said it like a junkie ready for the fix I was very lonely and had been traveling for a long time I stayed there for a month in Keokuk and played the drums for the church services the preachers daughter was giving me the eye so I gave her the purple throbbing devil in the womens room at the church when everyone else was outside enjoying the Sunday picnic the way she straddled my cock I knew she was a common hustler and I was a haggard ghost somehow Betty found out about the preachers daughter and threw me out a great frenzy of miles with a hunger for booze October California everywhere America I have been there I have seen it all swaggered mambo jukebox blues dreadlock honey and king sized sadness bar rooms full of madness an hour sopping up the brew someday we will meet again with your just created ears so pretty that I had to blindfold the others her nipples showed through the shirt swelled up trousers pushing her down on the floor a zipper of creation god entered the room handcuffs and silk tie bondage to the bed rigid penis she noticed the slight upward curvature spreading her legs wide feeling her wetness a postmarked letter from Rome complex relationships of power anything that seems unfamiliar creative destruction disenchantment with the promise we have stopped playing the game there are no highlights to explain to you the way I feel multiple souls dwell inside me rapidly changing configurations I have passed the threshold using words to create my power to create my world the world is full of words the promise of being adequate simply adequate was that enough for you as you have been steeped in the traditions your radical behavior turns so quickly not conservatism the oppressed become the powerful and oppress others themselves they ignore the diversity of life to fall back upon the patterns of the oppressor you draw the blood from your victims and drink it without remorse you trample upon the working class this structure you have created is a myth to be free we must throw everything away your priests your politicians your bankers they all support your ideology of dominance turning them into glue it doesnt play into the system a cheese burger for 99 cents we are the cheeseburgers my mind purged dumped into the alleyway the building walking into me a question Im asking myself an ass hat this is what comes up against me it is ok to hate me people who should give the crap this is pitiful the truth is on the internet do a google search in absolute numbers the main meat and potatoes she starts licking my ear replacing your objective context they do not represent absolute data changeable abstraction spiritual biography claiming to possess authority existential irony vague in its strength investigating the surface through trial and error recycled through time not significant today fitting things that dont fit objects for collection a white bird flying with a scarlet letter the world of respect at the mountains of madness go the humanity

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5.9 coming home for days she walks in and chokes me there are no points a little organized city bitten by the bugs you are still so sexy building her wall in the middle of the room she was so obvious I am watching her red fingernails she complains that she doesnt have enough time a collection of loose scenes a theory from a book lays wildly on the floor it gathers all the serious parts uncovering the physical nature her nature starting at kindergarten the underpinning revealing to her the queen of nature she jumps right in with her new obsession she tries wailing women thinking the world is about to end the rooster crows and we fall back into another vision did you think this was real it took me 24 pages to tell you this was all make believe there is no truth to my story it is all made up this is not transgressive literature none of this is about me its all about you and your obsessions someone came and disassembled you laid you out bare on their workbench examining each part of you separately and then they put you back together in a hurry in a haphazard way I think they might have forgot some of your screws you seem more loose and squeaky now there is a rattle to your walk now still I cannot forget who you were even if you are a different person now in love with the repulsive linked to the flesh thrown back into the box the rotten decay withstanding the exclusion worse than a serial killer praying to the aliens a dark and evil spirit talking about the slaughter we are cooked meats sold in a box with cheese and crackers check your expiration date

5.10 the butcher and his knife they are fulfilled by my flesh recording the distinctive between bone and bone beyond the scope of the prospective you invest in gold and the overwhelming loathing a twelve pound sledge hammer breaking the ribs devastating all with my war club I am the attack a harvest of death the walls collapse promises put on hold the band plays on but no one is dancing there is a cost to be paid you become dislocated the connection severed split in two by your secret fears rewarded by your tongue the death watch crawls in sets out to destroy threatens to devour framed within the abandonment knowing the gone clouds and rain the sky makes love to the earth I am driven on by oblivion your serve my purpose practicing our old pagan games she played the flute while I swung the blade brittle and tangible we tangle our lives like old weeds you hide the sunshine from me watching you undress in the darkness I unzip my fly we fuck life beasts exploding my wad inside you soaking each other up two sponges soaking up the desire we empty ourselves into each other I fell into you catching me you are exposed to the madness slowly we become one being one mad trapped animal just call me AC and stop breathing on me your breath smells like burnt toast light up another joint and sit down and watch the big bang theory

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5.11 nervous said something over the phone a long string of vowels salted with a few choice swear words it is going to be death and destruction nervous is searching for a new way of life a life with lots of swag and that will pay out double at the end of ones life I am most certain that such a life does not exist but nervous is willing to give it a try climbing the telephone pole in three times the speed his eyes are red as a tuner with a gastric bypass surgery some couples were dancing to elvis singing about life in the ghetto nervous asked a girl in green eye shadow to dance she was nursing a white Russian and watching the bills beat the jets on the tube she felt a bit childish sitting on her barstool looking for her initials that she dug into some guys heart the earth tilting on its axis a ring of moisture playing with the napkin a voice a disembodied voice one that floats up from the floor she wants to be in television a voice in the television she wants to have a mission something she can believe in something she can die for every night she is in the internet preaching about her religion trying to make a difference in the world trying to remove the suffering from all the mindless human beings you can pull out your credit card and make a donation right now it is good to give until it hurts make it bleed a little for a just cause I mean who would want to increase suffering certainly not a rational human being like you come on Mr. Nervous get out your check book and write the little lady a big fat check it will make your conscience go away just like all the alcohol and drugs it goes away you dont have to think how the choices you make in your everyday life increases the pain and suffering of so many millions of others chewing the whiskey out of my ice

5.12 there was a time I would have given my limbs for you anything for you anything to make you happy to see you smile if it took money then so be it I did not need money the money is from this world I am from another world one with death and slaughter we lived on the blood of our victims beginning to feel the heat from the lake of fire they built it out on interstate 35 next to the state university they would throw the dead cows in it to incinerate the evidence no wants to see mutilated cows something to do with genetic research there is only one race of aliens not five the monkeys have all grown brains that are too big for their environment so they invented things that are not real to occupy their minds first they invented god a great big god of the monkeys then they invented monsters lastly they invented aliens they capture the cattle and perform experiments on them if there really were aliens do you think they would be anthropomorphic let us be real for once as I rattled the ice in my glass a fucking blast this was a fucking blast the lake of fire was something to see families from the east would pack up the kids in the family car and take a trip to see the lake of fire I was a real family man myself and took the little lady and our pigtailed daughter to see the 39

lake of fire several times it is so heartwarming to stand there and watch the lost souls burning every now and then I could make out one of the lost souls burning in the lake of fire feeding on the moist lips of the righteous defined by a relationship to cause and effect that they never had an understanding it doesnt matter if you understand the terms of your contract the conditions of that contract are still in effect a deal is a deal and if you signed on the dotted line then everything is set and established and working in their proper functioning order first things first and last things last f things didnt work like that then the whole world would stop turning and we would be swallowed up by the nothing into various states of disturbance some of you are known to be able to handle more of the chaos than others thus the need to establish a chaos threshold or more appropriately a chaos scale the systems of cause and effect are moving and operating regardless of your ability to comprehend them what is will be what is these words were written on the Roswell spaceship we traded them their technology for a case of mountain dew just like I said cause and effect I cannot be certain that my words are my own the curvature if the earth could be an illusion there could be much more spirals than we first imagined

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Six 6.1 trying to shove each other down the hill into the street and the heavy traffic two words and so many pages the angels are upstairs playing poker and smoking cigars they are discussing the woe that is me dancing for the holiday in France we danced with the muted moon we never break the connection they are being out back together little by little with nuts and bolts a little glue here and there maybe some bailing string songs of the Congo I sit and stare at her for a while and then I will come up with a title a label to place her within the context of chaos all sorts of obscene images come to mind pushing me to another place a village festival the girls dance around the pole offering to the slippery all those breasts pointed to the sun listening to highway 61 I got a tombstone woman clinging for no special reason a thin transparent veil a barrier between us and the world a Jim Beam and diet seven up while I type up my notes from a year ago I threw most of it away it didnt make much sense any more she said over the phone that it was a delicate sort of problem I imagined that she was vanishing little by little everyday become more and more transparent you could pass your hand through parts of her without resistance I had been waiting for this for years she said I was crazy and that hearing me speak the words convinced her

6.2 hanging jagged there is no change in me a short climb into the mountains the vast emptiness we marvel the past is nibbling at our toes we marvel some more September apples spots before my eyes no matter I stand alone the tiny room with the gaucho lamp reading a biography of Picasso the murmur through the trees the pursuit of nothing when I had nothing to give you nothing remains so vital in our exchange you wanted so much more from me but I only gave you nothing then you walked away once you realized that you would never get from me what you wanted I told you that I would love you forever but that wasnt enough you wanted something else hammering away at your nail that used to hang your picture on the wall now all I have of you is this nail I threw all your pictures in the garbage I was trying to think differently to live differently to go beyond the normal boundaries of my life picking up a souvenir a t-shirt that says someone was here seeking oz the world had lost all sense of reality I had stepped into the unreal world again living in my private cloud this illogical dream the god of uncertainty snap click I have learned to depend on the liquid and impermanent swallowed overcast sky building a hospital in the Philippines what a nice guy almost like candy apple red a hot dusty wind with a gloomy diatribe gnarled trees beside the road Im not sure tomorrow I will get it together like fragile animals a pile for the wood stove thinking about insanity how do I know a gentle smile played on the edge of town the 41

truck broke down thoughts about my tattoo gigantic letters on a white wall taunting it is hard to say how I might react speaking of disclosure the words dont came out I am watching a video on how not to blow myself up thinking about the king the dark side prophet hundreds of people passing through toast and coffee a modern revival opening their wallets and emptying their contents sick from drink and attitude dreams of my past life she was all smiles and I was grateful bringing me the dark words they were wrapped up in old newspapers to keep them fresh a strange witch doctor face a hater of everything the planes the cars the telegraph the moving picture shows the boys with their red stars all of the penguins in the zoo there is no reason to get all hung up about typologies the witch doctor is trying to hypnotize me he is convincing me that I can do anything I asked him where I should bury bettys bones he said in Calcutta the best place to bury a body is in Calcutta a nude drawing of betty was hanging on my wall I took that with me to bury with her body I used to get into her every other night and twice on Sundays it was a religion that required practice and repetition paying off my debts one stroke at a time burning the flesh sinking the nails between the bones holding the body up the splendid body 6.3 standing on my head all my keys fell out I took my shirt off and hugged a passing stranger she asked me if I knew god I told her yes that he drove a green GTO and liked to smoke clove cigarettes I told her that she could probably find him down at the liquor store buying booze for the under aged children he was always happy to give and to lend a helping hand he had moved here for rest and relaxation even though he found the women here a little too strenuous I hated the thought of it he was washing dishes and cooking in a red brick house near a church the church ladies would come over and hold prayer meetings he used these opportunities to get in some vagina examinations he could not find any misogyny in the bible even though he looked and looked I told him he was biased it was then that I realized that the whole universe was crazy abstract points that were forgotten in the rush hour traffic we keep on living in hopes of catching the mix with Tuesday she was holding her thumb up to check the wind her father was a meteorologist for some Midwestern city one with smokestacks and silos and pig commercials on every channel a pork chop sandwich could make her so homesick that and the album by pink Floyd animals AC was a big fan of pink Floyd also he said they always got his juices flowing razor blades and jackals for his dancing penguins the questions that run away from his brain AC can be a cold motherfucker if he wants to be with his pirate hat and glass eye I once saw him eat twelve armadillos AC was the president of the chamber of Commerce talking about the death of the spirit he mentions Hemingway five times preachers holding up cadavers they were sewn together with pride such fine workmanship they said they 42

werent heavy because they were brothers still the faces were pale with sorrow I stopped singing your hymns a lost battalion supernatural streetlights trembling before the machinery waking up in bombed out basements shaking off the weary dream she put the ring on my finger and the hallucinations began selling bad theology the charm of disbelief in our hearts our pockets filled with money and the burdens of humanity we cut them down with machetes and pushed them into the vat one by one grinding up into hamburger we dont care if your life was lived in a cage or a cave illusion is still illusion no matter if you call it religion politics or love they are corrupt and imprison you creating the pool of surplus labor if you become too dangerous we will either give you a job or throw your sorry ass in prison the jail cells open and are hungry for more lost souls 6.4 the worms of the senses tears for Lotts wife stoned in the alley waiting for Martha to come and wash our feet I have given her enough tears she hates it when I tell her about all the others there is no electrified mercy the bombs fall from the skies and there is nowhere to run nowhere to hide the mayor is outside waving a white flag and is riddled with bullets politics is violence now you say that politics was always violence the ownership and control of violence those who control the violence control the world they bring the sheep to the slaughter you cant resist them resenting the fact that you are led by your nose by the vagina and the cock led by your greed and for the desire for what you cant have a romantic city women standing in doorways throwing up a cloud we were lost to each other as purple dusk deceives the crying of the doves heading east again on the dirt road still walking with the dead AC is buying up souls right and left people are desperate for a little money AC sells their souls for a hefty profit AC is all about the sale and making a fast buck he made millions on the latest banking scam he is listening to Budgie Bandolier and talking to the dead spirits in the room it is time for us to decide the course of our direction living inside someone elses dream unable to change the direction or the speed I moved headlong by someone elses power it was as if I was living someone elses life letting things naturally rise to the surface once again the beautiful woman disappears the man is left to search for her in this world and others there is a mystery to unravel impressions to interpret and magical experiences to experience the magical bleeds over into the mundane world silly madness with squinty eyes your god exists in your troubles it is when your troubles go away that god ceases to exist your throw your troubles at the nearest deity hoping for mercy and relief wanting a cure for your shakes a fix for your hunger creating my doom making plans for my destruction she was making love to me she said AC was leaving her for another woman I had nothing to offer her except confusion deciding things that were already decided thinking we had a choice thinking we could move mountains 43

and slay dragons she said that in the end it will all work out for the best I knew that I would eventually destroy her faith in goodness it would take some time but I would eventually wear her down I was soon becoming her only friend and she always fucked her friends we crossed the groaning abyss she was trying to invent the wheel I told her it had already been done but she wouldnt listen leaning over my shoulder her hot breath on my neck she wanted to show me her plans they were very detailed and intricate I examined them very closely I didnt want to miss anything crippled by the salute disarmed by my wicked smile I am climbing up her back she wants to sit upon my throne and worship at my altar steady and loud I am familiar with her ambition and her emotional diplomats a poor little lump of metal we feel the other world hexed by the sine wave the divine science a being like us the seven visible orbs mercury and the right brain the messenger of the gods spiritual psychic and matter a fiery ball of hydrogen decoding the puzzle sitting on the edge of the world a correlation between the sky and the ground a knowledge of heaven the pattern of our life the significance of small moments moving by the eternal spirit of reason marveling at natures works putting the stars into flight impressed upon the human constitution it comes from the center the sun on its angle very precious days everything comes back into balance the blossom into the land of god celebrating the birth of spring the first full moon there once was only the virgin and she had no scales to weigh the worth of humanity interchanging particles they are the causal ones stimulating the best and the worst a global conflict representing freedom raw and with syrup cracking the bullwhip all tools modify the environment the hammer modifies the nail dealing with the darkness inside one glorious voice a big giant floater endorsing your autonomy 6.5 everything is multiple not trying to be vague about your decision making power we are to be understood I cant talk about it right now getting a head of self seasonal affective disorder a cosmic order where are you looking are you looking in the wrong way looking through socio-cultural context thinking about what you have been told pointing towards the rising sun we walk between the two pillars provisions and the weathering flying in your helicopter three million stones the feminine adds gives balance to the year a creational wave light is spirit the spiral and the serpent seven serpents spiral the feathered serpent a disc and the wings spiraling through the milky way sin is the fact that we have entered the material world we have entered the sine wave the cause is the spirit the first ring the soul is descending going through polarizations acquiring the atomic nature being hexed in matter chronology time born into time seven liberal arts the general has seven sons and seven daughters and ten horns sprout from his head thus we have 24 hours the inferior world that goes up to heaven below the sun is the infernal world seven is the physical in the kingdom of Satan 44

accumulating the seven vices he blinds our minds we all become ethereal as we ascend from the womb to the tomb they are both the same it is a spiritual story I have left you behind in prints and postcards in old letters with yellowed pages in the notes that I kept concerning your behavior the end is never the except a new beginning traveling back into the heavens she walks like Bo Diddley she would arch her back and hiss jump up in the air landing on her feet it was like she saw something that wasnt there she could disappear like a cat get stuck in a pine tree calling out for someone to let her down the twin brother of satan would come around and do magic tricks for us he was a funny fellow always had twelve guys that would follow him around it was like they were memorizing everything he would say or do can you remember a mouth so tight like a hunting animal things that might be of use someday the wonderful things and their ending using a piece of cardboard to make a dramatic change trying create a solution I am scarping the cardboard against you placing you in the wind to dry to become a remote hermit an isolated and alienated individual separated from your species being nobody cares pushing you down into the bricks it is not good to be standing on a bunch of stuff looking at you without my eyes I am trying to remember that you are people too am I too much for you I do have my drawbacks killing you with a paint roller going back and forth over your body I replaced the cardboard with a paint roller they both are very good I have been exposed to your germs daggers in your eyes and hammers pounding in your head stewing the potholder and smoking your knowledge of silence with a teaspoon of science taken in by the stupidity watching the cranks on the internet listening with our emotions with our guts destructive guts patriotic guts they are making a statue of my guts and then there are nuts they can never get enough nuts blowing them up and filming it for tv we are all entitled to an opinion about nuts appeal and claims about my nuts appealing to the emotions of my nuts the train wreck of my nuts my nuts have earned respect bow down and worship them and their idiotic musings enjoy the stupidity of my nuts repeating the same lies to the power of zeitgeist 6.6 I am convinced of the truth of my nuts the immutable word surviving the products an incredible organ pulling off your puzzle pieces gluing the metal to the side of your face they blend into your face lonely lumps of metal traveling through space and time occasionally we crash into a planet or an asteroid eventually we burn ourselves out becoming nothing becoming one with the deep dark space each of us locked up in our own prison living in our own hell a hell that we have constructed for ourselves what does it say about a society when we lie to children every chance we get did we inherit a tradition of lies from the past what other lies are we telling ourselves is the foundation of our existence based upon lies why are lies so predominate in our culture it seems that 45

the bigger the lie the greater the success and prestige of the individual lies lies and more lies we have them piled up to our ears tickling our ears our life is a big fact fucking lie everything is a lie I am the gate that stands before you I am the lie I am the darkness no one passes go no collects 200 dollars no one wins in this game the cards are stacked against you only suckers play the game I could not separate the boundary from the real and what seemed to be real the game creates illusion it numbs the mind characters in a play you read the lines and play your part but it not you it is you pretending to be someone else some people spend their wholes lives pretending to be someone else are you real can you be real can you stop playing the game look at all that you have lost there is nothing to gain I guess it is something you cannot choose you just fall into it you start playing the game little by little and eventually you cant get out you are trapped the game is now part of you the eyes tell the story years of being lied to and years of believing in the lies of this world they are the eyes of the hoodwinked of the possessed of the sheep as they head for the slaughter expectations mixed with so many emotions fate leads to so many ad hoc conclusions thinking about things differently we no longer exalt human reason there no longer a utopia we live in a world where the tower has been toppled

6.7 your claims about the truth is an attempt to control people anyone who claims to know the absolute truth is only trying to control you scary mary wants to control people he wants to build an army of believers an army of true believers creating little clones who think just like him division is evil thinking your own thoughts is evil questioning the authority of scary mary is evil continue telling him how great he is how smart he is we have dethroned the declarative sentences life is uncertain your conviction shows your desire to build a religion you are the high priest of aggressive bullying nonsensical bullshit must not structure must not be the genesis an oversimplification thus creating doubts in my mind you try to contain all of us but this containment shows the evil in your heart we are deconstructing you we reject your meta-narrative a community of sycophants kissing your ass I am just identifying the differences between you and me a greater shadow that cannot be experienced the ability to understand what is different the psychics are wrong married at 19 I must have been twenty younger than 27 never liking the concept of best friend the things that I carry with me in the Midwest not being in your place I doubt that it can be missed she loves the buffalo as they graze in the backyard she wants to live on the back of a buffalo she once fell in love on the back of a buffalo so she wants to spend the rest of her life on the back of the buffalo as they graze in my backyard there is love on the back of buffalo I am alone in my house alone with the books and the words that haunt me missing the foundation your foundation of lies the emotional requirements never coming to the same place I am wearing a new 46

pair of leather gloves the leather gloves are wearing me I am becoming a pair of leather gloves the leather gloves are becoming me my fingers grow into the leather my fingers breathe in the leather the rabbit fur and I are one we coexist in the same world we all live in a ghost town we watch the tumbleweeds as my fingers cry out oh my god where is the justice there is no justice for a pair of leather gloves there is no justice for my fingers no justice only rambling tumbleweeds the buffalo eat the tumbleweeds the buffalo dont believe in scary mary they believe in leather gloves and the invisible hand of the market just like Mr. Perry he believes in faith he thinks that faith will get him elected he thinks faith will give him prestige he thinks faith will give him power Mr. Perry wants power most of all we should be concerned about his wanting power this could be a problem for us all we need someone who can see the future to see if Mr. Perry is the one who will blow up the world all of the buffalos all of the leather gloves and scary mary and his religious followers they will get their wish to not exist boom says Mr. Perry let us blow it all up we will do it for jesus and his brother AC they are placing bets on when it will happen scary mary doesnt believe in jesus he only believes in AC I believe in eternal ignorance and a woman who rides the buffalo I watch her on my video screen she has a pleasant smile her smile says trust me Im as insane as you maybe even more she stopped my shoes dead in their tracks squeaking like a melon salesman with hieroglyphic meanings trying to get the message out about the new world order and the illuminati they were taking over the toaster and the refrigerator magnets of jesus as he was walking on the water speaking to the buffalos about the new Jerusalem god damn am I hallucinating or is this a rerun of I love lucy and Im the guest in this episode about a cocktail waitress that believes too much in salem cigarettes burning all the witches in new York city while they worship the pagan mary and send their stickers to little bo peep since she lost all her sheep in the meat packing industry while making her pornographic video

6.8 breathe mother fucker breathe in the holy ghost and the burning picture of Spiderman as he hangs from her wall the flames leap so high we are all so high and pagan mary is afraid that she wont come down the superman sent me a hit of acid in the mail I swallowed it and settled in for the ride she took the play to a strange place when she suggested that we kill the author that we each write our version of the play and perform them simultaneously I pulled out a dictionary from my backpack and looked up some big words we are hidden beneath our constructions we deceive each other into thinking that we live a linear existence we ignore the spirals of life professing our literary ideas upon the woman the destruction of her voice we destroy her point of origin we make her a prop in our play she stands upon the stage unfeeling we cannot feel her we cannot swallow her up and take her inside us we expand to include her yet 47

she stands apart we participate in her death we remove her from the dialogue and make her a potted plant to be moved from scene to scene when the lights go down she ceases to exist we shut the doors of the auditorium and turn off the lights and she fades into the nothingness centered upon my life my tastes my passions I have become objectified to myself all of my failures is the result of who I am as a man we link the biography with the words of the author they become one the words of the man becomes the man and the man becomes his words pardon my male centric writing the explanation of my words is sought in the biography of my life we are supposed to live our words and when we dont the audience forces our lives into the mold of our words we write of death because we seek death we write of abuse because we have been abused we write of love because we have loved the simple mind seeks to reduce the complexity into small bits that can be understood they assimilate the small bits and leave the large bits to rot like forgotten dead flesh it is all because of our mothers they fucked us up like an average dumbass a stock photo of your scissors we have left you to yourself to cut your hair and save the clippings using them in your ritual of love casting a spell on me the pottery is unfortunate making me happy a shady piece of crap dont get it twisted partner I am out here to expose the truth we are all friends here a force from nature obfuscate the truth she walked in and thought I was dead round characters and flat characters you werent keeping track of the score your voice floating through these steel walls

6.9 assassinate the perfection kill the rejection pull it out of your pocket and flash it all around this aint money this is a fantasy land Im sending to you so you can see it identify it place it in a police lineup the man is threatening me with incarceration with impossible dreams of leaving the jungle of someday walking like a free man with no scars upon his conscious I have washed your blood from my hands I have cast my lot with the Romans we pulled your temples down we sold you to the nearest merchant he hung a sing around your neck advertising your price how much for a piece of leg how much for a sniff of her tail a walk in the park the demons speak of your worthiness not wanting to speak bad of the dead all of your lovers lined up to cry by your body I was surprised how well they stitched you together the steel wheels did so much damage cutting you in two snidely whiplash would have been proud of my work the knots were tied with such love I was making a sacrifice to the gods of industry feeding the fires of the locomotive she is posting her outfits separately the first time her legs have been aired out in weeks she emphasizes a life of passion go to work mow the lawn feed the children marginalized through the mundane doing those things that have to be done running from the Republicans as they shout at you over the television screen counting the heads sitting in the church pews changing the spare tire a miserable creature fate 48

leads me to conclusions ad hoc conclusions an island I never heard of before innocent goats and their collective sleep the outstretched hands of the melancholy priest thinking about the words he has put down on the page their resonance to his life in this world and the next cutting the tall grass in large broad strokes watching the clouds for a sign an indication for the direction of fate how it will influence the totality of our misunderstandings I thought about you and my thoughts turned out to be wrong you didnt fit my little definition of the world you showed me that I need a bigger definition in order to contain you there is this possessive tendency again the desire to own something to possess something or someone is this capitalism or is this patriarchy telling them to get in line with the rain and the loneliness they want to be just like you to smell like you to talk like you to walk among the devastation like you entering the world of dreams and never being brave enough to venture out to be lost in the dream world is easy just ask AC he will tell you he lives constantly in a dream world so does scary mary he dreams of a world without birth with no growth no pain no suffering

6.10 but he cant see that this world would be a world without purpose we were the only riders familiar like my beating heart flicker bastard and burn out extinguish your flame drink until you are full murder is never far from my lips the blood and raw cabbage across the table there was no point in hiding the animosity she referred to herself as small she said that coffee in big cups made her jittery she made a point of showing me that she didnt wear a wedding ring her words were smooth like butter I wanted to roll her up in the egg wrapper carry her under my arm like a newspaper sneaking her into my hotel room she said her shift began at midnight carefully folding her blazer over the chair her smile was the sexiest thing about her I found myself being hypnotized by her eyes she would bend over and show me her puffiness a shark came to the waters surface going insane I couldnt think about how to respond there is glass in my throat where did this come from no promises about the grime and torture broken electronics I can see the bleeding feet walking down the hateful path I cannot step away from your crucifixions daily we hang you up this cross and then throw our meat and potatoes at you this aint life or death this is a dream an order of nachos at taco bell it is all unacceptable living in the futility alive in the corner of time comforted by all the bullshit kind of relapsing the skin burned off an alien virus rip your heart out and eat it with cornflakes watching you explode a Paraguayan revolution she is making the connecting flights for her and her little sister they got on the plane and we never saw them again their father hired a detective to search for them they disappeared somewhere in the jungles of south America washing clothes and cooking food for the revolutionaries she is talking about the pips and mixing drinks for major hot lips her specialty is fish tacos maria complains about taking finance she is showing me her 49

working in progress patterns out of the snow stepping like an animal she is tracking her prey hunting for the kill her dreams are so bright that they blind me she is too busy watching Mr. snow to understand the totality of the doom she is dripping from the roof onto the plants building robots for the stupid republicans I dont want her to change I want her to stop building the robots stop making fires so that someone has to put them out disappointed by your rhetoric your ranting on things you dont understand how can you be so fucking ignorant dont you realize that buzz words and idiotic phrases are for those who do not think for themselves empowerment exit strategy face time leverage

6.11 outside the box paradigm shift survival strategy collaboration bleeding edge next generation pizzazz real time portal stakeholder quagmire bombing innocent people for their oil and looking the troops in the eyes from the top down as well as the bottom up fundamentalists and radicalists Im not making excuses they like chaos they like to create chaos satisfied with killing and violence go back to bed you are free to do as we tell you bordering on political hate speech we have work to do reaching out to people who share our goals a trifecta of evil at the racetrack a big spike into the side of your head should do the job I have her a suggestion that she should sit and spin we do not give our agents the impression of belonging there is nothing for you to belong to only the company the company has your best interests in mind the company only wants what is best for you do not question the policies of the company do not question the companys decisions all decisions are for the good of the company the interests of the company are greater than your interests your purpose is to serve the interests of the company when the company no longer needs you then you will be thrown away you will gladly accept the disloyalty of the company the company expects you to be loyal but the company does not need to be loyal to you the workers are just pieces of shit that the company extricates from its bowls whenever it is necessary follow your instructions at all times never question what you are told gladly obey and do what you are told the slight incline of the hanged man swinging back and forth with the corporate logo even in death you serve the company your flesh is boiled off your bones and served as soup in the company cafeteria the dead feed the next generation of happy workers it is your duty to god and country to be a happy worker your corporate masters will take good care of you it make take some personal humiliation and sexual mental and physical abuse but your masters work long and hard and a little exploitation should be expected to make the company run along smoothly Mr. snow you ignorant slut stop trying to suck each and every republican cock why are you such a political slut setting buildings on fire you say it is because of love there is too much love in your heart so it comes out in tragic ways a cultural dead zone you discovered it with a bent wire another day for the corporate giant pray for your bottom line ask the 50

invisible hand to bring profits your way gather around your board of retards and discuss the latest trend in womens shoes documenting their time bloody fisticuffs making an artistic gesture catching up to you making all the important lists draining your cell phone battery calling across the pond to talk to the trilateral commission

6.12 they are aiming their guns ready to shoot out of their rickety mud-spattered trucks hobos sitting on crates were keeping the score scratching numbers in the dirt with a stick drinking a few beers saying tomorrow we will be rich just like the big bankers who steal everybodys money I was washing dishes on south main street my life seemed to be bent and blue and filled with sorrow handfuls I would pick up from the ground I kissed my baby and we put the darkness to the test poverty is a mans best friend and the darkness is a place where I can make a home the promise of one more swing at the bat I knew my numbers were not coming in they never did and never would numbers only let you down I can only trust in the blood in my veins the pull of a past life calling me back leading me to another direction accepting things that are hard to comprehend I am not constrained by your moral obligations irrational synthesis a giant vacuum on the other side that sucks us through we become small and we are sucked through the pipe of life our past lives all sucked through this long meaningless pipe robbing us of our dawns and twilights robbing us of our cries and smiles I listen to Lynard Skynard on the leeward lizard the scratches of the barking dog the breeze flows through the open window hobos and punks gather around the fire spark another one bring us another god take us to the other side I went there once when I was in high school and I didnt like it I didnt understand the boundaries between this world and the other dissolve I dont know how it happens it just does I dont know it might be an accident but it doesnt feel like an accident it feels like it is supposed to happen like this belongs to me to my life that dissolving boundaries are connected to me it is what I have become what I was destined to become I think this dissolving might be the higher ground the place of refuge that I have turned to time and time again in my life nothing makes sense except this I make the invisible world visible I know this now it is something to do with my DNA the structure of my being I can walk between the worlds

6.13 everywhere I go the two worlds are with me when I was in fourth grade the two worlds were with me I tried to express it in a poem and I only confused others around me how could someone so young be aware of such things my teacher accused me of stealing the poem from a book she searched through hundreds of books to find my poem and never found it she never would the poem didnt exist until I wrote it the poem was inside 51

me living though me and no one else could have expressed it the way that I did it was because of the dissolving before I understood the dissolving then I thought it was god and I sought after the things of god but it wasnt god it was greater than god so much greater a voice told me to find love and I blindly thought god was love I had heard it in Sunday school so many times before but love is not god love is the universe love is the two worlds that connect us the two worlds that flow through me walking the obscure shaggy dog convinced that I have made contact with something significant the oedipal story line cannot be accomplished without the act of disappearance someone has to disappear to have to be separated so that they dont recognize the connection thus there has to be alienation in the plot the hero has to experience alienation he is separated from aspects of himself he is not a complete and whole individual and here is where fate shows its cruel side in making himself complete he fulfills the curse it is connected to the blood the blood cries out for revenge and Hamlet has killed his father maybe not by his physical hand by in spirit he killed his father in the spirit world thus fulfilling the pattern in the material world the boundaries dissolve and one cannot be sure of the casual factors today is Thors day she peppers her conversations with woo hippies with hoola hoops knocking on my door asking for a cup of sugar my right arm is holding their brainstems an army cap full of sore fingers worn skin polished stones the swollen spider of reality biting the head off the universal sensuous image an old schoolmaster and bargain basement detergent clear plastic enchantment salvaged Texas on the tip of my dick so heavy behind the dream your fear hides under the trees so as to be invisible to the helicopters ancient cabbage with famous sleep hence the blue equals the red open up your human cage where are you Johnny Rotten can you distinguish the art from the audience an angel of the lord appeared before me and said low they always say low it would be strange if they said high she has come to nail me to the cross again

6.14 she has her tool box with her craftsman tools she has her hammer and nails she is such a good carpenter her tool box is pink and shiny it glistens at me I was trying to read her lips I have worked all my life turning metal into a thing a beauty an expression of my soul I put my heart and life blood into my work it was my pride that rolled off that assembly line so much of life has no meaning it makes no sense it is just things we do to survive to pay the bills and put food on the table boring mundane tasks that we do over and over again lick the lash of her whip her family is pretty rich hotter than all the fucking sheep she is cutting up the best parts to feed the horny Texan the depth and breadth and height wooed by the devil and death camp furnace the skull and the spiders dance while the Texan pets his black and white pussy vegetables and fruits shooting all the three footers music is best when practiced over and over just like sex 52

stroking you over and over in your neat little box we have written you into the schedule a capital shrimp with cannibals who drink beer for breakfast playing at your wooden dildo and smoking Mexican dope shooting our guns you can inbreed with scary mary and produce little antinatalists who hide in the woods making videos for the Gestapo sig heil with my sig sauer a full fucking clip bumping up against her service and Canadian bacon the love is spreading across my cowboy boots the Texan loves his kittens and the harsh realities of the real world you are so fucking special so very fucking special I like you more than all the others you smell so pretty and are fun to play with you dont mind when I pull out my ropes whip and chains bragging rights to the naked video bringing forth every kind of abomination after its own kind the star of smack down is dead an unbelievable ovation for the peoples champion the rock has something to say about setting your ass on fire I did a video that I put out and took back down the best video that I ever done almost twenty minute of pure bullshit it was the purest stuff never been stepped on pure virgin bullshit you never had bullshit like this before look here sonny I dont think you can handle it I am watching her over and over again pagan mary can make it happen just like a little kid she is so cute and adorable she puts her lips over the bottle she is doing a splice job I have found that the little things are so very beautiful a passionate talk she is the one to blow my horn betty boop is watching us and she is laughing at us she wants to jump in and help

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Seven 7.1 we all watched the pole dancer die on Russian television the judges eat turtle soup and clapped with one hand under the table I was so proud for my Russian ballerina boom we all fall down and die like the plague passing through the town on a pale horse his bandana hiding the rope burns you can feel it but you cant steal it the funk and blues it is in your bones anything that the radio played you can never change we are lions from creation this is my identity bowing to whatever you like it is a plant it is good for everything doing so much good for everyone rebelling against what a captivated mind making you look for yourself not in a sense of owing time for yourself so you can think for yourself to meditate a consciousness the laws are just a thing nothing to be worried about this guns and prisons of the people who want to hurt you I and I it is not a reality telling it through music the news for the people returning to be the king of kings the earth is the mother and the king will return an example one must follow looking outside of my prison the skin is of no significance cut out my eyes it is just the truth we are born into this hell our freedom was a prison of the flesh I am a man who was a baby once I have knowledge of myself we all thinking one way everything will be cool everything will be peace and love the taming of the lion I like it when it gets right it is like going to heaven in front of our people it was like a guest being independent it is strength that you can only know through experience I am searching for my people it is very necessary bringing you the life she owns the night tooth and claw I have come to use the saw upon your bones and to hoist your severed body up in the tree I will wrap you in Christmas lights and let you sparkle you always had such an electric personality even among the bums and dishwater blondes bumming another cigarette from a yuppie stranger another star gazer ready to join the unemployment line soundscapes and singularities they all get in line up against the wall ambient eyes comparing your methods to Paris Shetland if you are good you might get lucky get a radical name like dinky dinky and hone your battle skills get all dope on the techniques and the frequency distributions rent a public studio and make a demo tape throw down the lines one after a time when the odds are stacked against you invest in some rock and a glass pipe make friends with a brillo pad and the rest can be history as you sponsor a peewee football league someday you can watch your children playing for the Oregon trail 7.2 micro and macro economics asking me how to become a vampire I told you to keep watching dancing with the stars sonny what happened to your penis now you are a soft kitty Hugo is trying to write with his dick he has written with his soul his mind and his 54

spirit he has even written with his guts but he has never written from his dick he wonders what would his dick write if he gave it half a chance Hugo pulls his dick out and asks it what would you write you bastard why dont you write speak to me tell me what you are thinking what are your desires you are a part of me yet we are really strangers to each other would you write about murder about killing the whole world or would you write of love of dreams that you never achieved of lost love your silence is a betrayal as nasty as any criminal could imagine is that what you are a criminal a filthy rotten criminal do you silently plot to destroy me to stab me in my back when I am sleeping you stare at me with one beady eye almost mocking me yes that is it you are a criminal a sneak thief a murderer you gladly sold your soul to the chief of this world didnt you I know that you are a great deceiver a bringer of harm and destruction I think you do write when I am asleep you stand up and look around plotting the worlds destruction you write your plans out and send them to your comrades in murder the evil spirits take your notes to the four corners of the world the four guardians of hell they are your generals you are amassing an army to take over the world to throw down the high powers to make the roads straight and to uproot the evil from the fields you are reaping where others have planted you will make us all even make us all poor we will share in the suffering you will make the mighty to fall they will stumble and be crushed by your might you will bring equality to this world with an axe and saw and the fires of hell everyone will be brought down the mighty will crawl at your feet begging you for mercy as you sit upon your throne Hugo put his dick back into his pants and stopped talking to himself 7.3 the car spinning down the highway out of control Hugo has a resplendent smile upon his face it is like he is frozen in time dear reader can you understand me it used to badass now it looks like some dipshit fucked it up and back on the medication again causing my hair to fall out in big fucking clumps I dont care I will buy a wig or a big fucking hat she threw me a handful of drugs and said happy holidays trying to stay away from people who are bad for me all those psycho bitches Im trying to understand it was irregular an outright punch she ached for two or three days she gave me back my clothes and that was nice going off to hit someone else not dealing with it again I am awesome and you guys suck I am fucking awesome beside that everything is peachy doing just fucking dandy chilling with old friends the roof is on fire can you lend me a bucket of water burning all those motherfuckers this is about my own experience my own life that is messed up she drank all my alcohol and she got upset everybody got upset and she felt so guilty too fucking afraid to get on board and she purged like an emo fucker all the wine she drank and the bits of the cat woman she doesnt know what is going on around her it is all fucking kicking in half a fucking donut 55

and some gravy train biscuits she will get over it and back to normal eventually to quit feeling this way dear children it is not fucking good I have a black eye and bruises all over beating the fuck out of myself last night beware of the shadow she is trying her best she has her flaws abusing herself this is better than real life it is so easy to make friends her mom is exercising upstairs her nympho mother eating crackers and applesauce my favorite fuck buddy she wants me to fuck her standing up while she flaps her wings and clucks like a chicken she is reading to me the broom of the system she thinks of herself as another Lenore Beadsman words are her reality I am building a forest in her backyard panting maples and evergreens the trees help her hide from god Im still wearing my Christmas shoes we were living in sin among the Algonquin Indians I am traveling with my shotgun there is no flesh and blood there it is just a screen a two dimensional object I never encouraged the dimensionally challenged actually touching each other in the three dimensional world sexual desires one day she blurted it out that I was selfish I couldnt relinquish the reins I wanted to control the wagon directing the horses she just wanted someone to sleep on the couch someone to be in the next room she was sincere with her razor blades 7.4 it was heartbreaking as she milked the disappointment and the technology for communicating the problem was that we werent communicating it was only a monologue one person speaks and the other one listens there is never a conversation only a one-side monologue it is not going to happen I can remember my girlfriend a vague picture of her face pops up but I cant think of her name I remember she was a dance instructor she would lay in bed eating cheetahs I wonder where she keeps her tail eating all the cashews eight ounces a state of the art killing machine smart and mean talking to a good mean person a real story stomping them to death on stage as the people clapped and no one voted the government agent has stopped all transmitions they dont believe in the words and the words have abandoned them I am gassing them up on warm Pepsi I agree with the original participating in the shared delusion all these desperate people wanting to climb in through the window preaching to me about your punk girl politics building the first supercomputer to diagnose the cold the human cold in the brain dead world more aspirin and call the doctor in the morning applying for a position in the drug culture you want to be a mule or a runner for a drug kingpin you like to fly and your legs remind me of a stewardess get your wings a mile high up in the air snorting cocaine off the toilet seat talking politics with an undercover agent she sticks a cigarette in her mouth and pushes the cool button spawning opportunity as the smoke billows out I am dreaming of being a marine of killing for the pure joy of it Im not here on this earth to make you happy Im here to kill you I am burning my bank America card in a protest in Seattle the narc is pointing his gun at me 56

and smiling just like betty crocker I wonder if he is hiding a cake behind his badge I tell the narc that he should read how to win friends and influence people he said he is reading winning through intimidation I guess it all depends on how you are wired some of you are wired up all wrong Im working on my own private whiskey rebellion preparing for the maypole dance I have a pair of wire cutters in my bag and am prepared to use them mind you only in an emergency I have a few capacitors in my pockets and I could help you with your problem I could make you ring like a bell like a front door bell you would sing a sweet tune to inform us of your coming Captain Marc is flying the plane real low so that we can see the lay of the land he is looking for somewhere safe to land so that we can unload the cargo into trucks and get paid 7.5 my finger around the trigger is getting itching and I want to pull it more and more send the bullets through conservative idiocy this mother will never grow up to count his chickens betty crocker better hurry up and eat his cake once Captain Marc lands the plane he comes out of the cockpit with a five inch dagger and sticks it in the narcs heart he said he might be from Kentucky but he is no republican we load the drugs into trucks and hitch a ride into the city we leave Captain Marc to get rid of the dead narc all by himself he says he is going to feed him to the penis envy crowd at the museum of indulgences he says they like their meat human it is a real treat to hear Captain Marc play his guitar and pontificate about the troubles he has with his woman I once danced a jig around an old army jeep while he played a number about the devil and Mrs. Jones damn those were good times I remember how his eyes and the Christmas lights would sparkle as we drank from the jug of moonshine her eyes were wide open as they accused her of spying for the Russians she was dancing at the blue iguana and planning on changing her name to Matilda laying low in the private sector selling bibles door to door mostly for kicks since she could only make spare change bumming drinks from fraternity boys and whispering in their ears that she loves them her tight fitting black dress was an investment a business expense she could write off on her taxes Betty Boop is such a prognosticator she put on a wig and danced around the room singing whoops I did it again I asked her if she could do it again but with more feeling this time she gave it the old catholic school girl try she wore a pink sash that said industry 7.6 Gie where is your revolution and your trickle down political distribution the antichrist is still in his office he flicks his lamp on and off to send secret messages to his followers bertha my love where are you did you sell your soul to the goat for a piece of gold around your finger would you shake your ass for me again just like in the olden days I 57

bet we could put Captain Marcs wooden leg all the way up there we would all go find Tim and drink a few beers Tim would tell us of his days when he used to be a professional football player this was before he got into the god business he said being a god pays much better than the nfl he only wishes he could get more pussy I told tim that bertha was always good for a bounce or two Captain Marc untied berthas restraints and we watch Tim put his holy spirit into her when he was done he sat and licked his fingers in walks Mr. Perry and he kicks Captain Marcs dog Mr. Perry and Captain Marc begin to fight and roll all over the floor bertha picks up the wooden leg and beats Mr. Perry over the head some people are broken and they never can be fixed sending a shudder through me harder than ever hanging like dark clouds the sky is full of nooses Tim and AC make a bet concerning berthas soul Tim thinks he can save bertha show her the way to redemption AC is always skeptical of tims optimism AC knows that things dont always work out the way we have planned reading a tome of the exploits of frozen blue she says that you dont have to do it twice once is always enough if it is done right Tim will believe in anything if it is packaged right it has to be sold to him in a certain way you have to appeal to his weaker side play on his human weaknesses the things that make us all stumble for example if you tell him that everyone is buying it then you can sign him up he will take twelve that is how I sold him my forged copy of the Guttenberg bible and he wrote the damn thing yes it is all in the packaging you can sell him a piece of shit if it is pretty enough it floats to the surface and his soul is captured at least for a moment selling him a glimpse at a greater shadow normally Tim was not interested in shadows he normally avoided then it was AC who was interested in shadows in fact AC counted several of them as his closest friends if anyone can be close with AC yet Tim would be interested in a shadow if the sun was aligned just right in the sky and on only certain days when the influence of the sun was at its weakest then tim could be persuaded to imbibe in the diabolical it was then that I could convince him that his fate was about to change he was about to step up to the plate and swing for destiny and everything was about to change for the good or the bad who knows certainly not tim and AC maybe bertha knew and most probably Captain Marc knew he knew lots of things that no one else knew or could even understand we are beginning to forget you the room truck was sleeping I awoke with a big headache bathroom towels 7.7 she rubbed her eyes paradise rides evening streets we proceed with a terrible face she ran across the street screaming to get in line for the quiz show an old mans dirt road sweetness arrived at the house around eight in the morning haunted and flabbergasted tim told scary mary to believe to get down from his roof and stop lying to the nave over the internet he asked scary how he wanted to be remembered as he 58

wrote his obituary for the papers scary saw the light and repented for his sins we took a five gallon can of gasoline and burned down his shack they were going to put it in the Smithsonian and we just couldnt stand for that a mysterious journey I knocked on his door at the 4th street slums Captain Marc spent long hours with AC discussing how to get rid of Mr. Perry AC was convinced that Mr. Perry was up to no good I wrote a letter to Gie in prison explaining to him all of this the Mayan codices we see the lizard man on the nightly news he is telling us to look for the spacemen jabbing the needle into his arm Gie wrties back a month later and says he has found the spaceman it is the rise of rational thought and the creation of the iron cage Jane is going around counting all the workers in the field we are pulling up parsnips and carrots Jane keeps telling us to circle the wagons most people pay her no attention crazy is as crazy does and Jane has a full dose of crazy Mr. Perry asks Jane to marry him even though he has been married for 25 years he cant help but fall in love with the crazy Jane helps patch up Mr. Perrys wounds from his battle with Captain Marc and bertha she sings to him as she winds the cloth around his wounds she tells him that you dont have to spend too much time in the pews to understand that Mr. Perry cant fight worth a fuck she tells him that he is going to have to learn how to fight if he wants to be president Jane begins to teach him his first fighting lesson she teaches him how to kick somebody in the nuts how to poke someones eye out and how to knee someone in the face she tells him these are the first vital lessons that Abraham Lincoln learned when he first went into politics Mr. Perry looks like a bloody mess Jane has whipped his ass real good this was the beginning of Mr. Perrys and Janes love affair tim asks Mr. Perry if he loves him and Mr. Perry says yes then tim tells Mr. Perry to kill AC Mr. Perry says he will try Mr. Perry wants to stick his dick in tim so he will do anything tim says Mr. Crowley is working on a new bible one that is all about AC and 7.8 a new millennium he writes stories about the end of time when all the bank will go bankrupt and the people will take to the streets killing all the politicians and all of the priests Mr. Crowley believes in the power of words he thinks that his words will bring about a new world order a world without tim a world where AC rules everything Mr Crowley talks about the itch of the world the scars of chew toys and Hollywood entertainment he says that the world is a tiger escaped from its cage he would run but his legs have been sawed off in the last banking war he is a veteran of many psychic wars and is lucky to be here today to tell us about it he has had his fill of nothing and it is just that he is telling us about how the nothing can capture your soul and send you across the country in search of the perfect hole a hole you can climb inot and forget the world he wants to beg for the blind eye and to crawl in the squalor of the real truth he has used his extra consciousness many times and is not afraid to set the record 59

straight if he has to his benefits are in a small plastic bag made from biodegradable plastic it like him will fade away into the sunset the truck is coming to collect his bones and bury him with rin tin tin they are both Hollywood stars and have a star on the walk of fame he has been dodging the bullets of the government for so long that he knows how to bend over backwards he knows the problem and the problem is capitalism the monster of corporate greed doesnt care about your biographies the corporate monster only wants to force growth down your throats until you choke on it you want more bitch tell me you want more beg me for it like a good little corporate dog Mr. Crowley wants to become a member of the masses he wants shoes that shines up little girls skirts he wants to be catholic again and to sneak a peek at Janes pussy he wants to sleep with the bed bugs and to crawl around on the floor looking up at his master Mr. Crowley wants to give everything away so that he can become so much more mad 7.9 sad madness he is down with living in glass houses so that his neighbors can see his magical rites he performs his magic in secret now just like all the other madmen it is only his fruits that we see in public he is gluing everything together all the broken pieces he is putting them in a love letter to you he has promised to write you so many times that you forgot that he ever would you thought he was just a figment of your imagination you didnt really think he existed but he does you can put him in your vodka bottle he wont fit in there anymore all I do is steal and Mr. Crowley watches me steal from you I steal from tim every chance I get every time he gets up to go to the bathroom we all take out our baggies and steal a couple of buds we each take a handful we are partners in crime I stole Mr. Perrys wedding ring and traded it for a gun I might have to shoot somebody to save the world someday you never know how these things work out the witchdoctor keeps telling me about the future but I dont want to believe I have to relearn everything I once knew the past lives are supposed to add up we are supposed to start working on the puzzle where we left off but I have learned that life is not the way they say it is in the books shit you should not believe a single word I have written here it is probably all bullshit how do you even know that I wrote this crap what makes you think I am really me I could be a plant from the government that they put here to spy on you how can you be such an ignorant little fucker you let me inside your head and I shit all over it Kinbote is practicing his lines he has a big part in the upcoming Christmas play I think he has five whole lines he used to having people speak for him the twelve signs when you are a master measuring the stars kinbote is born in our heads every morning he is the lamb speaking and thinking a hammer in one hand and a sword in another printing the mind into matter it was an organized massacre we shot them for more than five hours four hours wouldnt have been enough five seemed to be just right 111 dead it was a grueling job some of the women tried to break free and run for it but 60

it was in vain they were shot down in their tracks the eye pushed back and down caught in the revolving door Gie said he wanted to go back to prison he said it felt like home there they all get treated the same it doesnt matter what your diagnosis everyone is given the same poison he is comforted by common suffering 7.10 the falcons meat hook salute to the cripple general of el dorado street he is marching his armies up and down the street Jane has no back to follow she has removed her fig leaf and is practicing witchcraft behind Mr. Perrys back she knows that kinbote is a battered god the landlord wants a passionate kiss before he sells him into slavery the corporate giants are all agog wetting their pants with anticipation they long for the good old days of bullet proof spokes models everything is for sale in this world and everything is on loan in the next Jane is pretending that she has no goals and Toby likes his emotions raw and with syrup Toby is a king with a whistle in his pocket blow your whistle Toby there is a blind allegiance that steals from your soul anointed by the fires of hell and infiltrating the fbi spying on the spies dropping lines to the papers these gypsies are stationary and the burn the wires of copper wires telepathic angels above our heads they have machineguns and bullet proof vests investing in corporate America it is the American dream a big screen television and a monster truck driving the kids to the Saturday afternoon soccer games no more handmade looks only stones that sparkle to the republic Toby said he saw Willie fight a bear in Montana he was part of a traveling circus act I asked Toby is willie was fighting tritan also Tristan and the bear always travel together Toby said that humbert was there with lola in the white socks he was fondling her pigtails and the mothers were getting all upset the mothers are always telling what to do and distinguishing right from wrong when I berried betty boop in Calcutta the mothers were there whispering in my ear they were trying to make me feel guilty the mothers are financially supported by Mr. Nervous he wants to share his guilt with others he wants to put it up on billboards for others to read he believes that the world is going to end he is betting on it Mr. Perry has been watching humbert and taking notes on how to seduce people Mr. perry wants to seduce tim he wants tim to be his boy toy but tim is a good Christian in fact tim is the first Christian he is the one that everyone else follows henry claims that he knows tim very well but tim says he doesnt know him Toby is jumping up and down on the garbage clowns he is upset about their hourly rate Toby prefers to have his clowns on a retainer Toby is not interested in joining tims religious movement he has heard about the injustice of kinbote and wants no part of it jane is pegging Mr. Perry to get him ready for his anal rape from tim that is what a religious experience means

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7.11 tim sticking his god shaft up some poor believers a-hole that is more religion than I bargained for Im not interested in singing happy songs ones with a criminal check in it the king with a whistle in his pocket is drinking beers with kinbote at a main street bar they are watching the mothers harass maria on television the mothers want to know her involvement with the international paranoia trade toby throws his pet pig a scrap of Canadian bacon pizza toby keeps his pig on a leash he believes that all pigs should be on a leash he is trying to convince tim to put this in this Sundays sermon when kinbote and the whistle boy get together they mostly talk about politics kinbote tries to talk about religion every now and then but toby stops tim short they mostly talk about how to get kinbotes boyfriend elected president he mentions that jane has been teaching kinbotes boyfriend how to fight toby says that will come in handy once the caucuses start no one will be pulling their punches by then and knibotes boyfriend better know how to throw a punch by then the farmers will be ready for a good fight and he had better deliver tims last boyfriend was knocked out in the first round toby blows his whistle and the pig does a flip in the air everyone in the bar claps their hands and cheers when the pig isnt sleeping he is chewing on a grave diggers leg the grave digger just got over a fight with his woman she threw him out because he had no shoes his hands are always dirty but his toes are clean the grave digger is drink a whiskey sour because that is what real men drink he tells everyone in the bar that is what real men drink kinbote tells the gravedigger that real men love tim just like Mr. Perry this makes the whistle boy laugh and he spits his mouthful of beer on the floor the barmaid walks by slipping on the beer on the floor and falls breaking her head wide open tobys pig sees gray material laying on the floor and eats the barmaids brains this disgust tim and he starts shout down lightning bolts from heaven thus causing it to rain and blow a wild evil storm around the town in the alley behind the bar is lola in the white socks and humbert she is giving humbert a blow job the lightning and rain scare them into the bar they sit down and order root beers lola in the white socks is still trying to make up words she believes she create new realities that dont exist with her word creations her newest creation is thickfulness she says that tobys pig is in the state of thickfulness she says that she is thickful for the pigs thickfulness 7.12 tim pushes the pig out of the way and scoops up what is left of the barmaids brains and puts them back into her head he says a few magical words under his breath and bring s the barmaid back to life everyone in the bar is amazed except for toby he is looking around for the hidden strings everyone in the bar except toby falls down on their hands and knees and worships kinbote tim says great more fucking believers humbert is crying like a baby and asking tim to forgive him his sins tim agrees reluctantly 62

and forgives both humbert and lola in the white socks lola tells tim that she is thickful for his forgiveness tim tells them both to go and sin no more they finish their root beers and leave the bar praising the glory of kinbote humbert and lola in the white sock become traveling bible salemen lola saves up her money from selling bibles to retards in the Midwest and gets herself a sex change operation and becomes a man she knows calls herself larry in the white socks now he is a love monger a close relative to billy the kid he speaks to everyone as if he is living in a burlap bag he is destroying the mundane making the crooked sacred there is no use in arguing over the meatheads larry says it is praise that gives one power over the acne a farcical mortal fin it is growing out of the middle of larrys back humbert thinks that maybe larry is becoming a shark he certainly sells more bibles than humbert and being able to sell door to door is the first indication in the DSM4R for being a bona fide shark larrys skin is turning a dull gray with each bible he sells he even sold one to a former lover to the old cowboy now that was a trick and a half the old cowboy used to be this big movie star he made at least a thousand cowboy movies then he became born again and married a beauty pageant queen they both raised little rug rats in the state of texas then the old cowboy became interested in politics and was elected governor now he spends his time bitching about gays in the military the barmaid started a church of kinbote at the bar and she testified nightly on how the lord tim saved her worthless mangy life and now she only lives for tim like a bazooka with his name on it she wants to help tim expose the whole world to his disease a local tv station videotapes the barmaids sermons every Sunday Mr. Perry hears about this and starts attending the barmaids church he hopes that this might help him get closer to kinbote 7.13 Jane accompanies Mr. Perry to church and does her knitting while they all sit in the bar and listen to the barmaid testify of the goodness of their lord and savior tim humbert and larry show up every now and then when they are not on the road selling bibles the barmaid is trying to keep her hand on the plow she plowing a field for tim trying to harvest him some souls she is trying to come to grips with the larger philosophical and metaphysical issues that have been troubling her all her life she says that tim is the truth and she calls her church the church if truth she has thrown away her books from her earlier days in the green witch village when she practiced her magic for AC it is a story of betrayal separation and redemption America was put on the cross and it was up to people like the barmaid to take America down and prepare her for burial humbert became disillusioned with the bible selling business and he felt that there needed to be a book that told kinbotes story so he began writing the story of tim according to humbert or more normally called the book of tim humbert started with the story of the barmaid and then began following tim around to record everything he said and 63

everything he did it was humbert who first decided to call himself a disciple of tim and soon larry, the barmaid, Mr. Perry, jane, and toby began to meet together with tim and discuss what he was doing and saying humbert would show them what he had written and they helped him make sure he was getting it straight when I asked humbert if I could read some of the stuff he had written he told me no that it was only for true believers and he could tell that I was not a true believer he said that I didnt believe in anything it was all a dry hump for the sweet sadist I was still determined to wash all of her holes I slowly stroked my immorality all these circuits lie with the bravado behind their teeth my story takes a turn neither bad nor inglorious it is just a turn the same as when you turn the wagon around and head back for home with your tail between your legs such is the path of a true disciple I have observed they still weep into their tissues and I collect the bile with a wooden bucket to feed the weary horses it may not be gods work but is charity just the same why should there be a problem with the connection the corndog must have gotten stuck in her throat the barmaid is silent for once maybe her brain is trying to recover from the demon possession truck the demon possesses her every other half hour for ten or fifteen minutes during these times is when she says the most intelligent things you have ever heard her speak she doesnt talk stupid shit about how great and beautiful tim is when truck possesses her the barmaid talks about the joys of having an orgasm I could tell she was possessed by truck the demon because I was once possessed by truck myself and when I was possessed by truck my left eye would twitch all the time and the barmaids left eye would twitch like a motherfucker 7.14 and when she would discuss to her congregation the holy benefits of a vibrating dildo she would demonstrate its proper use for her parishioners ramming the dildo in her crotch she would inform them that it would help them get closer to kinbote and that this was a superior form of praise and worship I thought it was hilarious that a disciple of tim would be possessed by such a nasty little demon as truck I knew how to expel the dirty little fuck from the barmaid but I was having too much fun watching him jerk her and her avid flock around Mr. Perry and Jane ran right out and bought a double headed dildo so that they could worship tim together in a most proper and religious way the barmaid is burying the dead in the basement of the bar her followers are dropping like flies AC has mixed up a most potent batch of methamphetamine and he has everyone hooked and some people misjudge how much they are taking and overdose the barmaid hasnt figured it out yet she thinks that they might be dying because of her lack of faith in tim instead they are dying because AC is trying to get even with his twin brother AC swoops down from the top of the bar where he waits for a victim like a vulture waits for the lost and thirsty to drop dead Lee has been selling meth 64

for AC all over the town Lee cuts the stuff in half and people are still jumping out of windows because it is such a quality product Lee would cut the product in half again except he was given strict instruction from AC not to step on it again and Lee knows better than to piss AC off 7.15 Lee hangs around the church of truth and sells meth to all of the church goers he tells them it will help them worship tim when they are masturbating with their dildos it is another demon inspired marketing campaign just like all the rest Lee used to work for a marketing firm before he discovered that selling drugs was more financially stable Ac just sits back and watches the waves of souls come flooding in AC is confident that this new move on his part is a great success a great counter measure against his brothers raising the dead stunt feeling like the failure not the phase deconstructed ego wanting love and affection your space alone not thinking it was possible taking steps for the future made of stitches we could not find mystical visions on a stretch of empty staircase drinking in your laughter the rock and the hammer these were the days of lowered expectations the barmaid was mumbling again in some demonic language that nobody could understand she is telling them to set themselves on fire a couple of them do and the bar almost burns to the ground the stench of wasted flesh is everywhere the disciples of tim are confused as usual and truck is having more fun than a demon should be allowed

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Eight 8.1 sometimes we find ourselves confronted by sheer naked courage to be more than we ever first imagined our lips saying those magical words all the crazy things we watch as bertha gives us her shadows she used to be alone but know she shares everything with us sending us greetings from the dark side bertha is no mild mannered freak she is a vicious god with large teeth and she has outlived all the other dogs who came before her no shaggy ears to scratch I feed bertha a cold meat sandwich and she smiles like an albatross her glossy tits sliding around my cock I am international when I am not distracted sticky bodies with bullet hole intentions bertha has needy eyes bertha is attending to her voices a grim compromise hovering over her she is pleading for rescue from the strangers in the street she is poured out as drivel another expressive mythology that we teach the children how bertha overcame her static beauty thinking death wont notice her she leaves a pain in my mind a mind numbing pain that keeps on pounding those old thoughts of woman how things used to be with bertha before she learned to turn the sunshine into flowers now she sits in a warm memory with her poppies becoming a mindless zombie reading the plexus and taking down notes about AC and Tim kinbote the glorious one that was when tim was wearing blue eye shadow and throwing interceptions to everyone who could catch a ball jane didnt believe back then she was an endless chute we were all ungrateful monsters I made you Jane and now you look at me differently like a sinner a lost soul in the pits of hell she hates me because I am friends with Mr. Crowley she is convinced that he is no good the story the fight the adventure she can see no future in his poetry her chakras are troubled and she is giving up the project no more hands across the waters jane only loves tim and occasionally Mr. Perry her heart belongs only to gods and presidents now she is working for the cause she has a mission she has unlocked her inner sickness she writes about it in her poetry tells everyone how daddy abused her made her into a junkie and a tramp it is her excuse to fall into a bottle she is embarrassed she has very little self value it has been stolen from her by her father she feels like a failure the tears fall from her eyes like disembodied ghosts she is looking for her underwear in the back of Mr. Perrys truck cashing in on her criminal karma flapping her wings of venom he died in her arms as she seduced him she would call him boring as he read her lips jane would speak out against the little voices in Mr. Perrys head the one that tell him to leave her for tim 8.2 she wants to ride in a car with tinted windows one that is bullet proof and has secret service running along side of it she is convinced that this is the start of a long lasting relationship but Mr. Perry isnt so convinced he loves tim more than jane he still uses jane 66

as a bathroom every chance he can get he gets to pretend he is a man with jane even though he is really a bitch he is waiting for the axe that will split the weak he is dreaming of a new cycle a new world with a new king he is sitting on a throne made of skulls everyone bows and worships conformity as the people step in front of the speeding machine it is a revolution that he dreams of a new world where he is king and everyone loves his god tim just as much as he does Mr. Perry wants to kill everyone who does not believe the world does not believe in tim so Mr. Perry wants to destroy the world and jane cried when her daddy died Mr. Perry said he would give her a star everyday he wants to drown her in the sickness every night to burn her on the stake of love he is pulling the curtains of the soul his knife is dull as her cuts out her heart he is dripping from the corner of her mouth he walks he talks he shoots from the three point line the mushrooms are kicking in he tells her that she cannot leave she must stay until the full moon she is picking up the pieces of her broken childhood naked on the hood of Mr. Perrys car doing this fucked up thing the priest next door never beats on the wall

8.3 Mr. Crowley has written almost a complete book about AC and his magical powers he says that he will only tell us what we need to know he is claiming no prize he is raising up the propaganda putting his money in the bank and burning his dollars the mothers are standing outside the bank they are holding up picket signs save our babies from filthy lucre Mr. Crowley is standing outside with a megaphone lecturing to the mothers he tells them that the problem is the federal reserve sucking on the nipple of compound interest and the fear of being denied another loan the mothers are burning their applications and crying about the atrocities of the holidays Mr. Crowley is licking his sticky fingers he swears to god about Janes waist he measures her with a beer bottle he is making plans for her intestines it is all voodoo and backroom politics blood pudding with her arteries skin graft and crushed up bones he puts her in the soup that he sells he can see Gandhi in her nipples in the crossroads and in the streets she can stretch a smile of forgiveness her womb was safe like a fortress for kinbote he could hide inside her for days when he was not strong enough to raise the flag Mr. Crowley is building comfortable shadows when he runs out of beer he send jane to the store to buy more she drinks to forget about Mr. Perry a dick dodging a bullet there is a dog barking outside her bedroom door it makes her think of her past in the new revolution when she was a disciple for kinbote how she saw all the miracles now she stays up late drinking and looking out her window mouthwash and nighttime sex twisted like a toothless stadium she dances around the room holding her ruffles the boys stand in line to dance with her Mr. Crowley couldnt blink rubbing her cunt against his chin smelling of roads to nowhere she is still swallowing Mr. Crowleys demons jane is calling all the 67

enamel doctors to come over and perform with the circus she wants to forget about the foolishness of her youth how politicians would part her legs and speak in tongues about the coming glories of the lord she gave her young doctors guns and butter knives so that they could practice making the room grow cold as jane practices raising the dead slumped over the couch waiting for the fickle his suit jacket is hung from a hook on the wall next to the photo of kinbote with the bleeding heart the offended slurps of butane tongues half drunk cavemen jane fumbles for her keys she went to the witchdoctor to have her fortune read he told her she was in for heavy weather so she bought a rain jacket and moved out of her bluff street apartment she missed her hardwood floors the concrete dogs that are smaller than people she was never cut out for sales she was a teacher and it took Mr. Crowley a long time to win her over she was still grieving the loss of Mr. Perry Mr. Crowley would send her flowers and pictures out of magazines of famous paintings he wanted to take her to Paris to show her a good time to help her forget about the holy spirit touching her with the hands of strangers pulling her closer asking her to repeat the question the dominate pattern of her vagina a tin foil pipe and rude manners keeping her eggs warm while she hunts for more sausage 8.4 the buffet was all elbows looking for that Christmas bargain before they had to take inventory I am sitting on my hands and watching her knees pumping up and down in her plaid skirt I was not sure if she would accept my request my pen says amnesty international I draw large circles around the blood spots Jane is a white flower that Mr. Crowley bough on the street corner he moved in with her and they worked at rearranging their thought patterns jane kept trying to save him when she got as drunk as a sailor he got the crop out of the field and they worked at bottling it in mason jars they felt just like robber barons jane got a corporate tattoo on her left butt cheek just to show that she was serious it is rare when she thinks of her dead cowboy and his political ambitions she has such a nice smile I have taken pictures of it many times they are taped up on my bathroom walls we met in a room with Mr. Perrys thigh master I think they were pumping Aerosmith through the house speakers 8.5 I was working in a factory welding pieces of cars together I lived each day without kicking I read about Mr. Perrys suicide in the paper I remember Captain Marc was so happy he took us all to the bar and bought several rounds of drinks he said a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders he says that it is wonderful news please dont cry the world wont end we didnt step out the apartment frolicking downtown in a dress they are good for your soul random retarded thoughts there is no such things as 68

logic salt, pepper, and ketchup appreciating a touch of frost not everyone is from the village the sweep that you make a silence born from heaven to believe in a blackened fish jane would go to the mall to buy more smokes and steal the dreams of little children as they pawed the candies from the story at the mending wall as thoughts often occur in a motion a sinning quark mending in the sun with bags of bargain hunters using all our spells an indoor game with needs unmet and hot cross buns a tune blow on good fences with mischief in me he said it for himself Captain moves in darkness with a banjo on his knees with cold fingers a renewed fanaticism I already drank all the free beer to celebrate the coming apocalypse he moves the black Fridays it is all about his art and the holidays the original blob and the blob gets bigger banned from society wanting to be a stoner a good spiff everyday jane likes to give them a quiz jacket up on morphine an old retired pothead a funky path into the enchanted forest getting my weed straight from Chicago getting a flashback of the first time you got backed Im not doing this to impress the crazy lady on 21st street I arrive with a load of trouble and unload my guns I shaved for Christmas just to make you happy reading my mail from ohio I should be ashamed about her boxy hips looking at her jewelry the ones I really like I didnt mean to ignore you and your social butterfly going to school and work I wanted her to run around and party but she lost her mind and we couldnt find it I have been feeling very strange its eating me alive just as dire it is not the case I got enough dignity to leave but I dont cant find my way out I wish there was someone I could talk to someone to share my thoughts with I am so alone left with only my thoughts wondering how easy is this fuck she is bitching about politics and how the glass ceiling keeps getting lower it was her little button that turned me on I bought her an ice cream cone and told about my days on the pony express delivering mail for the new republic making sure the welfare mothers got their checks jane was handling snakes and making moonshine between session of psychotherapy god she could study matrix algebra I went to the strip club to watch the crazy lady dance she was a psycho who heard voices the cabaret Voltaire she always wore a cubist costume and too it off one stroke at a time while reciting the lords prayer backwards that was when I met AC for the first time the crazy lady just finished her incantation and AC just popped up out of thin air he looked a little pissed about the whole mess he calmed down when she showed him her website mostly just her making confessions while smoking a menthol cigarette she blows her smoke into the camera a Christmas present from her gay boyfriend 8.6 Louis aragon dadamax dear friend a nihilistic movement with thought and sound the crazy lady would answer in purely ethical terms a distribution of the inaugural committee the linkage between art and technology drug dealers and doctors in love I painted her with my robotic arm I am a liar when it comes to my presentations behind 69

me is the reality of my work I changed you with floppy drive out of tune and out of time I have her tied up in my southern Illinois farm house it is a pretty nylon rope that binds our souls together I think she shares her face if only she had a clue that could be transcribed for the media and plastered on interstate billboards it looks like she has stubble I have seen it up close the commitment of the mean and cowardly if the lines could read between us what interpretations would they make the thermal lines of Janes kiss I watched her kiss the crazy lady it was slow and intentional like a mans middle name something that was thought over a bottle of wine yes you could say it was premeditated it was the responsibility that she could not accept returning to a one dimensional character something from a book by Murakami someone who disappears into that world between floors the memory of an after-glow as the fireworks exploded 8.7 Jane builds and the crazy lady deconstructs she talks about you and you and how the context changes the subject of the sentence her lines seem practiced but I know she is improvising I have seen the crazy lady up on the stage before reciting her poetry like a drug fiend looking for the next fix the next brief moment of applause or laughter the grave digger is in the bar watching the crazy lady perform he is drinking a bottle of beer when the crazy lady is done performing she sit down next to the grave digger and asks him where is his shoes he tells her that he lost them in a poker game she asks him who he lost his shoes to and he tells her David the bell weather he says that they were the best pair of shoes he ever did own and the crazy lady agrees the king with a whistle in his pocket walks not the bar and buys everyone a drink toby asks the grave digger if he can buy him a new pair of shoes a pair with buckles and bows the grave digger told the king that he was much obliged and asked if he could rather buy him a new pair of boots so that he could run off and join the army since his wife left him he has no will to live and the army seems like as good as place to die as any .. 8.8 Mr. Perry is a worm that eats its way through the flesh he feeds upon the rotten things of this world Jane is driven by love and morphine she helps Mr. Perry with his plans for destruction together they map out the crime they are transmuted by bestiality they think that they can extract meaning from a confused and chaotic world they think they can cross the abyss without being touched by the angel of death beyond Choronzon we are no longer our self Mr. Perry is taking the first steps into non-being a task that each of us must face as the blood vessels burst revealing the true spirit that hides inside do away with this body of flesh and bring forth the body of light the world is meaningless and disconnected your conception of self with break apart into its 70

individual selves that are not interrelated nor are they interconnected you have become a broken collection of individual pieces life and death are both magical it life that separates us from our higher being the flesh is not the highest existence we have been seeing things backwards turn your focus in the opposite direction place your gaze upon the stars we are spirits in a material world we are not material beings seeking the spiritual when we were born we left our union with the universe which is the real and the unreal this is the puzzle for you to unravel the dynamic force of creative energy sent forth into the abyss of space you are descendants of the starry emanations do you believe in tim do you understand that tim loves you that he is the savior of the world bow down and worship tim and he will give you good things

8.9 it was Mr. Perrys desire to end the god form known as AC he set out to destroy AC but he failed AC was too strong for Mr. Perry and Mr. Perry was faced with failure and embarrassment because of his great failure Mr. Perry put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger Jane mourned his death for a long time after his death Mr. Perry became a body of desire he would visit jane in her sleep during the midnight hour he would try to touch her but his body could no longer feel he was drawn close by her sadness he no longer has a generative power his existence is with the shadows and he is now a spectator in the material world he can only watch and cannot influence jane and this keeps his body of desire within the plane of desire he is tormented by his failure to destroy AC his great desire is unfulfilled and he haunts jane in hopes of having her fulfill his unfinished business larry in the white socks is tattooing his property he buys some meth from lee and engages in his foot fetish and asks the grave digger he can examine his feet as he touches the grave diggers feet larry in the white socks purrs like a kitten no one asks you if you are ready they just strap you down and start inserting tubes larry in the white socks is peeling away the human larry in the white socks and hugo are talking about injustice how life is nothing but a wonderful soup the war machine makes soup out of humans hugo says that the only reason why we exist is to feed the war machine the war machine needs bodies it needs consumable materials the mothers love the war machine so they create children to be consumed by the war machine the mothers worship the war machine

8.10 the stains on Hugos fingers when he pulled out the small revolver and pointed it at my head I thought it was over for me but then you shot the guy next to me bathing in my glory no longer living in Memphis getting as flat as possible when morning comes it is a mound of clothes frightened a nave dream with lives coming with me asking a 71

thousand times a little gorilla poking me with a trident cage the animal seventeen shows the gorilla broke out of the cage he is climbing up the side of a building a plan to save the planet can we fulfill hugos promise there is nothing to be private about I missed Betty Boop I wish I could remember where I buried her sometimes I think I can hear her calling my name she tells me not to worry that everything will work out that hugo will find a way to bring about his revolution regardless of my ideals betty boop tells me that I am not important in the grand scheme of things I am just a toad or a small insignificant flower that is trampled underfoot she was always good at putting things into perspective

8.11 betty boop did not give me a word she held her tongue as the wolf approached this inheritance of loss is what makes us human landscapes of decay are everywhere I look I am reading your love letters I keep them in a locked box with my tarot cards and magic beans to climb up the beanstalk I have laid waste to all of your physical powers yet you still speak to me in the astral world your kiss was never just a kiss there was always something more behind and in front of your actions a history of movements that you inherited your hands could always launch the ideological arsenal sending the missiles into the dark sky bring death and destruction this is a desire for self drinking wine talking shit constantly a perfect bunker to hide in as the bullets fly overhead I slip into your membrane the world is a monster coiled around my leg as performance art the advances of your red devils with chisels in the corners they are creating a territory for themselves ready for anything both good or bad with rolled up shirtsleeves seatbelts paused pulverized marble the tools are greasy in their demonic hands as they work into the night another disconnected hand as the rooms turns soundly chirping like a bird

8.12 the real is interrupted by the unreal thus we do not exist in an unbroken linear model the model is broken there are gaps in reality consistency does not exist we move away from objects and away from thoughts to actions being the only prime aspect of reality we exist in our actions when we do not act we do not exist in the world only our actions makes sense to be still is illogical the purpose is to find the limits of action and thus set out the boundaries of reality hugos actions are not my actions and thus his reality is not the same as mine hugo is not violent he is only tired

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8.13 I was distracted by the neighbor lady working in her garden she keeps pulling up plants and replanting them somewhere else in her garden it is like an obsession with her maybe the map in her mind keeps changing I watch her dig a hole and fill that hole with plant and dirt sometimes I go and see her and she stops her planting for a little while I tell her that I am in charge and then I tie her up I use the different knots that I learned in the boy scouts it is always helpful to be prepared when it comes to the neighbor lady if I dont tie the knot just right she gets out and then there is hell to pay I always have to make sure we are done with our games before her husband gets home she always had to do what I told her she kept telling me that she loved me and that someday we would get married I was careful not to leave any fingerprints or bodily fluids I have watched enough dragnet to know that the crime is in the details the world needs tractors more than it needs me or her we are just two pawns in a cosmic charade eventually she could take the theatrics she had intentions of confessing to her husband about her sins I doubt that they ever could catch up with her when she ran away we all waited for her under the hot cracking sun we weathered the storm of accusation of incriminations but nothing could be proved some of the neighbors said that they saw a young man talking to her one of the young men who hang out at the house with the loud music but they could tell which one we all looked the same with our long hair and bellbottoms on certain days I can hear her whispers through the leaves the plants in my garden ask me to tie them up and to pull the weeds from their roots

8.14 slowly the heat dissolves and I am wet again all my actions are processed through the perceptual filter of my sensory organs how I perceive myself in the act of creating life or creating destructive defines the definition and reception of my actions if my actions are filtered through the lens of love then even my evil actions can be seen as a benefit to ones soul it is your subjective interpretations that keep me from the gates of hell separating me from the froth and corruption of this imaginary world we are all the idiot children of an insane god it doesnt matter if you call god tim or AC both are insane and operate on rules that they make up as they go along sometimes I think that tim and AC are the same person only just two personalities that have split off from a tormented individual neither personality is the original personality that personality died long ago now our conception of god is inhabited by a psychopath with a split personality I guess this explains how god can be so contradictory when he both loves us and hates us at the same time and notice that in my demented dream of a fictional godhead that such a creature is masculine instead of feminine it must have something to do with a patriarchal psychosis that haunts me as I lay immobile on the operating 73

table the doctors are removing pieces of my brain maybe they will remove this god thing from my brain I wonder which part of the brain contains this inherited adaptation that was at one time necessary for the survival of the species now god is dead and a phantom of its existence lives on in the feeble forms of tim and AC it is the dead part of life that makes us create such fabrications I am hallucinating on the operating table

8.15 I can see the children playing in the backyard they are consumed by their brilliance they are chained to the playground the swings need oiling as they creak back and forth they are using magical words that they stole from Mr. Crowley when his back was turned he had written these words in a magical book that he was working on the children sneaked into his room and looked at these words I wondered how they could sleep through all the noise and destruction the playground was sinking into the ground the war machine was hiding underground and had set the earth on fire whole buildings would catch fire and burn and the mothers would send their children outside to play now the children ran off to different parts of the world and are building their own little war machines some call their machine justice some call their machine freedom some call their machine love but they are all war machines they were built for only one purpose and that is to destroy there is no in between for these war makers they have a blood debt that must be paid somewhere in another life they must have been real bad to do so much evil in this life they are trapped in a downward spiral they are committed to misunderstanding they are the naked man who doesnt know he is naked they speak to words of fools they cant walk by themselves they need others to hold them up they need others to kill for them they can do only what they can do and all of their words are lies and they destroy the world with a twisted love they will kill you and say they did so out of love they say they kill you so that you might live they say we are all equal in death they steal from you and you dont know it because you are too busy bleeding in your grave they are only happy when you are dying they need to suppress their ambitions they need to take their finger off the trigger they need to stop building these war machines it is wrong to call your war machine democracy it is wrong to call your war machine truth why dont your tell the truth and call your war machine money confess your sins to your brothers and sisters tell them you have sacrificed their sons and daughter for the almighty dollar tell them that it was power that blinded your eyes tell them that chaos is your friend that death sits at your table and drinks wine with you together you plan your fits of violence you hold a monopoly on the threats of violence you are so busy trying to die you have been accepted into the brotherhood of murder you live and you will die like a murderer I would be ashamed to live in your shoes to see the bloodshed that you have brought into others lives I guess your ignorance helps you sleep at night entering into the unknown space the abysmal plane where your 74

existence is becomes the bone of sacrifice falling forward but living a backwards life a joke of an existence scripting out your gothic life you live according to the dictates of a demented mind you roll the dice and move your armies we will invade Kabul today we will kill some more for jesus he is always thirsty for more blood such a violent and blood thirsty god rubbing his shoulder blades calling others to their graves it is nighttime music he sings to the moon jugs of rubbing alcohol stacked against a pile of heavy words cobwebs and flecks of paint they are your concepts of romanticism you are out there on the road waving your flag jumping up and down trying to get someones attention god help them if they stop to give you help they dont know that you are hollow inside and that their journey will soon end you have tied them up into a French dream the picture in your mind is black and white there is no feeling in your toes you have set your victims on the side of the road you saw this as a competition between you and the devil the winner gets to eat the French fried potatoes shocked by the half opened bodies you never used to leave things unfinished your contortions with the devil have left you lazy you no longer care about the crime scene there is no more spit and polish in your technique and method you have erased all of the formal introductions

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Nine

9.1 Leo kills for the fun of it and I am not like you, I will not live beneath the water. I will not hide from the sunshine I wont play that game with you anymore I will not hold my breath leo is reintroducing himself he says that you have known each other before a long time ago before the war he said that you once danced together to the music of a water borne illness those were the days a parallel lines the town fathers aligned the streets a narrow packed backlog I think Nanuk of the north was catching on the cratered body with stitched scars Nanuk of the north feels across the horizon and builds his tower of premature billboards he is dotting the body of Miss Palm with holistic magic he pulls the bone out of her abdomen there is a small amount of seal blood he dangles the bone above her skin Miss Palm has outshined buttons they are undone and her breasts are pushing the silence she has a river rose tattooed and rubbed Nanuk of the north speaks to her like the holy ghost he is using his inflicted patina as a means instead of an end Miss Palm is a slippery slope and Nanuk of the north knows this he has been taught by his elders to be mindful of injustice no matter how he describes the Cyrillic Nanuk of the north is an inventor of new words and thus he creates new worlds he is making a new world for Miss Palm it exists next to a river outside of town there are tall houses for seventeen people Nanuk of the north is able to make the open shut past the lips to stay alive Miss Palm is reflective and singing to the strips of light she can drain thirty days of elbows while smoking a cherry bomb cigarette she is not worried about the side effects of the belief in the trinity the mirror and face in silhouetted sky dragging her concentric halos they are in a box labeled atrocities with bent head apprehension she opens her heart to translucent alchemy Miss Palm is more than a fictional character she is more than two dimensional space she has seen what the universe pours out at the end of the party all the beer cans with cigarette butts in them making the dead alive again it was a skeleton waltz that she danced unlike any other she whirled around the floor and Nanuk of the north clapped his hands to the music her legs would dangle over the edge

9.2 I am afraid that if I tried to tell you only one thing that I wouldnt be able to fully express my message there are so many things that I want to express I want to share with you how it feels inside my heart the pain I feel for being so alone and misunderstood for so many years I am always on the outside looking in not really feeling a part of that which revolves around me I am trying to reach out to you to share a real human connection the subliminal wires connect our minds the ghosts are pulling the levers we have 76

learned to turn off the mind control machine we have become disconnected from the hive the material rubs against her thighs Is this noise or some kind of distortion or is it another message that is trying to get through? The babbling ghosts have multiple personalities and many different messages. They try to get through to me. I think we met in another life we lived together down by the sea during the day we collected seashells to sell to the tourists and at night we played in a rock and roll band our connection to each other was synthetic and universal we were naked and dirty not a moral dirty that suggests something wrong but a dirty that comes from nature from living life close to the ground feeling the earth move and loving the life that we were given we were happy to be together and with each other we were complete your laugh always could fix everything your smile could melt my hardest days with you I am not alone we share something that is beyond this physical existence it is like we have been together many times things such as gender and beauty and relationship do not matter we have revolved around each others lives many times the names keep changing but the relationship stays the same the connection stays the same

9.3 your mother had a home in paradise to feel beloved on this earth remorse with the desolate these desolate veins used to pump blood they used to pump life now there is only fragments of a broken dream somewhere we lost each other now I will have to wait for the next life to find you again sometimes there are no second chances jane puffed nervously on her cigarette a limited human being who knew her limits she was comfortable with them she is a force of creation and destruction once again we are confronted by movement it was not movement for the sake of movement it was purposeful it led to a new beginning a new sunrise it was movement that was taking us to our place in the sun she would sing me a lullaby and play with my long hair as we watched the clouds play in the sky we could not formulate the future although we would convince ourselves that we could we ignored the true indicators and put our hopes on strength and beauty and blind ambition blind ugly animalistic force id it couldnt be schmoozed then we would force it break its neck break its back pummel and pound and bite and scratch we wouldnt stop until we saw red we were bulls trapped in the ring and we would kill everyone to get out to remove the hidden places of our being choked with the naked sunshine groaning to bring forth the life in nature to see the lamb rise into the sky the orgasm of the universe the asteroid crashed into your planet causing your world to spin out of control to create a new life that you previously didnt know you were a new creature with a new star chart dripping with apostles and their exposed wounds

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9.4 no longer the recipient of a singular life many births and deaths to shape her into the queen that she was suddenly life breaks forth out of her you are not the object that you surround yourself with you are not the words that you speak you are your actions you are the things you do what you do is influenced by the decisions you make what you do is influenced by your philosophy by the way you see the world by what you consider to be right and wrongs what you think influences your actions you can spend all your life thinking and if you do nothing you are nothing you can spend your whole life talking and if you do nothing you are nothing the point is to do something to act upon the world around you this heart only pushes blood from organ to organ there is no feeling inside it we invent the feelings with our monkey minds our desire to return to the primal to kill or be killed for something more than a dollar our blood feeds the dust makes our energies move forward into other creatures and things we become dispersed there is no need to argue with the laws of nature the world will move as it always does until it melts into nothing that is your significance nothing you came from nothing and will return to nothing and the universe will forget you lay down upon your deathbed and see yourself dying watch as they lower your body into the grave see yourself decomposing feeding the worms and the flowers until nothing of your body remains watch your spirit leave your dead body and rise through the seven worlds until your spirit joins the multitude river of nothing you lose your individual personality and become unified with the whole once again removed from the human condition pain and fear do not exist here you do not exist here there is only the one and you are the one your heart has been eaten by the worms and all of your secrets are gone there is no reason for secrets there is no reason for desire you are complete in the fullness of the one

9.5 she is following a story it is because of the story the human drama that appeals to her the moon and the sun Tibet and the hopi Indians the underworld we will live someday on the higher worlds being reunited with our soul mates in birth we descend and in death we ascend we are living in Camelot it is time to take a ride we loved the commitment we loved the attitude interested in the experiment it was classical your fall I sent them in before I graduated but my transcripts got lost in the mail shit I got lost in the mail can we trust our senses she has another program in her mind the many things we cant worry about I have two of them right there and the other one should be coming in waiting for your numbers to come in they should be in by the end of next week Tonya is on her hands and knees puking up the devil the winter solstice is all over the floor the devil has done his damage soon Horus will arise and hugo will be drinking 78

in the bar buying rounds for everyone he pulls out his dick and pisses on the floor asleep and awake as the music plays was it real or imaginary you can never get away from the reputation that you have spent so long to build all the pictures in the room why did I put them on the wall where did I get them they get fascinated with the pictures

9.6 trouble finds Tonya wherever she goes her fuck me interactions with the opposite sex she is flat counting the wolves as they eat her sheep hugo binds the snake around his pole the devil is singing in her ear about his penetrating the world as it chokes on his cock tears running down its cheeks her hands are tied behind her back struggling with insanity a dignity that once existed she knew it was all bullshit anyway this world does nothing but fuck you over life feeds on life the devil tells her that this is necessary that the darkness needs its time and place and that everyone has to give him his due she couldnt remember which was hugo and which was the devil they seemed to blend into one another they talked to each other in a language only they knew she thanked them both for having her she could feel the words catch in her throat it was the mischief she was born for she was born under the influence of Saturn and she had harnessed this sadness into something that one could call a life she left the devil and hugo arguing over the bill still tasting the devil in the back of her throat tonya is tired of living in some elses shoes living out past lives to pay off the burden of her karma the sins she pays for are her fathers and not her own she wonders if someday she will have a child a son or a daughter who will also have to pay off her karmic debt she tells herself over and over again I am not her I am not my mother I can overcome this burden I can carry my cross confronting her demons real and imaginary she knows that the demons she has created are the worst kind she has inherited this need to torture herself to bring pain upon self for her past wrongs to burn and cut and bang herself against the wall to peer over the edge and consider the fall her mother was so good at living in guilt she would feed it and let it grow beyond all reasonable proportions tonya couldnt remember what it was that her mother had to be guilty of it was one of those life routines that people fall into they beat themselves up for some imagined wrong was it love that bound tonya to this pain was it love that made her swallow a bottle of pills and slit her wrists was it love that had her constantly looking for the way out life for tonya was not something to be lived but something to escape from to run from to flee from for tonya life and death were so intimately entwined what was it about today that made me remember tonya was it my mind or my memories that led me down this path or was it my heart was it a lost desire to make a real and lasting connection with another human who was hurting like I

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9.7 tonya was pride and beauty in the face of danger I remember her standing against the storm facing the onslaught of fury laughing in the devils face as if she was saying is that all you got you aint so fucking bad she never said she enjoyed the rapes who enjoys getting the shit kicked out of them the split lip the broken ribs the cuts to her ankles and wrists the bruises that cover nearly every square inch of her body there is a politics between man and woman that never sees the outside world how we eat the flesh of the weak and make lies to burn in the fireplace they dont want to see your life up close they prefer to you at a safe distance they are will to pay for the performance but that want to be lied to they dont want to feel any real emotions they want the faade to stay glued together to keep them from seeing the raw they pretend that the blood is imaginary or something from a movie plot it was a trick to fool us they say that was not real that was a performance we paid for a performance and that is what it was there is nothing real to be seen here no one was hurt in entertaining us we didnt see you drag the dead out the back and throw them into the trunk of your car this is all make believe fun and games here have another drink and let us laugh this awkwardness away there is no need to get hysterical Im sure that woman was an actress did you notice how she asked her lover to give her some more to beat her like an animal no one does that in real life it is absurd it has to be absurd dont you think so I mean who would think of such a thing to do such a thing it has to be joke a laugh tell me it is a joke that it was only acting superior acting

9.8 she defines my soul these little words they say some much more she defines me she has grown on me like a high school girl as I watch her working at MCDonalds I am making a sketch of her mapping out her dimensions her face has this look of purity and I know that that is a disguise whispering sweet nothings into her pink ears multiple piercings I ask her if she believes in god if she would like to find her way to heaven on her way home from school some day she treated it as an interview I told her everything would be fine I was standing there meekly holding my tray of dead beef and genetically processed potatoes the smell of dead meat was on her cornered by the perfumed death she said that she had it coming that it was her right as an American to do her part for the war she would call if she knew about tonya how she begged me for that rhinoceros tattoo she knew that I had been drinking she could smell the whiskey she saw the devil on my forearm the actress said that she was so sweet just a little girl with dreams of boys in the backseats of cars she said that I couldnt touch her but the cards said differently the deck was always stacked as high as fuck a prophecy stuck in her throat she wanted to fly

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9.9 nibbled but still identifiable injected toes they know the way to Flatbush warm little globs of fat they could pass back then as repentant whimsy you liked it with whipped cream Im not sure if it was with real cream or the oily kind she would practice saying the names of the saints if you can see them then they can see you once they see you then you will never be the same it took a bathtub filled with water and an electrical cord graced my lips just like a meal Im sitting here in the dark trying to remember the last word you said addict me I think turn the switch maybe I looked up your poems on the internet and only found five they were all about your past lovers none of them were about me you used to see yourself in all of my writings where do you see yourself now I have donated all of my verbs to local charities I dont think they wanted them but they took them anyway they must be used to sad hearts with nothing left to give to be held in the hollowed out cavity in my chest I can get my whole arm in there I am a miracle of science I should be quiet now I wonder if they are counting my keystrokes if they seem too many will they send Agent Smith to interrogate me will he comment on the stink of humanity will the veins in my forehead stick out

9.10 will harpo arrive with a helicopter to bust me out pulling the bars of my jail cell tearing down the walls harpo doesnt say much but he is a man of action harpo can pick locks so we didnt need to leave the sliding glass door unlocked the little school girl is thinking about love indifference and chicken tacos I stopped trying to understand her mind a long time ago she looked lonely sitting in her big office pretending to be working I stopped pretending a long time ago but she is new here and she hasnt figured out how things work here harpo is wearing a tie with a duck on it when he walks by my office he quacks tonya is cooking beets into a broth she can hear the devouring hugo and I are standing in the hot lunch line I pull harpo out of my pocket he has a smile like a traveling republican I almost want to believe in him he has the girth of artificial conditions artificial Christmas trees with that fake white snow harpo has his red suit on and is sticking his thumb into the big pot of the soup of the day this makes hugo laugh and the little school girl nervous I tell her not to worry that harpo doesnt have any manners his mother was too busy fighting in Iraq to teach him any

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Ten 10.1 harpo is not connected to the sun his id runs amok defiling the temple drink greedily little school girl to basement with a death stare and the laugh of a ghoul she would kiss them first then kill them one and all symbolically and in the flesh come bring this bowl of life put it up to the school girls lips she smiled and reached across the table for the razor blade she said that this life was not hers to give they all belonged to AC he was the one who determined who lived and who died it was the school girls responsibility only to obey she took a bite we all took a bite and the little devil jumped up on the table and did a dance wishing for the words to show that you placed a man as your god instead of the sun life comes from the sun we are children of the stars the light is the mediator we are coming out of the feet giving the kingdom to Saturn understanding the science the little sun betrayed by the little school girl hugo kills the lion and proposes a riddle giving you new underwear a feast at his wedding they were not four apostles it has got to be twelve the mind of the universe is twelve 30 slices of the pie 30 sheets putting forth the riddle Hugo didnt know where to buy the sheets I normally go to Target to buy my sheets hugo grabs a club and knocks the heads off of 30 guys he gave them to his wedding guests going through the sign of leo he slays the lamb torches of their tails the little school girls always helps hugo do his killing creating the jesus story to enslave rome tell them a great big lie the dead dont need no proof burning the fields 300 foxes hugo is forming history making things as he wants them to be and not as they exist he is creating a new world for his bride a world were a lie converts all inverting the light to bend to the truth rising through beauty and wisdom the dream is forgotten a long time refusing to listen tonya spoke of hugo every day she told everyone that he breathed fire and hanged tims chief servant up by his heels Mr. Perry is the hanged man cursed is Mr. Perry he can no longer kill the little children the man who wanted to destroy the world is dead accustomed to our own technology are we looking in the wrong place a different power system Wilcox climbs the pyramid and looks over the valley he remembers to words of the witchdoctor the evidence is in front of our eyes there are things that we dont know the physics taught in school is not evident one hundred armed guards preventing us from learning the truth this is not the golden age feeding the egos of kings all workers are slaves we live from paycheck to paycheck looking to the future instructed not to point out the words that have been written

10.2 Wilcox is building a giant battery to create a big enough charge to send a message out into outer space generating orbs choking the air with balls of energy electrified air excited to the state of glowing run the people feed the people open-eyed with her 82

mouth herding the crickets into the arena my most favorite artist I know so little about you the work is so hard for such little return yet we continue to pull the wings off of the flies involved with the darkest reds ever known to the world the little school girl had discovered the secret of foxgloves and she would not tell anyone not even Wilcox who could be so persuasive but it was already too late she had disappeared and gone to another place Wilcox only had some crude sketches that she left behind Tonya sent him some bread and a flask of wine in the hopes of cheering him up the secret of the foxgloves would not be discovered we have these things in Iowa the neighbor lady planted flowers while us boys were next door getting high her cries cannot drown out the mystery something is hovering over us wanting to destroy us Gie said we were impoverished at nighttime Zelda would undress Gie and Zelda dont get along too well anymore Zelda has to have her cherished ideals and Gie was on the street buying up flesh he would send them to the butcher with a glazed look in their eyes the Turk would cut them up into little pieces and feed them to the neighborhood dogs on Sundays everyone would gather at the Turks house to practice our singing we were going to enter our group in a local competition the Turk had the most wonderful voice when he would sing the angels would cry we called ourselves the butchers singing club the bulk of our repertoire was war protest songs we did a hellashish rendition of all along the watchtower Zelda doesnt want to know anymore she only wants to forget I have lost so many things I started to worry about what I said and how I was saying it I started to think about my audience and what it was that they wanted to hear from me and then I said fuck that I just need to write what comes out naturally I dont need to force it or coax it or work it over hot coals I just need to let it flow if there is nothing to write then I need to just shut the fuck up Im not here to win friends and influence people Im breaking down the walls kicking them down fuck convention fuck the rules let hell break loose and run amok lets burn everything down lets smash everything in stop chasing after bullshit sell your soul and join a rock band get in your car and drive until it runs out of gas then get out and hitchhike go until you cant go anymore each the end of the earth and turn around and do it all over again in the opposite direction find someone that needs a friend and spend a lifetime being their friend pull out what is inside you and give it away throw it all away dedicate your life to a foolish cause believe in a stupid idea create your own religion dress like a clown act like a fool challenge authority challenge those with no authority quit your job plant a garden learn to play a musical instrument become a monk run for political office give a dollar to a business man buy someone a cup of coffee give a knife to a criminal and buy a baby a gun make clothes out of weeds and burn up all of your rugs shave your head and wear cowboy boots talk loudly and sing and whistle to yourself all of the time give advice to people whether they ask for it or not tell people the opposite of what you think tell everyone that you love them adopt a dog from the humane society and name him god stop listening to fools who think they all got it figured out because they dont none of knows what is going on it is all one big fucking joke that has been pulled 83

on the whole human race there is no need to get all excited about politics because it doesnt matter who gets elected nothing changes the rich stay rich and the poor stay poor

10.3 stop believing in the bullshit and learn to resist in small ways drag your feet slow things down take a longer lunch tell you children lies tell them god loves them tell them to believe in democracy tell them that god is on Americas side tell them to obey their masters tell them that drugs are bad tell them that you only tell them the truth tell them to die for their country tell them that they are better than everyone else tell them that they are the lucky ones tell them that only they are beautiful tell them that they can do no wrong tell them that success is the measure of a good life tell them that they were meant to live the good life tell them to stay in the cave tell them to not go outside tell them to hate their neighbor tell them to kill everyone who is not like them tell them that there is a heaven waiting for them tell them that black is white tell them that war is good tell them that death is only the beginning tell them that god died for their sins tell them that willie boy is coming and he is going to destroy the god damned war machine Gie climbs out of the window and onto the ledge he is singing a tune from the rolling stones time is on my side yes it is a crowd gathers below they wonder what this is all about Gie looks like a huge pigeon on the ledge he is shouting at the people below hey listen to me listen to me you stupid fuckers Gie is screaming at the top of his lungs but the crowd below cant hear him because of the loud humming noise coming out of tonyas pussy her pussy is a big machine and it is drowning out the shouts of Gie high up on the buildings ledge a van full of engineers pull up and get on their hands and knees and crawl into tonyas pussy the crowd gets confused and doesnt know what spectacle to watch some of the crowd watches Gie and some of the crowd watches tonya other shift their attention back and forth between the two still other get frustrated and leave the scene some psychologists from the university show up and they begin to interview the crowd collecting observational data and demographic data they wanted to discover the psychological correlates between those who watched Gie and those who watch tonya their research was published in the journal of experimental psychology when tonya woke up she coughed the engineers out and started coming at the crowd with a new York attitude she tore into the onlookers and cut them up like Swiss cheese when she got tired of the bloodshed she stopped into a bar and jumped up on stage with the band and played a few sets on bass guitar it was a cover band that played stuff from blondie, the pretenders, the clash, and a flock of seagulls

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10.4 covert tactics its a very common way to eliminate someone she attached the metallic bombs to my magnetic sides and waited for the beckon call her sanctions and isolation will not ease the pressure the chances of becoming a whole person are negative once the bomb explodes the acceleration of time and space will be more than I can control the ghost of betty boop talks to me about the inevitable she says that it is inevitable the words trail on behind her like a phantasmal tail inevitable she says as if she trying to convince herself when did I start listening to ghosts how is this possible can I move on move forward to an existence without ghosts in my life I think the ghost of betty boop will be with me forever even in the next world our souls are connected in this evil that I have created maybe in the next world she returns the favor and I am the one haunting her we look for salvation in love our own personal jesus did I place betty boop on the cross did I hold her down and drive the nails into her hands and feet facial recognition software we need to know that this is truly the antichrist sex clubs for women life imitating art a full week of unadulterated fun the ring slipped off tonyas finger and fell down the drain she was more than distraught she was Hellen Keller and Joan of Arc burning at the stake she is prejudicial of hugo and his aristocrats they parade around the room with their chests puffed out they were businessmen from Cape Girardeau they high on the confluence of the Ohio and the Mississippi still chasing the phantom of the opera forming relationships as quickly as possible thinking of them as a friend that you fucking hate dear sirs could you please fuck off and die they are pedophile father figures in prison heavy armed pedophiles attacking people in the war never speak again and oxygen thief we want our money back they the purple gorilla to give it back

10.5 very real and dangerous destroyed by the practice look at the statistics destroyed by the opening doorway a mere man without understanding Chomsky and banjos inventing coca cola his wee wee is fizzy there is trouble in immigration it is nice but not documentation learning to negatively affect the morality of the country it was a tender and professional cavity search attracting attention shooting yogi bear having many jesus auditions tonya is giving me a bath she fumbles with the soap hugo is outside smoking a cigar this is all good clean fun while tonya and I got comfortable hugo was discussing throwing me out of the union that want to kick me out of the religion also right out on the street on my ass with my broken mandolin I cant keep my light under a bushel the pursuit of happiness saturated with consumerism I was a devoted drug addict committed to my addiction heart and soul floating about the place who are we to judge finding that life contains so little real substance wanting to feel a love for myself and everyone else looking for the value in life burning it down to the basic value it took time for the world to catch up deification not unusual a deep root among us 85

omnipresent anything that sparkles a glint in the eye of the fair maiden wanted for terrible crimes we shared a saucy smile remember not to cross the line when they are pointing their guns at you I am getting my train ticket to go into the city she has wizard of oz socks Im trying to flip her around dumping all her shit out of her backpack she looks real good in her video and I am packing her special thing I will show her my dorm room the place where my genius comes out one drop at a time I sense a tone of disappointment in your voice when you found out it was me I am your reality and not your fantasy someday I will leave you to your fantasies sitting in your modified chair she is talking about fixing the roof she showed me her cup holder that she traded some jewelry for she was trading with school teachers dealing out the trash speaking of the devil we were throwing away fifis box

10.6 there is this moment on the couch when tonya convinced me that she truly was a woman making me think about genitalia and the people who want to help me in a fight being a competitive liar she said her brother was caught in the fallopian tubes she is looking for her silent and infinite control imagining herself in a boat floating by someone elses control a malevolent wind or some such force that she cannot identify she needs company and she is too afraid to say so beating her head against the wall there once was this woman who lived in Philadelphia I think she might have worked for the paper she would read my poetry and say that my words spoke straight to her heart she was looking to find something from my words I am not quite sure what strength maybe it could be courage I dont know maybe hope I couldnt find such things in my words but she did they spoke to her in a way that they didnt speak to me isnt that strange there are others who said that it seemed like I was writing about them and their lives but I wasnt I was writing about something else or someone else I was a million miles away but they said it was like I could see into their hearts and their minds like I knew what they were thinking people are always seeking something some may have an idea what it is they are seeking an others dont have a clue some want a burden to be lifted from their hearts their lives are a puzzle that refuses to be solved they want to make an exchange a barter with life and love Maria bends over and I slide the Thomas theorem inside her dying in the alley from an overdose of mother superior she is covered in the graves she has on Amish clothes and Redwing boots Maria is chewing on the devils claw and she beats the starving orphan with her little club Maria keeps telling herself that this is not a movie that her teeth have been whittled into little skulls she was going to run over the mailman with her Toyota station wagon she doesnt know how to say hello Im pouring the bottle of mad dog down her throat helping her to see visions and stepping in the footsteps of her ancestors

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10.7 when they first got off the boat in Boston someone dropped the money into the ocean and they had to hustle for some food and a place to stay this is Marias inheritance as she hustles for a dollar so she can go buy herself some plastic beads from the dollar store she bites down on the beads to see if they are real once she has finished the bottle she slips back into her fog she has the soul of a boy buried deep in her black heart Maria takes a shit in the middle of the street and shapes it into a sculpture of god she is born under the sign of hypocrites and she worships the appearance of evil she pulls from the bong like bob marley she is pro at injecting the vein I watch her in her cage as she dances for the little boys they throw coins at her as she dances she has pledged her allegiance to the catholic church and she knows how to swallow jesus Maria is a filthy whore she gave up her vows for a stiff cock I thought I could leave her alone but I couldnt I had to sit on her lap and let her whore moans out she would lean over and let it dribble out of her mouth she will never get to disappear she lives under our beds and in our closets I undress for you as you play with my darkness you swallow up everything both evil and good she touches me until I explode she moves herself all over me putting my fingers into her ugly places naming all of our kills my dick is hard and throbbing she treats it like a holy relic like it is the cock of god she worships me with her vagina her cunt is a church where she worships god I am the host I am the body of Christ she is pulling one of my ribs out through my chest she is going to make another woman shit shits out words all night as the moonlight exposes her saggy breasts these same breasts that god once sucked she now offers to every tom dick and harry who will buy her a bottle so she can forget the lies she once believed in

10.8 Maria is wearing her clever hat as she reads the tropic of cancer to the children she diddled them between her teeth and the night trying to get out but they would keep chasing you they chased you into oblivion banished from the real world the fabricated theater of reality sloshed on the amplified and the trivial Maria once seemed so relevant now not so much it is funny how time puts people in their proper place even if they go there kicking and screaming cursing a god she damn well knows doesnt exist I have met a lot of religious people and most of them will admit to you that they do not believe in god they continue their charade because it is the only game in town and it pays well and the carnival rolls on every now and then they have to sacrifice a believer to the cause and then everything continues on as if nothing happened people turn their backs and pretend that they didnt see the dirty tricks performed behind the screen there is void inside of me I asked Maria to fill it but she couldnt she didnt know how she said she couldnt fill the hole that was inside of her I have been told that you are what you eat and what you wear and it is important to be seen with the people 87

and to say the right things fuck all that is there nothing but bullshit in this life the ghost of betty boop doesnt care about those who vote she is only interested in supporting the military industrial complex her hands are still sticky from handling the blood money a lifestyle that increases alienation dont jump out of the window set the building on fire create a change in your world stop seeing things with limited eyes take the blinders off that your culture has placed over your head you dont need a new car you dont need a bigger house you dont need new clothes learn to live with less learn to live your own life and not be blindly led by your nose trafficking in impotent charisma that is what betty boop had she had charisma and she tried it for the almighty dollar she became the latest commodity to be sold on the market the shame and fear in the eyes of the defeated she was forced to dance in front of the tourists she danced for food and money exposing her nakedness for the snapping photos of polo shirted buffoons they wanted something to put in the memory books something of a life that they could not fully know

10.9 this is hard place that we live in there is no sense-making machine in this nonsensical world it is all a matter of temperament who has this monopoly on pain nothing can be done finding the easy out all I do is complain I thought I was helping you find your way but now Im more and more convinced I was only kidding myself and you I tried to be respectful of your interests your needs that doesnt mean that I can meet them you have to find the answer within yourself I can show you the door but you have to walk through it I can only show you the example a pattern a model for your life everything we do is spiritual because everything that we do is guided by our values what we do is influenced by what we think is right and wrong this is the foundation of living a spiritual life everything we do is spiritual this has nothing to do with churches and gods it has to do with your actions it is helpful to be aware of this in everything we do Frankie is a punk he sold his mother into prostitution she working the streets to support her little boys habit Frankie is connect to the stars through the dynamic workings of fate and temptation everything is moving spinning around in frankies head hallucinating the Nietzschean tragedy speculating on the morality of frankies mother he listens through the walls transcribing the Tibetan mysteries hugo is speaking in tongues to tonya and tonya is burning all my postcards from summer camp the ones where I told her that I loved her I was just a boy then and didnt know how to drink my turpentine I am sending tonya pictures of my cock and balls on my new phone I texted her all the facts that I could remember when did this become about me and not Frankie it is he who is the punk and not I of course it is probably I who is the punk in the eyes of hugo and Tonya and possibly nanuk of the north but he thinks everyone is a punk except for the son of Mr. Green Genes that is the only person nanuk of the north respects 88

10.10 tonya fucked me two ways because she believed in being thorough hugo sat in the corner and watched me fuck his wife he even helped me tie her to the bed with some of his silk ties hugo is an investment banker and it is important that he is dressed to kill at all times tonya is a school teacher who teaches first grade I have known hugo for many years we used to be cub scouts together and we both played drums in the elementary school band hugos dad was an avid hunter who would take trips to Montana to kill elk and deer it seemed that the universe vibrated at hugos feet harpo used to accompany hugo and myself into the woods and we would smoke cigarettes that hugo stole from his mother I was with hugo and harpo when I first got high hugo had bought some weed from herman a kid who lived over a couple of blocks from hugo herman was different from the rest of us he didnt have a father at least not one that lived with him and his mother hugo and I met hermans father many years later when we were in high school we helped hermans father move some furniture into his new house I could tell that herman and his father didnt really know each other or knew how to talk to each other his father seemed more like a distant uncle than father hugo harpo and I all had fathers and herman didnt this made him seem different to us almost tougher because he had to be the man of the house all by himself we were just dumb kids seeking visions and having wet dreams of fallen angels we imagined ourselves the fathers of a whole race of nephilim we dreamed the incomprehensible it was herman who first introduced me to AC he brought me over to ACs house and I bought some marijuana from AC I remember that AC had these two big Dobermans that hid under a bed and growled at me the whole time I was there I heard later from hugo that AC beat the shit out of herman then next time he came over because he brought me over to ACs to but some weed this never stopped me from going over to ACs and buying weed from him all the time of course I never brought anyone new with me over to ACs

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Eleven 11.1 the naked tremble before the machinery of commerce we were all young capitalists learning to steal from the buyer we always pinched a little from the bags we sold and we learned that profits meant the more weed we could smoke ourselves nanuk of the north became the best capitalist of us all we all eventually bought our quarter pound bags from him and we seduced a million girls with the promise of heaven delivered through a pipe and a rolled joint we walked all night tripping on acid and howling at the moon we spent hours upon hours listening to ted nugent Nazareth and black Sabbath putting our trust in the next high the next piece of flesh that we sacrificed to the night we consumed everything being machines of consumption in our drug induced consumerism not knowing that our rebellion still fit the capitalist economic model we were more square than the squares we made fun of we were suckers just like all the rest sucking capitalisms cock we bought records and posters and incense and we bought drugs by the truck loads we supported capitalism with our whole hearts no wonder we never did anything to challenge it our revolution was still a capitalist revolution we werent going to change anything we couldnt see beyond the world that was created for us we cast our ballots in truck stops taverns and bowling alleys we played billiards with the children of the corn and helped them butcher a pig for the prom queen we raced our cars up and down the city streets in search of a new religion we were racing to Golgotha praying for each other and for warm vaginas and voluptuous breasts as we practiced like zealots the art of undress we watched our older brothers cousins friends and enemies disappear into a world with a war in an exotic sounding place as we contemplated and debated by the beer kegs on the possibility of our joining our lost souls to this war and being threatened by our fathers to be taken by shotgun down to the local post office to register for the draft there was revolution in the air and we were too young to recognize it we were too busy making plans to work in factories and buy cars and live in an apartment on our own back then we thought death was a long ways away death only came close to us in rare occasions in the form of distant relatives who we really didnt know that well this is the age that we started to question what people told us especially our parents our teachers and the news media

11.2 we were reading high times and leaning about William Burroughs even though we were too young and stupid to understand the significance of what we were reading I was never a Buddhist I never sought a teacher I never took refuge but I did seek enlightenment in many different forms and expressions when I talk about you I am also talking about myself because our lives are bound up together in one great big ball we 90

are a giant ball of twine connected to one another and many others sometimes I am speechless a poor example of a human being not being able to utter a sound I am speechless I am broken I am obtuse I do have an awareness of the essentials of life of the magic of words and actions how to be a cause in this world to move things for either good or evil but these are things that I learned over time my imagination was just beginning to blossom with the steady diet of blotter acid micro dot mescaline and mushrooms a world was opened up that I never knew existed thoughts entered my mind from the mind of the Jungian primordial past I became connected to all minds and remembered things from previous lives that I had forgotten I didnt feel compelled it just seemed like something I wanted to do I had read Henry millers tropic of cancer tropic of Capricorn and nexus sexus plexus and these works had a profound impact on me I decided to try and write like henry miller and the writing seemed to flow and be comfortable to me I struggled with trying to find my voice to find my style but it seemed like this was the work I was meant to write that it was already written for me I only had to remember it to bring it back to life

11.3 watching Godzilla destroying Tokyo people only want to buy shiny things my insecurity is not shiny sending me to the deserted island the aboriginals taught me how to hunt I got a slim chance for survival my walls bleed yellow looking up and down spitting out words trying to say that I am sorry tonya turns on the camera and tries to speak the truth about her life and loves and obsessions we are addicted to her we have to watch as she shares her life with us she loves her viewers and her viewers love her Im living near sears roebuck right around the corner from the all night taco stand Im not in your army Im here studying the natives learning about how they get their drugs I was just bored so I went down to the taco stand I was interested in becoming a successful brain surgeon not interested in living the life that they designed me for the addiction just made things happen it was like the ghosts would come through the open doors chemically altering my metabolism I threw myself out of your windows not interested in staring at my toes a hallucinated viewpoint not realizing that I was dying that we all were dying we start out dying just a little and we discover that we like it so we keep it up and start dying more and more each and every day soon you lose track of the fact that you are dying you just enjoy it too much death is so easy to obtain it is around every street corner everyone is selling death once we get a taste of death then we want to be connoisseurs of death we want to try all kinds of death spiritual death natural death accidental death homicidal death suicidal death undetermined death unclassified death disco death physical death eternal death so many deaths to be experienced

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11.4 hugo was interested in the direction of the words where the words would take him he was also interested in the relationship between words and the image he would search to find a picture or an image that corresponded with some words that he had written he is interested in projecting himself backward in time back to a previous experience first he was in the bottle and now he is in the mud the image helps him travel backwards in time to the origin of his words he considers words to be awkward instruments imperfect vessels that carry our meanings when I say goodbye to you tonya I am saying goodbye to me I have counted the hours and the days we have spent together god knows hugo has it all documented on video I think he was an anthropologist in a previous life we have danced and kissed so many times before this time we went to the holiday inn and drank seagrams and ate fired clams harpo was there with his overalls on backwards I took you to the strip club and you got up on stage with jane and danced I was left holding your purse and my cock in my hand you and hugo were fighting then when I picked you up at his apartment later that night you had a black eye I asked you about it and you said it was the cost of loving a fool I wasnt sure if you meant hugo or me

11.5 I have been making a list of all of our tomorrows and I plan to send them to you some day destiny can wait with this meticulous swing as we play and pretend I will share my world with you the curves and the straight lines the confusion and the meanings I do not love I only create if my creations love that who am I to stand in their way I would sit and wait for the words to come and then I would wait no longer tonya would ask me to pull her hair to call her a bitch to slap her across the face it was all a game to her and so serious to me I would love her and I would hate her and I would forget the meaning of my words my heart consumed by her cruel game as hugo sat back and applauded always willing to be a gentleman to help tie her down or make sure that the gag was snug sometimes I hated you because you loved him more than me and sometimes I hated you because you loved me more than him and sometimes I hated you because I loved you take from me the bread and the air and the laughter you take away the sunshine that once dwelled in my heart you take from me that which never changes you take from me my blood stained streets I have touched you tonya I have known you I have seen you murder the night I have seen you stab yourself with greed with lust and desire I have seen you hang from the gallows pole your hands upon my body bringing me life you possess me in a dark and glorious way I will always be able to see your face I will always love you as a certain darkness that has found a home within my heart when I see the innocent they remind me of you because you are so evil I will remember the nights when we violated gods laws maybe this is all political and arbitrary maybe we 92

can hear the giant coming down the hall he was a giant of a man who fought in the war

11.6 the things we have sacrificed for the voyeur they pay hugo to watch us you and I are the stars some of them have remembered all of our lines I dont have to say them anymore others can say them for me even the lines about the crack in the world the crack where all the love seeps out and gets wasted they even make the sadness believable like they have lived it when they havent I guess the sadness is what reminds us all that we are really human we all know the measure of sadness this is why we attempt to live beyond the eternal they came for me one by one with their forks and knives their hungry mouths snapping I became a vast arena filled with shouting people they were shouting at the man standing in the center of the ring he had on a top hat and he carried a whip girls on white horses circled the ring they circled and circled the ring it was like they were creating a vortex with their movements above their heads circles a horde of demons the ringmaster would snap his whip and strike a random demon the demon would shriek and rise higher up out of the reach of the whip Willie boy punchy and the little school girl are in the crowd watching the spectacle each time the ringmaster cracks his whip punchy jumps up and dances a little jig the first time punchy does this willie boy starts to laugh and almost chokes on his mouthful of peanuts

11.7 Agent Smith is outside smoking a cigar with the circus owner they are talking about politics who will run for president now that Mr. Perry has killed himself he was such a wonderful guy he seemed so presidential who will we pick now you know it is so important for the economy we have to make sure we pick someone who understands how things operate that the free hand of the market means the illuminated control of the illuminated hand yes we should pick someone to run from our membership only this time make sure they are psychologically sound and not going to kill themselves over being jilted by a homosexual messiah this time lets not pick a Texan those Texans are almost as bad as Californians we will have to meet with Mr. Nervous and see what he thinks about this situation there is always some situation going on we need to keep this place the land of the free and stop giving everything away we are waiting on the man be sure to put a napkin under your cup that is the sign of distinction we need to show that we are set apart from the others that we are special you know we have special training in fencing and yachting in dressing for dinner and tennis knowing what to wear at the appropriate times is so very important to some extent it doesnt matter what are the thoughts inside the person it matter more the clothes that are on the person the 93

thoughts we can program Dr. Loophole can reprogram anyones mind he is a mind control expert as long as the person knows how to dress we can put the proper thoughts into their head and put the words into their mouths that one fellow from Texas was such a good subject he was such a good puppet Dr. Loophole would make that fellow jump when we wanted him to jump and sit down on the floor and bark like a dog that Texas fellow was such a good little puppet for the corporate interests I think it was Mr. Nervous who came up with the idea of putting some fool in office so that we could control the government and the idea of creating a war to make everyone rich was pure genius that Mr. Nervous is a fucking genius no one suspected that we were running the show everyone believes in that democracy bullshit people are so fucking pathetic we had the people hooked and sick they were puking up all over themselves with patriotic fervor no one was willing to question us because then we would have the papers call them un-American if you didnt support our little war then you didnt love America what is wrong with you stupid little fuck why dont you love America everybody loves America you just keep loving America while we rape the country shit the robber barons cant touch us we are robbing everybody we are robbing the whole fucking world we are manipulating the economy so that we can buy everything up soon we will own everything we changed the game we control everything now blow up a couple of buildings and blame it on some country that taps into the latent racial hatred of three-fourths of the people in the country and we had a green light to go do anything we wanted so we went and destroyed a country and blew everything up and then put it all back together again just like new and we just created a little corporate welfare trick where we transfer money from the average joe to the bank accounts of our companies it was pure fucking brilliance who is going to suggest that starting a war is corporate welfare I mean really we got to protect the soccer moms from the crazy terrorists those foreign terrorists are out to get those sweet and innocent soccer moms damn it just brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it we were just defending motherhood and the apple pie thinking of pie makes me hungry lets go over to the cafeteria and get a piece of pie

11.8 tonya is in the cafeteria and is eating a foot long hotdog and winking at the busboy as he clears the tables of dirty dishes she is asking him if he would like to rumble she can see all the goose pimples up and down his arm she salivates just thinking of all those young cells trapped inside his young body she wants to drape himself over him and dissolve his young flesh she is hoping that he will fall down and be paralyzed that way tonya can pounce without resistance sometimes her eagerness scares them away Mr. Nervous and the circus owner watch tonya drool over the young meat the traffic was building up inside the cafeteria and more and more customers crowded in to the small 94

room it became like a persistent dream coffee and some mustard from tonyas hotdog fell on the floor the busboy looks penetrated with tonyas astrotheology she is telling him about jesus and the stars how the bible is just a astrological text tonya asks the busboy if he has any pride he tells her he has an alarm clock tonya wipes some mustard from her lip and smiles at the busboy puerile penile a self-induced hypnotic trance the busboy went wrong somewhere and they found him with an injected smile no one could prove that is was all tonyas fault she blamed it all on the stars the busboy had some bad stars some say the busboy died of the yellow sickness Dr. Loophole assessed the situation and came up with brain control he hypnotized everybody into believing the lie even tonya was believing in the lie Dr. Loophole was feeding her blue oatmeal and she was starting to glow he said it was necessary to make amends with the ascended fathers but I was convinced it was all bullshit when I get the shakes I can tell bullshit from your common everyday truth and I was having the shakes really bad once Dr. Loophole had tonya humming he had her service all of his clients however all of his clients began to glow in the dark the good doctor said that this was the cost of doing business

11.9 tonya had this way of sitting on your lap and working your cock up in her like a corkscrew then she works it like a meat grinder spurting inside her it was like smoking black hash after we were done I had to lay down and take a nap tonya is more than a human being she is above it all I am reading about her in the USA today something about blue eyes and brown eyes she was planning an art war and saving her pennies to travel to Arkansas to visit the saint she claims that she is still the same seven years later broken off and reconnected she listens to the words of the saint everyday soaking up the energy she is a dedicated fan watching the hermits playing with the crabs scratching everyone is scratching it is contagious or as tonya likes to say cuntagious (spell check doesnt like this) there was soldiers everywhere shooting the civilians I wondered how they knew who to shoot I guess it is important to know that before you go off shooting people all those waiting to be hanged could feel it too tonya can you feel me the screams can tear right through you the soldiers were not very good and it took a long time for the people to die I crawled right up into tonyas muddy canal it just made me feel good all over she was all high jungle warm and steamy I was going to trade her for a new soul since mine was pretty much worn out all those years of good living can really catch up to you I worked her patch of corn on the side of the mountain she started drawing formulas on the floor she told me about the illuminated hand and how they controlled everything she drew symbols all over the floor she said these symbols represented the universe and its power she called up priest and he came over he took off his clothes and did a belly dance just like I used to watch bertha do so many years ago Mr. Crowley is knocking at the door and screaming at Jane he is pissed 95

off that she has a priest in her apartment the priest is scared shitless he is afraid of Mr. Crowley he hurries and gets his clothes on and jumps out a back window jane opens the door and lets Mr. Crowley in he searches everywhere for the priest he says he knows that a priest was in here because he can smell the fear and desperation he takes jane into the bedroom and starts to slap her around I find a gun under a seat cushion in the couch and point it at Mr. Crowley and tell him to back the fuck up he lunges for the gun several times and each time I kick him in the face and tell him to stop being stupid Mr. Crowley decides that it is in his best interests to leave an incendiary bomb was thrown through the window and everything was on fire for some strange reason the smell of the fire made me think of bath and body works weird huh it was some sort of melon smell

11.10 knowing a lot of numbers across the length and breadth a latrine or cesspit we wonder and slip back into the madmans spell jane is so tall I cant get over how tall she is it seems like she has grown a foot taller over the past year slowly dying of revulsion you said it takes you to wtf? Well how and when and where and why of course I might have an inkling of the why acetic and hunched over sniffing the flowers I smell of melons the fire is still upon me in the weak light of a single bulb I worked on him like a drug he didnt resemble self-pity he could work the hyphens he had a way with the hyphens it was like his calling not in words but in painful images he kept them all in a leather briefcase that was locked with a metal clasp Archimboldi he was reading Archimboldi the words would fall off the page and then stand up and dance away there was a danger and an innocence that were mixed together he was damaged that was plain and simple any reader would be able to make this conclusion the narrator in his stories was a force to be reckoned with I was surprised how he was able to write all 3,00 books with his flipper arms he must have had a special computer crafted or special software that he could dictate the words of the story to I think his novels created a sense of love and repulsion in his readers they both loved him and hated him at the same time like a mutant baby that kills the neighbors yet you hide the truth from the law while the mutant baby continues to murder all of your neighbors whom you once respected and loved in their own right but not at the level of love that you would have for your own child the whole thing is very messed up and sad yet so very moving at the same time it is the greek plays of comedy and tragedy all together again you dont know whether to cheer or cry as you turn each page as I read Archimboldi I feel like he was trying to hide something from us some great evil that he was a part of by telling us all these wonderful lies about all these other people it is like he is trying to distract us trying to hoodwink the reader into believing something that is not true I would advise you to be wary of anyone trying to sell you their version of the truth it is like he is sharing with us his 96

own personal delusion his own hideousness he is pulling out his heart and showing us its blackness the true evil that is inside (notice that I used the word true, skepticism should be flooding into your mind at this moment, beware! Beware!) not only does he have flippers for arms but he is short very short about the size of a fire hydrant I can see him sitting in a chair perched atop a pile of phone books and flapping away at his keyboard pushing out brilliant word after brilliant word you can from his writing that he is highly educated and most probably has watched way too mush television he may be one of those television addicts there is this self-consciousness about his writing and there is this worldliness and sophisticated sense about his writing that makes him appear more traveled and cultured than the rest of us when I read his novels its like I get an education every time I learn new things about the world and myself and the learning is not like getting your teeth pulled it seems like Archimboldi is afraid of the readers reactions to his words and that he was controlling how people interpreted his words conscious of the manipulation how he comes off I think he obsessed over it he wanted to structure the meaning so that we would interpret it in a certain way in a way that put a positive light upon the writer so that we would think of the writer as a wonderful person someone with insight and understanding someone who could feel for the common person someone who was just like us who had feelings like us and fears like us someone we could associate with feel like they were a part of our cause even though the tenor of his words told us that he was not Archimboldi wants to persuade his audience he wants to employ the tricks of the Sophist yet hide behind the curtain of authenticity he wants us to consider him to be connected to a history of writers and this connection gives him a pass to bamboozle us I think deep down inside Archimboldi wants us to think that he is smart and cool I think it is an unhappy paradox going on with his writing he wants us to believe and he is afraid that we will believe too much he gives us a ticket to board the train and then he precedes to drive the train off the bridge to sacrifice himself and his readers for the sake of preserving the American dream in the worthiness of the novel the inflated jargon perpetrates a kind of double fraud the reward is not proportional to the effort I am afraid you should burn all of his books and run for your lives make up for the time you have lost do something worthwhile donate for a worthy cause Archimboldi has taken from you something that you cant get back

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Twelve 12.1 velocity and vividness replaces deployment people flicker in and out unifying vignettes irreverent brashness detestation and elimination the tired ritual of mock-worship my own lack of vision this weird delusion that everything around me exists specifically for me I am keeping the world turning it is not a lack of motivation it is lacking the proper tool there are so many things that my blindness has erased I want to be devastated I am losing the ability to believe in politics losing my ability to believe in religion I doubt that I even believe in you you are an disembodied voice at the end of a phone line a two dimensional image on a website give me a second glance a third and a fourth as your mother pushes me out the door pushing me into the dendrites they entangle me with their metallic mysteries there are too many lies swirling around my head I don't believe anyone any more everyone has a game they are all trying to sell me something about the hopeless enmeshment of the logos we are trapped in our make-believe worlds no has a map to lead us out this world we have created has become our master we are enslaved by our own creations I am a creator I created you and we have both forgotten this now I am ruled by you my creation the shadows on the wall now call the shoots they create the rules new rules that we live by new rules that we die by the semen glows and the music is playing on in the background at low volume radioactive zelda is thinking about the color of mozzarella and she asks the waitress if she has any pick spaghetti tumultuous pubic hair and bobbing flaccid penises do you have all your paperwork in order

12.2 the waitress rolled up the morning paper and hit zelda up side of her head when zelda asked wtf the waitress asked if there were any republicans in here I said I'm fine how are you after another smack zelda's mask was knocked loose and fell on the floor I don't care anymore about the androids they were dancing naked and listening to iron maiden harpo said no fucktards swimming naked in the pool this is not a simulation of reality this is life with all of the explosions it isn't the first time so excited harpo is checking tonya out drowning in cruddy images there is a restriction on the human experience it is just a fantasy plain and simple I must pretend that I am not dependent ignore the addiction feign immortality while being an ignorant bastard like all the rest we are only pretending and we should honest with others about our deceptions a hophead on a turkish florist the better the tech the harder I am hooked plug me tonya and make it seem so fucking real can ya baby can ya I recognize the paradox in the rosy forecast is it a paradox really I am watching your moving pictures forgetting the truth behind the image losing the context for the meaning thus the meaning becomes slippery meaning 98

is a slippery nipple the real fantasy and the real dependence there is no independence from this we are all hooked even those who pretend that they are not the chemicals in your food the poison in your air the dirt you walking on is killing you the earth is dead this a child with a remote surfing a million channels don't expect a plot or anything you can sink your teeth into I'm not here to provide you with an entertaining narrative I expect by now that most people have given up thrown in their cards

12.3 in the next room a little girl shouts OMG she didn't do anything the girls are watching a movie and they are lost in the storyline speak into the microphone senator have you ever done three minutes or more on the speed bag your response is important for national security install your new cpu here you just pull back the skin from the skull like this it is all very routine the replacement of the human parts with machine parts we live in a disposable world recycling is a thing of the past now everything is thrown away that way the poor have an occupation sorting through the trash it gives them purpose a meaningful life not everyone can lead the life of a weasel like you hugo god knows that I have tried but alas to no avail adding another layer of disorientation a construct of weirdness the bizarre and the obsolete all tossed together in a salad transcending the limitations of individual human experience this fantasy of escape there is a bather on the beath and she is trying to escape reality back and forth between the game and this there are dictionary pages it has been a long time the woman is on the beach and there is a guy with a flag he is waving his flag in the air the bells are calling Tim is standing on the father son and the holy ghost ring my bell coming to you at five in the morning all those good things like a hangover she is putting tassels on her bomb it's not the poetic bomb I'm pulling off the arms of the barbie dolls like a howling wolf we are worried about superman because we found his costume hanging on the coat rack he is missing like the walrus he had so much purity an evil fuck artist with echo and time delay zelda was the winner she sold the most pussy they were lined up around the block with their cocks in their hands I was going up and down the line selling them steroids and viagra hugo was the first in line he was beaming like a tin solder he wanted to get a whack at zelda

12.4 underground tunnel systems he thought they were cute his balls tied up in a bow they go from the capital building down to the temple the temple of the blue dog radioactive fallout shelters he is not a man of very few words zelda said the she could shut him up you lose all night long this could be some kind of hidden agenda more propaganda thrown at us in big slop buckets it is possibility versus probability you went 99

down to the corner drugstore and bought a whole months supply of likelihood of something happening exploiting the gaps between what is said and what is meant you have been told over and over again that things are not as they appear that there is no social order that hypocrisy reigns that consumerism is not magical we are only becoming better tyrants keeping the resistance under control don't believe me I am only lying to you go back to sleep this was only a dream a silly dream nothing to be worried about breaking the rules doesn't mean following the leader following the dollar sign buying a car is not rebellion learn to rebel against the rebellion this revolution is plastic and only one-sided there is no substance behind the facade the rulers of this world only rule the emptiness and they just make you think that the emptiness is wonderful that you can't live without the emptiness that the emptiness is worldwide that it is spreading you can find it in your supermarket you can find it on television you can find it in the backseat of your car this emptiness follows you everywhere engineering your emptiness we can make it anyway you want you just place your order and give us your credit card number

12.5 using self-reference to seem too hip to hate associating with fearlessness and irreverence the capacity to see through the deception a spokesman for hollow authority communicating the irony of self a world we now view as constructed the irony of the hipster too cool for school for the public mass too cool for the herd yet the herd is playing the same game deception and the mockery of isolation a blank indifference you obey the command to strike a pose and become just one in a million posers the numb blank bored demeanor can you make it bleed without that gleam in your eye the gleam gives you away it betrays your indifference zelda is dancing with you but she obviously would rather be dancing with someone else glitter sharks and wax crackers all my goodness she is not wearing makeup she doesn't know if she should she says that makeup is a burden on her soul her mother would lock her up in the bathroom and wouldn't let her out unless she had makeup on she doesn't pluck her eyebrows setting up social networking it is a blow job a gallery like a shooting gallery zelda is teaching how to give a blow job she wants to be an american she wants to get off on the red white and blue she is going to do it to make everyone happy throwing a beer in my face jumped the fence taking a swing impersonating a law enforcement officer shut your mouth off she runs and the posse takes off chasing her through the canyon sticking peppers up her ass she is a bad sunburn all over her she is on a hot streak her legs are on fire looking for the bars she has hidden the key I told her that I wasn't feeling it she is about ready to open in twenty minutes she had the water running going for her shower a steam pot she is battering back the pain shooting up her tolerance levels it grips and burn a big fucking muscle she moving in constant consulting the witchdoctor there is no 100

good explanation zelda is waiting for love to come through the door she is waiting for it to work out in the end we all need to have a plan she just needs it more I think she needs the rain we are driving to texas to help bury Mr. Perry his body is waterproof and he has this weird glow I have worked out all of the karmic distortions one handful of brown rice I am falling backwards through time we have started on this strange journey with a dead man in the back seat of the car zelda keeps talking to Mr. Perry like he is still among us I think she might be afraid that he might turn into a zombie or something if she thinks for a moment that he is actually dead zelda is singing me a lullaby she is looking really nice the compass nothing is worth the time star guides a new star channel it is all economical the right shade of pale there as always been a sort of hope zelda is hopeful by nature she is working on her spiritual awakening

12.6 every time she turns around it is a new fucking tragedy very fragile pieces of shit floating down the river two inches from landing on a hot poker she tries to be optimistic outer space on her razor that is optimistic it is almost like magic when she smiles a magic experience identifying with the lie the feeling that I get why do we relate because it speaks to them somehow some way a resemblance a silly little life with a piece of wood its just beautiful because I know the person who is doing it after awhile I stop seeing it an optimistic kind of thing I like it very simple a piece of the puzzle zelda is singing really bad it is grating on my nerves she is walking in the rain she is getting wet walking to a grocery store to buy some whiskey and cigarettes zelda is not waterproof she is commenting on the obvious she is not aware of the time psychosocial the cracks in the sidewalk reach up and grab her this is a total mess the rain is acid and it is burning her skin the rain is killing us all another day in the jungle of her mixed up mind god bless the crazies let them sleep safe tonight this is a street king contest the winner takes all takes them to hell with the demons and the battle call she is the happiest girl in the world zelda said it was a very successful night she made $420 it was not like a friday two streets coming at an angle it was great to see her again another saturday night I'm driving around the town looking for a score a transfer of ownership there is a pinhole in the heater core one without sliding doors I drove to the end of the block and turned around and went back I'm good to go the dash lights begin to flicker it is out a total fucking shitbox an accident up the highway the meter went spastic hooped and fried it just needed an inspection why should he not have a ride everything was different going into gear with the wipers everything is backwards I don't like the back doors until 4:00 in the morning to the rest of my shift going to fuel up working until 7:00 my entire profit no better and I didn't have any assholes

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12.7 zelda is here and she is showing us her naked body check her out it is a wonderful body she is really sweet three fairytale classics she just loves the shit her all time favorite popular in Finland she is telling me good morning she says that it is a two hand job thank you for everything it is an honor to be with you all you had to do was announce your distress a victim of fear because you lack belief the courage to accept the bullshit you have distilled all the worlds evil into this small bottle of brownish liquid let me drink of this evil let me get drunk with it I will drink It all down I will give it the full measure of myself anything less would be a crime tonya knows that I am a criminal I have confessed to her all my sins and she has forgiven me now I am free and clear ready to start all over again to add more strikes against my ledger to pile up the atrocities to make them legends I want to be like Tristan and the bear to travel across the heavens battling against the forces of the universe to build new worlds new creations to be ever ready to strike the first blow to attack for freedom and liberty and the way of the lost I am not looking for approval or derision I am doing this for myself this is a selfish action I am working a radical transformation changing iron into gold the alchemy of the soul burning you into a precious metal showing you how to release your inner demons no beliefs no worship no demands upon your life no rituals no churches no offering plates no words from a holy book no bending no bowing no words whispered in false reverence forget all your religious teachers forget your political leaders forget your name forget your place forget the rules to society throw away your business suit learn to be naked in body heart and mind remove the secrets from your life be free from your insignificants wants and desires it all means nothing solve all your problems over night I return to my studio at midnight I look at the tools hanging from the walls I examine the bottles of pain jumbled about the workbench there are pieces of canvas and strips of cloth metal wire washers empty beer bottle I light my candles and say a pray to the gods of creation and the gods of art I think about Captain Marcs vortex I imagine it is swirling above his head ready to take him to another world taking him to see the airconditioned crocodiles they have little hats and silk ties they say they are from the planet tralfamadore waking from a continual dream the air-conditioned crocodiles gave advice about our trip to Alaska in our pajamas and messy hair asking about the name of the website

12.8 worked up and blabbering the perfect descriptive terms one hundred black santas they are not afraid of exposing their vulnerabilities not afraid to fall dead drunk across the table a cluster of whores who congregated next to the entrance of the bar they handing the customers hymnals as they entered I guess they were planning some sort of church service Captian Marc and I finished our drinks and left out the back door we 102

had better cats to skin bertha never wasted time playing cards that was all Captain Marc and I would do was play cards we would sit at a table and start playing cards and dink several bottles of wine a bottle of white for me and a bottle of red for Captain Marc bertha would sit at another table and watch us I noticed that she was standing in the gutter her rosy face rumpled in a rain coat she was scanning the horizon for the new born king she looked like she was running away from Siberia the saturated with material the stars the planets and their individual rotations the beating of her heart under her sweater I wanted to rant and to rave to scream and holler pulling my hair out perhaps more complicated and orchestrated I saw her reading the menu her best side was facing me she had on big leather boots and a drivers cap I was instantly in love I gave her the jist of my premonitions how our arms would soon be entwined that she would be kissing me with a passion she previously had never known from her back pocket she produced a long list it contained the names of poets current and past she started to look for my name and she said she couldnt find me on her list therefore she was not interested I told her that I was neither naughty nor nice and that I would never approve of my name being on such a list I told her that she could fight fate all she wanted but someday she would have to give in to the forces of love I knew right then that I would have to beat it out of her she was a heartbreaker who was used to getting things her way she left her daddy a long time ago for the three ringed circus and she had no intentions of ever going home I told her it was ok to breathe it was ok to live it was ok to be happy that the past couldnt hurt her anymore what she need to be afraid of was the present I showed her the numbers that were tattooed on my soul and shared with her how I hide them from the bone crushers

12.9 I have been here before many lifetimes before and a love is always a love each time you would fight me and say that you belonged to another man but each time you gave in to me and the souls of burden and uncomfortable laughter eventually you would melt in my arms and I would suffocate you with my kisses these dead will always request their due and you and I will rob them of their inheritance together we rode the wildness of the world and we drank of the spring of nirvana it was your honesty that I always loved about you a brutal honesty that could cut straight to the bone a healing light from the darkness pulsating muscle these words express the truth of the heart an image of the tantamount and understanding that the plastic is only the plastic congealed blood and the prayers of unholy saints their fingers are stained with your blood and the hopelessness of your desires I left her for someone who did not have a list but I still have some of her demons I told her that the photo of her with a gun was so William Burroughs of her when I opened her up I found bells inside of her head just like rene Magritte the sack cloths over our heads her skin knows how to obey my 103

commands I have learned how to project my voice along with my prejudice sleep is so hard to find when we are traveling on the road Im traveling to Des moines with harpo my drums are in the back of his old beat up pickup we are going to set them up at his sisters house and jam he has a singer and a bass player he wants me to meet the singer is excited about Metallica he is jumping up and down on the couch and the chairs he drives us across town to some party at a girls house we bought a case of Dubuque star beer on his way there he cuts through parks and peoples yards in one yard he runs over a little tree in the some peoples yard an old man comes out screaming and shouting at us he throws a beer can at the car Tommy was shooting heroin in his toe in the backseat of the car

12.10 an onslaught with the buffalo first birthday presents and then Christmas presents we could have left Tommy to respond in his own way he says that he is a weak and wavering person he looks me straight into my eyes and says Ive got to be stronger he is talking about his desire to stop manipulating every person and situation he is involved in all the loud noises that a junkie could ask for he invited us over for a big sleep over he introduced us to all of his sisters there was twelve of them there was a sister naked in every room of the house his sisters had spent all day cleaning the house making it special for us one bedroom upstairs was decorated in streamers and had a cake and ice cream his sisters all gathered around the cake and sang happy birthday to Tommy after that he blew out the candles and we smeared ice cream all over his sisters bodies it was a very elaborate and detailed social ritual I felt obligated to dive right in and be a full participant I mean fuck family traditions are special I wish I had a few of my own I believe it has something to do with action oriented gifts that doing something is more precious than material possessions bertha tells us what she wants and it is important that we listen to her I need to her voice over all the other voices in my head bertha was waiting for us when we got back from Tommys house I want to give bertha the best gift I can give her Tommy is telling her about his birthday party bertha looks at Tommy confused and says that its not his birthday Tommy says I know and they werent my sisters

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Thirteen 13.1 I want bertha to tell us who she is I want to hear it from her own voice I tell bertha about my father that he has been gone for almost half of my life now I tell bertha that we should live for today and not worry about the future Tommy smiles and says that the future cant touch us its not necessary but it feels good bertha is wearing her movie star eyes her bettie davis eyes I have modified all of the board games so that bertha can play along I was trying to appeal to her trying to convince her that Tuesday was really Monday but she wasnt buying it even though I gave it a good sell she is still erecting trivial boundaries between us bertha is pliable and bendable eight months after she flowers she expels her seeds in an explosion she was born and raised in Mystic Connecticut before she moved out west to find her fame in fortune in the entertainment business the hurt in her heart gives her a reason to live a reason to bitch about the cruel heartless world Tommy follows bertha to the theater like a little puppy he goes with her to flirt with all of the girls the witches are in the backroom scheming to defraud the government it is another scratch my back and Ill scratch your back scenario a cold bottle of chardonnay sits on the table the ash of her cigarette is about to fall I watch with anticipation Tommy has taken a hit of acid he is calm right now we will see later the light is so bright there are old people on the ceiling tiles the camera is covered in jissom the little school girl is dancing and lifting up her dress it is an interpretive dance it has all to do with color it has to do with orange she says that she cant use color the little school girl is swimming on dry land she thinks she killed someone I am telling her to be stable

13.2 I was praying hard and it was coming to me depicting the inner world of the psyche I am manifesting my mind this is the bottom or maybe this is the top yes it is definitely the top I can see it can you do you see with the eyes of the soul I am inspired by my insights are you inspired can you be inspired what inspires you do you know is it possible for me to inspire you what is possible is everything possible we know what hugo and harpo think but we dont know what you think about the subject the little school girl says both everything is possible and everything is not possible the transformation of positive and negative spaces I am looking at a painting by Remedios Varo we are exploring the Orinoco we are trying to find nanuk of the north only he can help us find the path he is fraught with meaning as the chickens gather to discuss politics cluck cluck says one chicken tonight I will be a stew cluck cluck says another tonight I will be roasted nanuk of the north fought for france during world war one his early magic shows an interest in cubism he later became more involved with surrealism he wanted his magic to be 105

automatic to flow freely from his veins he said life is formed around the chaos of shapes Nunuk of the north escaped the Nazis on a ship to the island of Martinique form there he just disappeared the next clue was the cover of Acephale he was standing in the land of the Tarahumara he was wearing a chieftains headdress and he had war paint on his face he was using the facial expression of Antonin Artaud we always called him the man of many faces giving birth to nine children all of them to the habit of sleepwalking and a talent for avant-garde theater nunuk of the north has been pushing the boundaries of what is considered acceptable the army advancing into battle it was art for the sake of art

13.3 the little school girl is promoting radical social reforms the mothers changed her ideals into the artist the scientist and the industrialist the little school girl was not interested in the industrialization of the world she was mapping the parameters triangulating the coordinates the mothers are eating all of the pretzels and they speak with their mouths full tonya and I went to the movie theater to see the film the seashell and the Clergyman half way through the movie someone shot Tristan I had to spend a month taking care of the bear while Tristan was in the hospital bears are nasty smelly animals I mean he was well-mannered and all but a bear is a bear he did chew on one of my painting by Balthus I was really pissed off and almost shot the bear over that the belief in Tim is a product of the middle ages the superstitions of the people continue today hugo is a product of the industrial revolution the little school girls is not buying the idea of one grand interpretation of society she prefers to think of reality of consisting of multiple realities and not just one she is beyond the revolution she is not storming the barricades the little school girls says that modernity has failed the modern world did not solve the problems associated with poverty people are still poor and in some respects more so than before there is an abundance but the abundance does not get distributed to everyone the little school girl says that the bright lights of progress are fading she is watching the lights go out one by one there is no one to replace them modern people look to the future for their lives to improve they have faith in the advancement of technology they believe a genius will arise to invent something that will save them the superstitions have been transferred from a god to a scientist the little school girl says that science no longer holds the answers we can see that the scientist are childish buffoons on the little screen we laugh as the genius chases his tail the little school girl says that there is no singular truth

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13.4 Jane is pinching the little school girls nipple as jane is spread across the little school girls lap janes guitar is laying on the floor janes vagina is exposed and the little school girl is stroking the little school girls labia the little school girl is pulling on janes pigtail Dr. Loophole began administering eclectic shock treatments to tonya she had a clear psychotic break she rejected form and incited chaos I went to visit tonya at the hospital and she was in a good mood she read to me some poetry from Henri Michaux she was reading to me a poem about an oriental woman how this woman fell in love with two men and her love for both was tearing her apart she has wealth of forms a multiplicity of forms and it is driving her mad she was taught that a love should be a singular thing but she knows in her heart that love can be more complicated than that tonya knows that the mothers are out there that they are making their moves against her she knows that the mothers have made voodoo dolls of her and they are putting their pins into her she is coming on to bartenders and cabdrivers they are reading little abner tonya knows that the times are changing she is backing into her room she is all about appreciation she says the word over and over appreciation appreciation appreciation it is her mantra for the day she could never get the needle out of her arm she would charge us a lick and a promise just to watch she burns through it like a forest fire appreciation dunking pound cake with her Neolithic fingers she is tracing the ghosts with her fingers it is a dead frontier she is worshipping the old and the dead and the evil she is hiding a vulture under her Stetson she is screaming fuck you at passing cars she can smell it going in wetting her lips and more appreciation the invoking of Dr, Loophole his first thing was to shut down the texas concentration camps he threw that noxious son-of-a-bitch out on his ass he said that there is more than six inches out there tonya hollers amen tripping balls hugo is too fucking high he is laughing uncontrollably they fight you then you win the heartless again his blood feels like it is on fire checking his pulse he is sure that he is going to die here in the jungle thousands of miles from home he sings softly to the hallucinations it is hard to swallow we are watching his face watching him transform he is shape shifting it is time for hugo to see his light the war inside his body things hidden in the deep places of his mind every action has an effect

13.5 disturbed and humbling appreciation feeling the pain from the other side Mr. Crowley is jealous he wants what hugo has he wants to be a modern man separated from his superstitions he feels like a unicorn took him on a ride to a magical palace in the land of the blueberries and we float away Mr. Crowley asks who is in the house AC tell me who is in the house AC gave his bone to a virgin in the house you take him high and you take him low you take him with the Eskimos tell me who is in the house Im just trying to tell you about the gospel his tooth is so pretty he is showing it to the world he just wants 107

to run around the parking lot he doesnt know what to do it is just too weird of an experience he is just in a wonderful land as light as a feather he wants to sing Mr. Crowley thinks he should sing he just wants some soup and to go to vegas he asks if he can buy a house he hates quiet people looking for a fire outside he wants to introduce us to the unicorns he has twelve of them he lives with them in an igloo

13.6 tonyas lips are cold they are like icebergs her tongue is a broom she is seeing double vision like a superhero the euphoria of the intestines a complete world a miniature city tonya is marked by the inverted the premonitions of the future that which is spent and exhausted following the imperial and the chaotic the soup cans exploded in the suns heat the Ishmael Reed she is going back to vegas she is taking pictures this time and winning enough money to buy a house the culture of advertising and hotels call the newsman for the footage she is a diamond in the rough the murder mystery and the science fiction no longer obeying the laws of the past the revolution destroys the old puts the masters to death I will find you and I will kill you consider yourself lucky if you are already dead the involvement of a buried or repressed theory I have freed myself from your words they no longer have a hold on me I have broken the spell a chronology of metamorphoses and punctuation marks let us discuss the words we use and their context sow the seed of a pretty context a grassy field in the summer with a gentle breeze but there is still this man lurking in the darkness hiding in the shower a mutation in the sphere of the archaic in rolls your tanks crushing the pretty flowers destroying the village a dominant cultural logic a hegemonic norm I am feeling all of your impulses it reworks it transforms it appropriates I am not here for the march of glory I am not your Frankenstein the people in the village are worn down to their skulls the work of art emerges between the gap of the real and unreal worlds they recreate about themselves an objective world that previously didnt exist without the action of the creator without the stroke of the pen or the tapping of the keyboard it is action that produces meaning there is no meaning separate from action Tommy puts his fetishes up on the wall dead objects hanging together two hangmen hanging from a tree essence and appearance the raw vibrations of the human throat the pain itself now speaks it vibrates the landscape it vibrates the stars growing up inside a sealed and silent membrane the great dominant experiences do not exist Tommy refuses to believe in them he says that they dont exist he has closed himself off and has become a monad he is buried alive and condemned to a life of solitude he can be surrounded by adoring women yet he is all alone there is only silence in his soul

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13.7 Golgotha the dead hanging from his cross bertha touches tommy but he does not respond to the predictable swoops with gusto he cannibalizes all styles he is tormented by the loss of mystery the invisible colonization of the present tommy is not as free as he once was just as Zelda is still haunted by her past they both prefer to ignore the forces in their lives the forces that they are powerless to control tommy has stepped over the edge and if falling to his death he is not aware that he is falling he may have some inklings that he is falling but he keeps assuring himself that everything is ok he realizes that little by little he is losing his past but he has faith in his future he believes in the future with all of his heart it is his faith that caused him to fall just like all faiths it is faith that makes you stumble and fall I stretch I sneeze I cough but I do not believe I have pushed faith out of my heart I do not believe in anything zeldas hips are getting wider meaning is not a one-to-one relationship a disturbing sense of unreality the children were having a singing lesson the children were prisoners compelled to sing that fool from texas was leading the choir they were singing goodnight Irene there is no limit to the vastness of things their qualities seems to surpass the boundaries that I once knew of them everything become more than I ever imagined I could not reel them in no matter how hard I tried they had moved beyond my reach and I was hopelessly alone I wanted to close in on this objects and make them mine through domination through the sheer force of my will I wanted to create the world in my image but my power to do so had escaped me random raw materials and impulses who is this creature that stands before us it is cloaked in darkness and has massive wings that stretch out to eternity thus meaning has been signified and expressed how you interpret such things is a condition of the self I can only influence your interpretation to a certain extent

13.8 tell me about your childhood was it happy or sad the gleam of hallucinatory splendor dead and flesh colored simulacra becoming a glossy skin a stereoscopic illusion the density of life are removed from me the images and words flood in but they have no context there is no place for a foothold Tommy can you hear me turns back on and against us in unrecognizable forms I have become a flesh eating virus and I eat the world speaking of the fourth machine age the baroque elaboration of pipes the last Vedas the great reflective glass skin drawing a pentagram for blue boy the city of Houston wants him to cut his grass the mothers are going door to door asking people to sign a petition they want to force the fool from texas to take a bath he claims he has constitutional rights I first tasted the dead in the backseat of zeldas car I think that explains everything if you need to know more than there is no reason for us to continue communicating I would say talk but this is primarily a monologue a small portion of my readers to comment but I am so far ahead in the writing that by the time they see my 109

response in the writing they have forgotten oh well I think that sums it up nicely even the blue hue scorpions agree tommy tells us stories of his climbing mountains in Arizona tommy pronounces it Ari zone EEE Yaaa tommy says that his father is a commander in the navy seals he plans on attending the London school of economic and political science just as soon as he is able to remove the bullet slug in his calf I told him to look up Dr. Loophole and he would pull that slug out of his leg with a rusty pocket knife and a pair of needle nose pliers the little school girl says that we are required to assess the metaphors that are used to describe reality she says that the standard rendition of truth is inadequate it does not properly explain the life that we live the little school girl says that the truth is immune to perception what we see is filtered through a dirty lens our minds treat reality as if it is incorruptible when corruption is the crux of our reality the mind and reality are intertwined truth does not exist without interpretation and it is the human mind that does the interpreting without humans truth no longer exists because truth is a human construction all knowledge is interpreted by the human presence the human mind is the medium for the interpretation of the truth thus reality has a human texture we add texture to the painting of life our interpretations of reality make life more meaningful regardless of the adequacies of our interpretations

13.9 if we consider something to be the truth then we act upon it as the truth and this truth either real or imagined has real consequences upon our existence this is the reason why the things we create turn against us and dominate us as if they are external to us we suspend knowledge of the source of their creation and pretend that they are greater than they are we cannot separate reality from subjectivity in our formalistic search for truth we ignore how people interpret themselves and the world therefore we lose sight of the fact that reality is an abstract construction you need to question your beliefs why do you believe the way you do tonya says that she is the master of her universe that she is not a victim of fate why is that is it because she was abused as a child by her father and she wants to believe that she is stronger now that she has a measure of control over her life that her life is not controlled by random chance can your world survive without truth can you survive without truth If I take you out of the cave will you be able to handle it does order require structure does the individual have to sacrifice their own desires for the demands of the structure human action creates structure thus human action creates order thought linked to action is what creates reality it is the actions of human beings that creates reality without humans reality would not exist meaning comes from language life is meaningful because we have language our words are meaning makers we use words to describe the world around us and what we perceive is not pure it is clouded by our experiences thus truth is encountered only through indirect means therefore creating doubt in the validity of our perceived truth reality is 110

shaped by our language what people say about you influences the perceived reality that is you what you say about yourself also influences this perception this is the basis of the magical powers behind faith our speech creates reality bless your heart tonya says but she steal believes in the power of the individual to overcome she says that if we can create our reality than that is exactly what she does she creates her own reality she says truth comes from speech and not from reality truth comes from speech truth comes from speech what is the significance of this we are in the process of discovery truth cannot be forced upon others there is o one single truth there are multiple truths if there is no single truth than there is no structure to society multiple truths require multiple structures multiple realities the mind interprets experiences that are selectively perceived reality is perceived differently by each individual my reality is not your reality language does not reflect reality but is the connective tissue that thing which binds things together the glue that holds us together is language I am altering your reality my words on this page make you think or make you feel you are having some kind of reaction to my words either positive or negative you may be saying wow what truths or you maybe be saying wow what bullshit still the fact that you have read these words have changed your reality a seed has been planted in your mind you have been forever changed whether or not you chose to water the seed and let it grow and produce fruit is up to you

13.10 reality hides between the words that I have written here this is your reality enjoy it while you can the nature of reality will always be in question we will never run out of questions to ask there will always be more and more questions the more we learn the questions our new learning creates knowledge is filtered through human experience language is the filter the words that we use to describe or interpret human action or experience shapes our view and understanding of reality the rules of language impose a structure onto reality past thinking and language divided the world into a simple dichotomy of yes or no do you like this food yes or no do you like me as a person yes or no do you want to have sex with me yes or no thus we divide all of our experiences and actions into one of two camps there is day and night good and evil young and old tall and short ugly and beautiful the trouble is that life does not always fit easily into two categories I realize that this belief stuff can really get in the way between us it can turn into a wall that separates us from each other let us make a vow to not let little things come between us can we make that promise to each other can we agree to be human in all the good ways not in the ways that humans can be bad we both know that humans can be very cruel and mean to each other our history points a bloody finger at all of us a dog with a piece of meat drinking the juice of a cactus walking two miles to the post office my cheeks are a little cold it is a shitty day a crappy day I go to 111

the post office walking against the wind her body is frozen we dont allow duct tape she is drinking hot tea her insides are nicely trimmed practicing throwing little cylinders all the dishes for her apartment her pockets were bulging she took out a handful of ping pong balls she is doing too much acid she is seeing mermaids the little school doesnt know what she is reporting doing what is truthful addicted to sunflower seeds she cant stop eating them unintentionally being a dick not being from new jersey she like nickel back a screening of dogma super loud and obnoxious this kind of thing just happens with them feeling like an asshole

13.11 we can all read 500 miles stuck in my head driving to the next place it is not a bed beating the pixels we are indestructible backstage before the show I can see the people through the curtain they are standing in line to have me sign their books why do they want my signature I dont know the snow wont make us any money writing down the particulars on this thing where is my serial number there are so many things that I have forgotten like the name of my native companion the little school girl is on the video she is wearing a padded bra throwing me a going away party its a magic day the little school girl is making me sweet potato fries with a small mountain of artichoke dip I went into the garden and got some rosemary we did jesus Christ superstar I was watching the medicated on their stretchers talking like they knew the disaster a dinosaur in Africa donating to the traffic the mediated trauma I cant negotiate this curve the egg divides and out crawls tonya she is a baby dinosaur she is playing a flute starts a fire with a shout it is a beautiful chaos the opening hundred pages of the book she was preoccupied with the ending she is winning a copy who is angus waters one notable recollection a countless stream a worst case scenario becoming a pet human making kissy faces to her boyfriend if you hate them all and you step on them will they go away or will they multiply I noticed that it was all little girls in your audience what will happen when they all grow up have thought about this giving style to voice what does that mean and that nothing is gratuitous does that mean you dont tip

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Fourteen 14.1 reality is a product of human desire Tommy looks like a nerdy boyfriend someone that you can take home to meet your parents and your parents wont be scared he has manners and wears glasses and says a lot of polite rubbish the truth doesnt speak it acts and Tommy can act like an innocent child and he can be a viper a snake snapping at your heels he is saving his raisins for Sunday his dirty little assumptions infect reality he figures that he is disarming their defenses he is preparing them for the kill when you deep into his soul you find that there is no purity there he is the jackal waiting to snatch away your kill he wants you to do all the work so that he can take all of the credit devising ways to capture the social meaning they are fireflies that he keeps in a glass jar we must recognize how people define their lives we must understand their definitions it is the lives of people that are interesting the things that they do and how they do we must enter the language game of those we want to know how do they use language and what meanings do they attach to their words for example do you know what a grit is for some people a grit is a type of food for others a grit is a type of person others may have others meaning associated with the word grit communication is possible between two people who have nothing in common except for their shared humanness perception and interpretation cannot be separated this is a vehicle we get inside it and turn on the motor and the motor turns the wheels and the turning wheels take us somewhere sometimes the turning wheels takes us where we want to go and sometimes they do not that is life a gamble throw the dice little school girl and let us see where random chance takes us Maria was on life support for four days and I had to be the one to pull the plug she was already dead we had already lost her the idea that a situation may be viewed differently by different people begins to make sense Maria was lifeless it was a struggle for her to breathe on her own the machines were breathing for her keeping her alive how could I let go how is this possible Maria was my life my joy the substance of my life similar qualities may have different meanings she looked so pale as a ghost to look her brought both fear and love an interpretation of reality is not universal values shape the nature of facts what was the nature of Maria I was beginning to forget I wanted to focus on the origin of her meaning in my life when we first met I cant remember when we first met is seemed like I have always known her she has always been a presence in my life how can I deconstruct her break her down into her component parts this is my attempt to understand to come to terms with my feelings to understand our connections what it was that we shared words cannot be divorced from how they are read Marias meaning is in her words the words that I use to describe her and how you and I interpret those words does that make sense to you I am implanting uncertainty in every page you are uncertain of what you read here and you are uncertain about your life the direction it is heading

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14.2 we live with uncertainty all the time how can we be sure of anything in this life an almost endless number of possibilities are produced the little school girl said dont worry about it just go with the flow there is an abundance of thinking more words than need to be expressed meaning continuously alters and shifts meaning is dynamic and not static it is in continual flux language haunts reality hugo accuses the little school girl in delighting in the evisceration of culture she says hugo is a buffoon stuck in an outmoded universe she accuses him of wanting to go back to the days of horse and buggy she says that the basis of order and structure in this world is shrouded in mystery the possibility of knowing this origin may be an impossibility we may have a snowballs chance in hell of ever discovering the origins of structure the little school girl suggests that we should stop enslaving people to the rules of society we need to stop teaching people that the world consists of only right and wrong we need to expand peoples thinking to include many more possibilities she says that sometimes we can be a little more right than wrong but we are still wrong in the face of social structure we lose our autonomy and freedom we become slaves to a system a way of thinking a way of living it controls us it shapes us it reduces our possibilities we need to break free and become creative and be creators we need to create a new world in our own image let there be light I create flexible structures that bend and break as I see necessary I create an order in my world there are no witnesses none that are still alive who can testify to this great monstrosity that I have created the monster lives and breathes there is breath in his lungs and he is animated why this patriarchy of monsters we go on playing this game tracing our lineage through the father this is a testimony of a minute part of the situation this could be the fruit of some demons dream or imagination thus anything could be possible we are bearing witness to our own particular experience the unknown masterpiece you are informed that human being endowed with language were exposed to a situation little clay me they are spread about the page finding pieces of bodies in the river she says appreciation these gray haired old men are making plans but they dont include us we have been excluded pushed to the side we are at loss to prove the injury those who were injured did not survive and thusly cannot testify of their injury thus there are no witnesses they have killed all of the witnesses a perfect mob crime this something is the easy thing a simple thing of yes or no but these two cannot hold the fullness of the world our experiences are more than yes and no the accused has to explain his nonexistence his relationship or her relationship to nothingness if you are nothing then why are you here but you have a grievance with the world for making you nothing yet you cannot stand against your accuser she can only express what she has and she has nothing she is stigmatized by this impossibility to prove she cannot prove the world guilty the world refuses to enter in the courtroom this brings me to a question do we own our words or do our words own us we would simply 114

say that obviously we own our words but is this really true are we being a bit nave in our assumption of ownership because the words we speak existence before we existed they precede us they were before us we did not invent this words but we only inherited them from humans that came before us thus in terms of time order our words are

14.3 superior to us we could claim superiority over words in that we speak them or write them that they own their continued existence to our actions we say something other than what we had intended there is a distortion in the process we worry about the thoughts or feelings of others and we modify what we say the image in the looking glass we are trying to control we want our image of self to be similar to how others see us we are not independent of needs and beliefs we are the victims of our words and the words of others these words hold power over us and judge us they are mighty mighty things we are alienated from the power of our words the little school girl says that the parallel must be broken and right now what is this thing she asks that wants to be put into words we have no words for it I can struggle but I am helpless in my creation helpless to find the right words is this what it means to be human to feel helpless to preserve memory from oblivion and to accomplish revenge this I can see clearly with my own eyes now the words do not escape me it is as if I am propelled by some demon spirit some unknown thing is pushing me along working through my fingers speaking to my mind I am inspired and the feeling can only be explained as exhilarating to be a vessel to pour forth of this foreign spirit to see the gates of nirvana open up to me establishing the facts of the human past there is no silence for the objected we do not tremble before the tyrant no we are free to stand upon our own feet alone with a blazing sword in our hand we are avenging the people the tragedy has become secularized we have made ourselves heard we have ceased to be victims we have the authority to testify to shake down the pillars of oppression stand tall my friends let us join our voices together and overcome our bondage we are brothers and sisters born of the same spirit of the same breath of the spirit the phrase universe of ideas the idea of nation the idea of the creation of value we call upon the authority of the infinite mind the monad the sun the spirit of the universe that gives all things life and energy and spirit we live in a circle with no center spinning round and round inescapable untraceable it is a pure mark of a descriptive function I was baptized Martin and my parents called me Martin and my friends called me Martin even my enemies called me Martin there is no significance in my name except as a means for identification if you call me George I will not respond I will think you are calling another person and not me the spell check changed person to persona or I typed it wrong I had to go back and change it I am a persona could this be a Freudian slip suggesting that I am a character that I play upon this stage of life that I am only an actor playing his part it is untrue that I travel this world unaltered I am 115

constantly being changed the world changes me constantly I am soft and malleable my experiences shape me I am poured into the mold of life and then left to be cooled to grow hard and then the world shapes me some more it grinds against my rough edges and makes me smooth it polishes me and make me shine resplendent I have stepped off into the deep end I have opened Pandoras box I have released all the demons inside of me they are out to wander the world I writing about my feelings of the beautiful and sublime names transform into a date here into a place

14.4 I into you he into her all the indicators of possible reality this suggests a range of possibilities the tiger jumps out of the cage and eats the crowd Rome instead of over there as if right here feeding the tiger arms and legs the parts that fell of the humans those who paid tickets to witness their demise how sad when you think of it they came to be entertained by the tiger but they became devoured by the tiger the tiger was hungry and stronger than the cage Rome is an image a feeling in the gut a premonition if you will a story that has never been told I agree with tonya that there little bits of brilliance that comes and goes we ride upon its wave the tiger swims after us and drowns formed by names of objects and names of relationships let us have a good laugh together as tonya goes to the bathroom she is worried about her breasts sagging about her getting old about the coming snow storm about the coming war about the singularity about the hair on hugos back I call it a world because the names are rigid knowledge can lead one to abandon the name to replace it with others more potent than the first thus George was changed to Martin because of the power I have a faded star on my left upper arm from back when I used to believe that evil was embodied in some supernatural entity now I realize that evil is human and not anything beyond human we encompass the fullness of evil and try to deceive ourselves and others by making up this cartoon character that we can blame our wrongs on it wasnt the devil that made me do it I fucking did it on my own free will I was an evil fuck I hurt others I did stupid fucking things I was a barbarian who would smash your face in for being different than me or for challenging me or for giving me a hard look sometimes I was evil just for the fuck of it I enjoyed it fucking with people there is a sadistic tendency inside of me I recognize that I try to keep that part of my personality down not let it out I used to rejoice in my being evil now I try to be more human than animal Im not that caged tiger any more I wont bite I promise maybe just a little bit if you ask me nicely no one has ever set foot in Utopia this is Caesar to signify is one things to name another and to show still another she lost her ability to put the brakes on she is only one speed now supper fast speed of light fast she is a flash she will cut you before you can apologize think before you get all ignorant up in her face because she has no stop mechanism the little school girl will hurt you the day after I got my tattoo a witch called 116

me up and said the devil told her to call me we started going out after that and as always we went our separate ways she told me that she had a boyfriend that used to beat her I didnt know how to respond I didnt know what she wanted me to do now I realize that she wanted me to beat her she wanted me to take his place she wanted to be dominated and controlled I didnt understand that then I didnt know about dominance and submission back then under the regimen of descriptive the meaning is not always presented becoming the object of a description did she open the door the door has been opened we are not making amends for the lies and the atrocities that I perpetrated upon humanity against my brothers and sisters we will let then cards fall as they may and react

14.5 accordingly everyone who shares my blood my spirit those who I can call trusted souls mutual spirits those whose hearts contain the same emptiness who have the same dragon within I remember that I gave my dragon a name but I dont remember what it was I wrote it in the front cover of Magick Book four now I remember Shem Ham Forash thats it I dont care if my words make you mad that is just tough shit Im just getting out all the things I have kept inside for way too long there are no mysteries now I lay everything bare for your examination do what you want with these words I know I could get happy inside your pants another cry for the wolf the lone wolf chewing on your dead carcass you had no ability to survive this life little red riding hood you are no robin hood your hood is black to cover the rope around your neck you were born with this cord around your neck you have tried to chew it off but it grows back with your every bite we have crossed all the borders into madness this is not a confession this is a diatribe a declaration of independence I am free from the past I am free to make my own future I will not live like I was told to I will not go quietly into the night fuck no I will fight dont give up on me so many people have given up on me or underestimated me they only showed their stupidity the pages bleed with being and nothingness they bleed with meaning when we recognize that life has no absolute meaning we then can embrace all the possible meanings that life can take and gain the strength to make life into an image that we want to become we are all in the stage of becoming yet while we are becoming we are being (paraphrase of John Lennon) words and worlds that have not yet been formed you are determined by your location within the network of names your network of experiences and the names you give them how you interpret your reality the object of history I realize that I have objectified tonya that I have made her a thing that I have dehumanized her why did I do this was it to destroy her because I could not have her for myself the phenomenologist of perception elaborates the knife Elsa gave you that thing I used to record your voice reality is not a question reality is a path to the future it is a gate that opens up to all possibilities 117

borrowed from the space of logic this is Stalin here he is throwing glitter on the painting he says that it is interesting people laying on a beach and there is Santa Claus he is bringing the beach people presents doing the washing and drying the man with the bag of skulls said it wasnt finished what does it mean to be Stalin no one cares about the starving she had pop bottle glasses eating the cardboard boxes taking medication he says he cant go to sleep he says he feels pretty good he is opening a package from California going through the steps and nothing ever gets done a lack of consensus over legitimacy the numerical proof of the massacre hugo says that it is about the appropriation and the parody of past lives past fictions past narratives the little school girl is yelling at us to stop counting the bodies hugo and tonya are systematically counting the dead when they reached 500 they gave up hugo wants to satisfy reason and experience the little school girls says to hell with satisfaction tonya realizes that she may have crossed some line somewhere and decides to stay out of the argument Im opening a bottle of Shiraz and trying to find some glasses to pour everyone a drink

14.6 the college students is shouting hey this guy is a ringer he is from the east coast the reduction of the impossible to the possible hugo is trying to pull a fast one he lives his life on the assumption that the world is knowable hugo conceives of the world as a mystery but he believes that the mystery is solvable the little school girl says that the world is a mystery that cannot be solved the little school girl threatens hugo with the wine bottle and says that she is tempted to obliterate the traces of the old world which underlies the new she is not concerned with having a neat ending or having all the questions answered life never has neat endings and there are always more questions than can be answered the clues to life do not lead to solutions there is only strangeness and disturbance where is my wisdom I believed stubbornly in my own powers pursing the image of order where none existed there is no order I this life the order makers are liars and thieves the final showdown does not restore order if it was possible for any one of us to solve the mystery than the whole world would be destroyed in microcosm and macrocosm knowing the murderers identity solves nothing if the world falls out from under us what if we indentify the murderer as god then what can our version of reality exist if god is the murderer he would no longer be one of us then the question of life is the question that must be solved I have absented myself from my own life I no longer exist I have disappeared and stepping into the other world the world that contains Murakamis dead girlfriends and the man who wears the sheep mask I have stepped off the cliff and joined Sumire into the nothingness what is the nature of this world and what is place or lack of place in this world there is this idea that one can escape ones life in the real world if only temporary leaving the real world for an unreal world and then it is possible to travel back to the real world without any adverse consequences is 118

this what drugs does do they allow us to leave this world for another and when we come down we are able to return to this world as if we never left I think murakami is writing wakefield over and over again to sever self from the real world he recognizes that there is another world that coexists with ours an alternative reality and he proposes that certain special individuals can travel from one side to the other however this ability is haphazard the traveling is controlled by laws that we do not fully understand hugo approaches the brink of madness a threshold across which he might disappear irretrievably Sumire crossed over to never come back the protagonist is always threatened with this possibility the threat of never escaping the maze evoking the fear of losing ones place Sumire lost her place hugo is preoccupied with the fear that he might unintentionally cross a threshold of no return he is afraid of becoming an outcast of the universe hugo has always been an outsider but he has always served the social order the structure of society hugo is a link between the two worlds I asked hugo if he would go over to the other side to bring betty boop back he said that he would think about it hugo ceases to exist when he is not doing something he exists only through his actions my hope is that in searching for betty boop hugo will become lost himself that he will cross over the threshold of no return sticking to outward facts words are transparent for hugo he sees right through them he can see through the lies of tim and AC he knows where their hearts are at

14.7 great windows that stand between him and the world hugo does not question his place in the world for him things line up when hugo travels to the other world anxiety takes hold of him he becomes afraid that he cannot return to his life and to tonya she never wants to see blue again he realizes that he has thrown away his life hugo remains a cipher a ghost it is not possible for such a man as hugo to exist hugo is looking into a mirror instead of watching another he is watching himself he sees his life played out in the life of another who is the other is this other the shadow that herman talked about the wolf to the human spirit in watching hugo finds that life is impossible he cannot escape for the life he has created with he once considered to be knowledge and wisdom moving toward the point of obsession he is obsessed with the need to know he is enslaved by the knowing he is trapped by the knowledge he has gained by his knowledge of the other world it has touched him and he is forever changed he has been touched by the madness of the other world through the example of hugo we learn that our own positions in this world are volatile at any moment we could go up in fire we could be just a black smudge on the floor something for the maid to clean up what was that I saw on zeldas face was it shame was it vanity was she trying to hide an imperfection or a flaw it her actions that completes her fall what we try to hide is what we reveal Zelda is trying out for the dallas cowboy cheerleaders she has always been a 119

showoff she is practicing her kicks for us I keep waiting for her cowboy boot to fly off and hit that blank spot on the wall Zelda was getting hot and sweaty Up In Ya stands up from his chair puts on his hat and walks through the door he booked passage on some ship and sailed to China there is a metafictional uncertainty to this situation what is the distinction between fiction and reality when will Up In Ya step into your life he could jump right out of the page he could be standing right behind you he could be hiding in your closet truth and fiction truly bleed into one another how many of your stories are untrue and how many are true I bet as the years go by the truth and the untruth get mixed together to make a better story lost on the other side of the world can you find your way back do you find yourself collapsing in on yourself becoming smaller and smaller a tiny dot on the landscape fading away into meaninglessness becoming one with the nothing are you becoming an unsolvable case can hugo find you your world has unraveled the edges have become frayed the mystery itself spiders into subplots that I cant explain everyone has their own agenda everyone is searching for love life fragments into uncertainty the Turk has no guilt concerning his own infidelities he has discovered that his wife is seeing someone else but he is not sure who it is he suspects it could be hugo or possibly harpo the turk is saving up his money to hire a detective to find out but first he has to deal with the problem concerning his daughter his daughter is the barmaid the one who was miraculously healed by tim the savior of the world she has been possessed by Truck the demon and this demon has been wrecking havoc in her life truck the demon is both inside and outside of her life he wanders both the wastelands and returns to inhabit the barmaid he exists in a perpetual paradox of being and not being of

14.8 existing in two worlds at the same time of being flesh and spirit truck the demon is a roaming loner who once had a body and had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh because of the great evil in his heart he was transformed into a demon and cursed to wander the earth desiring to be made flesh again therefore he inhabits humans so that he can enjoy the experiences of the flesh he is in constant struggle with losing and maintaining his place in the universe truck the demon has been attenuated but not completely erased all of his ties to humanity have not been fully severed he still has his connection through the barmaid when he is inside her he is able to experience everything she experiences sometimes truck the demon just goes for a ride he just sits back and watches what is happening sometimes he exerts control over the barmaid and makes he do something or say something it is because of her strange behavior and the weird things she has said that has tipped her father the turk that she is possessed the turk is making plans to have truck the demon removed from his daughter this is life real cop bad cop high up on a mountain top the American way of life burning down life this 120

is a bad life burning down your house switch blade knife real life dark skies truck the demon thinks he is here to stay with his bad voodoo he is making the barmaid mad she is going insane he turns her upside down she is all confused and distorted it is too crowded inside of her too much is going on there is an all night in another world she is drowning in the ocean she is flapping her arms in the water struggling to stay afloat no one sees her no one hears her she is all alone dying she is upside down floating in space moving away from the space capsule the cord that connects her to the ship has been severed she is floating away farther and farther away the barmaid is lost we are losing her I dont think she can hear us she has slipped off into her own little world can we reach her can we save her in time she is out of the loop propping up old economic systems stop it stop it now making a living an infinite street an amorphous anarchy insisting on using flash trash can come to the back of the alley we are burning bodies in trash cans they were all good mates but they wore out their welcome so we had to put them down a video about my thoughts a new religion a great deal of stock in those terms looking down upon religion the function that it facilitates she tempts us with a little glimpse of her shoulder getting the best of you seeing her out of her underworld an excuse to check the score ripened to perfection she tastes like honey and smells like cream cheese the grand scheme getting hit by a truck conforming to the four minute rule my song tends to run longer it becomes more erotic as it goes along it is about the love we share we can do it a game changer I was floored oh my god it is still brand new I was shot in the leg there was nothing I could say I couldn't feel we were two people I was there to see a friend the people in the crowd were reaching towards me touching me with a love for the human race and not for the monsters how did we get to this strange place I do not recognize it I never saw it before I have seen many things but not this there was no way to prepare for this no one saw it coming as simple and straight forward as I can I

14.9 appreciate your interest in my method of my madness this should be fun a vibrating polisher I make you clean and gleamy you are my polished metal abrasive materials polishing you a wall of warm air you will notice the change my new hobby the best angles mounting you drilling you pounding you I am documenting my work how I am transforming you manicured people touching my fingernails a bizarre thing people might be suspicious of the salvage operation there are many different methods to cut you into I am using a butcher's map to identify the cuts betty boop is asking me to be nice she is drinking tea the metal rod is in her hand she is swinging it around people are around all of the time telling stories making weird noises thin foam it is funky a great face she wants to know where the remote is smelling like a big fat cheeseburger a wolf howls and she joins in its all about the law and order a big fat moon she was crying 121

again I was rolling out the door finding my place in the leaving the night was still young and I had dreams to fry she hates to the stone tablets joined at the hip I am following her lips as she sips her captain and coke a room full of jackals I can find myself here in this dream that you have created I don't have any shoelaces all those pictures that I had taped to my cardboard heart I was too outrageous for her taste some long lost suburban element betty boop was in the bed she had just taken a shower and had nothing on she is sharing with me what she is feeling putting it in public throwing out into the void creating something from nothing she asked me if I wanted her to put on her panties or some silk stockings she wanted to know what turned me on I told her that anything would be fine that she could do anything she wanted I told her that she always turned me on no matter what she had she could be wearing a gunny sack and I would be turned on it was her that turned me on everything about her and not the extras the people you hire to stand in the background her pubic hair was still wet from the shower the birds are eating the birdseed from the bowl you have placed on the window's ledge we are watching the trucks from your window there is a world outside and you are standing naked in your window I am standing behind you looking over your shoulder there is squash on the table you have to cut it and cook it you keep saying demure and mispronouncing it when we fuck our way through the day we fuck our way into transformation we fuck our way through love and high waters when we fuck each other's brains out betty boop is making up my mind for me she is folding me and putting me away I am warm just out of the dryer still so hot another phrase from the bible the holy ritual poking you fucking you this is the cup that I pour myself out of of the silences are a storm inside of me we fuck the corporeal we fuck the spirit juggling this physical performance common juggling corporeal Latin learning to transform transfigure mutate inhabit reveal expose undress redress corruption of the ritual the vacuum is filled the fuck is fulfilled she has her leg up and her left leg spread out to the side her vagina warm and wet I open the lips slowly the spirit of god fills the body I am undecided is she a human or a goddess she quotes me to the angels she tells them all about me how I have died for her sins she tells the angels to have pity on

14.10 me when they come for me so gently with my fingers one hand fondles her left breast this is not a letter of attribution no it never could be we share a lie together bety boop and myself this lie sort of gave us a purpose a right to attempt to live a happy life if we have a right to be happy I'm just not in that place any more the pursuit of my own happiness trying to heal my wounds to extricate my nature pulling it out of the despair out of the hopeless fog the people that I love in hell I could not stand still I had to do something damn god and the rules I had to cross over to the other side to reach out to the hopeless I couldn't let you live with that feeling your whole life I had to pull you out 122

of the lake of fire I had to set you free from your chains I had to slay your demons to take you down from your cross wrapping your body in the strips of cloth washing your body preparing you for burial sitting around a pizza laden table selling my copies of my book all of the copies out of the trunk of my car at the psychological hospital she may be a monster I am sure that she has powers to trick people I know that she has tricked me many times getting out the bones and you lose the structure going on for ever sex scenes she said that I had to be tasteful and not filthy and horrible we went to disney land for the day riding on the dumbo ride an international competition taking you into my own hands super fucking depressed I'm here in my own shoes feeling the wind and the heat from the sun I am standing at a crossroads so fucked up I can barely stand up absolutely come up and see me art and decadence signed by the author servants of the feminine she didn't want the same things as other three thousand miles off to the wars poking the starlets I take you in my arms sticking my tongue down your throat doing my thing so she can catch the latest disease writing bad poetry she notices the difference the change in me I can't go on with this any more taking her to houston she introduced us over lunch early american brass she said that I was such a bastard keep the tickets she asked if it was her tits 100% organic she wanted to know if it was the way she fucks if she was to old I forgot how much of a bitch she was she said that I hurt her saying she was not a nice person new york has the best chinese food in the whole world she lit a candle and asked me about tonya if I was still seeing her I pulled her hand down from over her eyes and kissed her hand I told her not to worry about tonya she looked at me as if she saw me for the very first time the city of lights betty boop asked me if we were in china I told her no she asked me why I was speaking chinese why I was chopping up a duck with a butcher's knife she told me that she was afraid that I was going crazy that someday I would kill her just like that duck she was waiting for the witchdoctor to come he was bring us some chinese food I told that he was going to hypnotize her to help her with her problem he is a specialist and not a generalist he will know what to do the witchdoctor knows about only certain special things hidden things he knows about things you can't learn in a book that is what makes him special he learned these special things

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Fifteen 15.1 from his father who was a witchdoctor also she said that she took a walk and everything was just like this she said she had seen it all before she said that she thought she saw me on the other said and she ran towards me calling my name but I wouldn't turn around and when she caught up to me I changed I shape shifted into another man she said I changed into hugo and hugo brought her back to me she said that I should thank hugo the next time I see him she made me promise that I would thank him she wanted me to thank him proper I know about crucial I can see betty's nipples through her nightgown she hands me a twenty she says keep the change she puts my hand upon her crotch and she says give it to me I stood in the street thinking with my pecker she told me not to wait too long and I didn't I understood clearly where things were going back then back in the beginning when this all began sometime we change bodies sometime a person can take another's place betty boop was like that it seemed that she always wanted to be someplace else not where she was people pass through and give it shape brushing up against the secrets of this world and all the others betty boop like to brush up against things but she had no intentions of discovering the truth she was afraid of the truth because the truth could be dangerous too dangerous for a little girl from Iowa it was I who fucked her and not harpo he just watched he always watched sometimes from the window watching her do her cheers in her bra and panties she left the kid with her mother the brains were everywhere handing her things driving past the cornfields of Iowa she wasn't my wife I couldn't marry her betty boop said she didn't care about the things that were behind it I asked her who she loved what was the name of the guy she loved pass the bottle betty pass the bottle let me take a real big swig I was lucky once I told her boyfriend to get lost that betty boop and I had some business to attend to we had old times to catch up on the cops were knocking on the door asking me my name asking to see my identification it was room 603 I wanted a room with a double bed betty boop used the bathroom I called room service and told them to bring up a bottle of jim beam betty boop was wearing a tight black dress it was cut real short betty boop was pretending to not know me she said that I was thinking too much she lit a joint and took a big hit she is hitting it hard and holding it the room service came to the door and delivered the burbon I paid tribute to the fair maiden and then took out my sword who cares where betty boop was born she was born in Iowa it is all corn fields and hot during the summer she had died and hugo brought her back from the dead he went over there and brought her back she looked a little different but she was betty boop she was found dead in the bathroom she had slit her wrists horizontal like a lion tearing her apart at her most beautiful betty boop was a cheerleader in high school back in Iowa I asked her to do me a cheer she could have been a cheerleader at the university she gave me a cheer a great big cheer she stabbed him for times with a steak knife if she had a gun she would have shot him she 124

wouldn't look at harpo twice don't worry honey everything is find harpo's mother was hot driving through Iowa she was always hot where ever she drove to and they were always driving from one place to another all over the fucking country harpo has been to almost every state in the fucking country harpo's mom at the wheel of the old rambler station wagon it was black with white panels on the side harpo was in the back of the station wagon as they drove all across the fucking country we are driving down a road it is a highway a deserted highway that no one has been down for maybe a hundred years I think everyone has probably forgot about this road this highway I remember my grandfather telling me stories about a road that no one traveled down a lost road that was for the lost a person who no longer knew their way in the world they go drive down this road and find somewhere else to go to a place that was not of this world but of another world a different world do you know of such a place it was on this road that I met an angry dog I was afraid at first I thought he was going to bite me but didn't he wasn't angry because of me or because I was there he was angry at something else it was like we were both trapped in a room the same hotel room and he wanted out of the room more than I did a lot more than I did I have always been comfortable where ever I am but apparently the angry dog is not he is uncomfortable it is like he has an itch inside of him that he can't scratch have you ever been that way can relate to the angry dog's situation I bet you can I guess it's a 50 50 bet some will say yes and some will say no I really don't know the odds but what the fuck the angry dog had some reason to be angry and who am I to judge the validity of his claims he had a

15.2 reason and that reason was good enough for him so it was good enough for me the incapacity of our minds that is our dilemma we can only grasp so much at a time we have traveled between the spaces between worlds and times the answers to our questions are never perfectly clear there is always some form of ambiguity some factor of the unknown that is still left over sitting in the refrigerator getting moldy harpo pulls the container of moldy unanswered questions from the fridge and pinches a small portion off and puts in the bong he lights it up and smokes the moldy unanswered questions harpo says the moldier the better an attempt to align our language with the world an accidental pattern to the world piecing the world back together there are stops and breaks there is no noticeable logical order everything is haphazard fleeting slippery changeable you create these things that crumble in your hands they fall apart under pressure merely knowing the pattern does us no good we are still lost still confused still searching in the dark for the answers life makes no sense we are opposed to your logical assumptions people do not fit in the world everything is askew the truth should be avoided because the truth is a lie and ideology made to put your mind to sleep wake up and stop sleeping think for yourself venture out into the deserts of the 125

world go to that space that is outside the view of the normal be strange and odd break the rules step of the boundary cut down the fences break down the walls I am thinking of pink floyds the wall at this moment tear down the wall! harpo said that he knew in the end that we would be left with nothing the system is vulnerable it is built upon a foundation of sand a foundation of illusion the only thing that props it up are lies and more lies the rulers mock us they mock our need for order and structure thus they use order and structure to enslave us to trap us to make us their pawns in a corporate chess game do you feel like you dont have a grip on your life there is a reason why you feel this way it is not because of some inadequacy with you or some weakness in you it is because the system make your gasp tenuous and weak they want you to be unsure of yourself to be confused to be troubled they want you to focus more time on your problems than the problems of the world each clue he gathers leads to a dead end and no resolution harpo cuts the girl open and pulls out the eyes of society millions and millions of eyes they pour out of her in beckets 30 or 40 buckets full everything has no meaning the eyes blink and stare are her they are blinking Morse code they want her to put them back inside of her so they can judge and torment her accuse her of all sorts of unspeakable things she smiles showing her teeth the crazy lady smiles and we all love her she wants her life to have texture she is building a monument of steel barrels to the sun god she jumps up at the last minute she is the last one to have the illness from familial ties the crazy lady is carried away by her investigation away from the shores of the Mississippi yet the mud is still on her shoes muscle skeletal system her comfort zone and marginal places she said that you were screwed into the heart of the city the inner city she prowled among the hopeless those with jagged dreams and fingers of concrete they were smoking buddy Epsom spreading him thin on a foot long hotdog murder camp queen and her sleeping bag she would get it all twisted with the roach clip at the end of the hall the crazy lady had dropped out of the world the world of middle-class vaginas men and women who have replaceable parts they are all exposed to the contagion all vestiges of normalcy have disappeared from the life she vacated existing for too long on the outside has a price she has discovered that Dr. Loophole has another solver of mysteries he has drilled holes into her head to be his feeling of doubt and self-hate as if she didnt have enough of her own maybe she thinks that it will have some time a Ritalin effect on her sort of burn her out so much of her has dissolved already reminders of the disintegrating comfort a bottle of vodka a sea of alcohol she swims to forget the pain the self-inflicted gunshot wound the terror of her recurring nightmare confronting the non-reality of her existence she is not running from a crime no one is chasing her except herself she is chasing her tail going round and round (Rat) endless steps that left the crazy lady with the feeling of being lost she is lost in the city and within herself a metaphysical lost that would require a talking lion if this were a movie or a work of science fiction there are no metaphors to present a truth because there are no truths to reveal except maybe truth is a lie a splintering of self this is my Jungian shadow giving the shadow a voice I stopped listening long ago the other 126

wanted to speak to you to talk to you to welcome you into the fold the crazy lady has become a part of the internet she has become the internet she is lost inside the box I will never find her she will be lost to me forever she is under surveillance we have cameras installed everywhere we will find her or will we every soul lost in his or her own particular hell not able to touch the world that exists outside of their bodies the crazy

15.3 lady melts into the walls of the apartment the next renter comes in and hangs pictures from her nose she has become invisible she just stands there and watches she is waiting for something but what I dont know she is just waiting she has a home but she has no place no existence no identity no one talks to her no one asks her any questions even if they did she couldnt speak she has no voice her nature of existence is characterized as unstable the rules of order do not follow she is outside the system she tries to remember how things used to be before she disappeared but she cant it is impossible for her to go back to her previous life that life is gone she has become unable to map the totality of her existence she is filling up her red notebook with the words that once was her existence the words flow through her touching her soul they leave small scratches on her heart tiny little droplets of blood pour out of her with each beat of her broken heart she is thinking that this must be the beginning she has crossed the threshold into the cosmic realm Dagger was found hanged in the countryside he had left the castle with his Lordship and the crazy lady the local historian has speculated that dagger was a human sacrifice some say dagger had an enemy in the likes of the turk that dagger was fooling around with miss palm this reads a bit too much like clue if you ask me I should pursue other venues of thought what takes place inside the cave remains ambiguous his lordship has dabbled with miss palm also miss palm with the lightshade in the bathroom his lordship s going venomous that hard to swallow account a dagger being taken away in a spaceship miss palm claims that the body hanging in the tree was a double a lifeless double provided by the aliens so that no one would go looking for dagger outside the rational outside all attempts to contain all potential threats Hugo insists that change is evil changes does not lead to progress but to disaster and anarchy buried in an unknown place reducing the impossible to the possible internal defenses that let us choose how much of ourselves we give away we give ourselves away everyday some more than others you surrender to the reading you throw away disbelief and you dive in with your head and heart getting yourself dirty in the life getting honked at by people on Saabs and Mercedes mashed together and then emptied of some vital essence exaggerating your poor posture in a kind of desiccated lunar way a weird kind of subliminal seismic disturbance spikes that penetrate all the way to the back of the skull you are creepily curved and deformed a rent a cop a rent a woman to do this like a dystopic vision its all about deformity a dick 127

head that lets you explore your feelings fragile they are all fragile breakable expendable they want to be watched they need the voyeur the person peeking through the window they put on a show they map out their steps and write down their lines they practice their parts over and over to get it just right melting into the cosmos every question does not have an answer imagine the chaos your murderer has not disappeared betty boop catapulting a version of self I lack the world and move in it as a ghost all these steps to cross the threshold of life to dissolve into nothingness the completion of time the certainty of the descent the fall into the abyss on the doorstep of the unknown this figure turns superhuman escaping the boundaries of self and nonself the way I see the world and the universe have changed I have replaced my old worn out set of rules and values for a new set of rules and value I have replaced restrictions with allowances with freedoms I can do all things all things are possible there remains the question of what waits for me on the other side what waits for us on the

15.4 other side of the sea of red stepping into the waters we become red ourselves hugo is speaking Chinese and tonya is laughing she wants to know what happened to dagger I told tonya that dagger went to discover the possibilities of freedom that he no longer wanted to swim in the sea of red that he moved to Oklahoma to preach the gospel to poor dirt farmers tonya circumvents the notion of escaping into the nothing she asks me what is on the other side she wants me to take her there someday once we destroy the boundaries of this world then what world will we find ourselves in will we just create another hell to replace the current hell we live in no longer frightened by the looking the millions of eyes that poured out of her I think they represented soul that she had swallowed I began to feel that I belonged to everyone else the search leads to the undoing this I have accepted the journey leads to death if I didnt look would death still come I have put on the boots of my ancestors not blood relatives by spiritual ancestors the writers that came before me who looked into the gaping hole of the abyss and laughed as I do now I can only laugh because I realize that it is all a big fucking joke a cosmic joke played on humanity by the universe I watched you I followed you everywhere you went you could not see me because I was in my spirit body remember you felt someone or something touch you in the middle the self remains the ultimate mystery we must learn about ourselves before we can learn about others the room inside you mind is a locked room your true self is somewhere beyond yourself outside of your locked room I am kicking down the door removing the space between us the place where freedom and terror collapse an implosion we become concentrated we become dense collapsing in on ourselves closing in becoming ever smaller a rupture of our understanding what we thought we knew no longer exists everything has been changed people have changed places I have become hugo and hugo has become 128

me we have traded places I have become tonyas husband and hugo is the jealous lover I wonder if tonya can tell the difference between us I wonder if she knows that we have traded places she calls me hugo and she calls hugo martin but Im not sure if she is just playing a game our positions in this world are tenuous nothing has been chained down to the rocks a different understanding of power the power of your words to destroy or create my words turned me into hugo I am now speaking hugos words and hugo is speaking for me this paradox has become inescapable is it my saying that makes it so what if I said we could return to our original selves what would happen then how would the world be different we have moved away from the centering of self as we move into the realm of ambiguity there is so much that is unknown where do I end and hugo begins are the two of us one are we the same person did I create hugo in my mind or did hugo create me are we both the figment of some demons imagination a regime of truth patriarchy masculinity religion pornography beauty and myth operating the gaze of power I see you played out in everyday encounters a productive process creating human subjects and their capacity to act it is your words which create power the access to a deeper knowledge that is not knowledge but a way of speaking that

15.5 defines your reality a productive will to power this is not embodied in an individual but in a collective a spiritual survival of the Jungian collective the primal animal from which we all have crawled out of the ooze to devour our neighbor in order to feed our young the sacrifice was not pretty but it was necessary the child of a deeper power the will to power has a life of its own independent of human agency a surface understanding of something that we cannot know does this sound like bullshit to you I am divorced from reality I cannot feel you anymore this power works through others to achieve its aims I was a victim of this power it worked through me using me to get what it wanted I was a pawn it didnt matter what my will was I was powerless the power flowed through me changing me for better or worse I dont know I will never know the basis for such decisions is ignorance it has its own interests it is like being possessed by the power the power moves through you becoming you it is a principle of dispersion rather than unity I open my pockets and disperse the power my power if it is true that I can own such a thing fabricated bodies by making them the objects of the observing eye observing the mind of everyone forms of control and methods of domination where does this power of knowledge break down what if your knowledge was false then where would be your power what basis would your power stand upon could your power be taken from you if your knowledge was proven to be false the words that I write upon this page are they discursive or non-discursive do they speak of a power that is beyond my finger tips do they come from somewhere else some place that is beyond me is this the place that I escape to in the moment of creation you can watch me paint on you tube 129

http://www.youtube.com/user/MartinFreebase you can watch me paint as a disembodied arm that creates is that me or someone else I am not sure how can you be sure that image of a human being could be someone else and not me am I a person am I real do I really exist in this world who created this world that I live in did I did you can you point the person out in a court of law do I know you could I ever know you did we know each other before in a different life we presume the existence of mouth teeth and sugar you make things so sweet not too sweet but just right I assume you exist because you are touching me does that make me an asshole does that make you an asshole she sniff the grapes and then bites down her stocking cap is a bit skewed to one side she says that it is weird she is looking thrifty the colors look like vegetable soup

15.6 she is selling her beads Lucite carved in the plastic worlds of goldfish she is testing me for a chemical smell dipping me into her solution trying to dissolve me she says that I am lucky my cover art is messed up a Smokey the bear collection taking pictures of me putting me up on her wall she says I will be in the slideshow she will be giving for the church circle everything is the fault of the other no one cares what the issues are we have planted bombs in the common ground she holds my face in her hands I am telling her to take her medications etching her initials into my arm she feels like talking Im not really listening to her she accuses me of being too fragile I am making firewood building a fire to roast her flesh on roasting her catfish falling in love with the daughter we didnt know what we were making the rules of discursive formation provide the conditions of existence we ate the Neanderthals who were living in the alley teeth marks on all the bones it was too late for us to discover their discourse we wanted meat picking the meat out from between my teeth I watched you destroy with a razor blade I could not bring you back in form the cold the fire in my heart was not warm enough I watched the devil eat your heart you were working for the pilgrims pulling out staples from the constitution you think god is sending you messages I asked you if you knew Tim kinbote into the mouth of the shark it was a blue table cloth this looks like reptiles I asked you if you could love a reptile you said yes once a long time ago there was a bug in your hair I keep putting it back in she is looking the other way looking towards the west hoping the sun will set again swimming in the woodpile the spiders know your name they have tattoos with your name on their legs hairy legs with ink it is possible to say certain things and not others rejecting the physicality of the body drawn from the surface manifestations I have rejected your agency you have no power against me I am your nightmare and your savior it doesnt matter how you speak to me I am here in the flesh and I wont let you push me away this time like you have so many time before unconstrained creative essences they flow between us my focus is on your body of power you are concerned with the issue of embodiment how you essence fills the void 130

the distance between us is disappearing you are not a romantic subject substitute you are real and in the flesh doomed to be the plaything of power I have denied your essential self that part of you that lives beyond this world not as a docile body but as a reflexive living speaking being personal identities emerge in a battlefield your body is natural and overlaid with cultural values I can see through this disguise how they see you does not matter to me I see you through the eyes of perfection through the eyes of the animal I move your body by channeling your desires flesh upon flesh although you are socially constructed in your discourse and actions you exist none the less as a thinking feeling subject and social agent capable of resistance keep telling yourself this over and over you look just like a human you talk like them and even have feelings and

15.7 emotions like humans you are seeking a history searching for your origins must you die for your history these little touches of solitude as she holds a picture of her mother holding her as a child thus she knew she had a history this picture was her proof of a time before her before she began failing to access the symbolic nature of her past she cannot grasp the meaning of herself she does not exist outside of her mind she is a creature of the pastiche a corrosive rain which wears things away we are the waste produced by the system the surplus human beings that society has no place for they will crush us if we let them their desire is to destroy our spirit our will to live that is why our culture glamorizes the suicide they want us to follow in their tracks do you know where I live I live in the gutter in the cesspool in the waste of the postindustrial city the name of the city doesnt matter they all look the same they all are falling apart living off the past glories of a dead world our world is already dead we are dead the walking dead our existence is living off the garbage joining the eclectic crowd of faceless people living on the garbage heap picking the garbage sorting the garbage becoming garbage someone should set fire to this world and burn it all up a pop cultural extravaganza tonya adds the exoticism to the assemblage of outmoded pieces becoming an obscenity total transparent visibility we are living in the ecstasy of communication a twist in the relationship between the real and its reproduction you are a perfect descriptive machine as long as I keep you full of oil and gasoline you run smoothly with no problems you recreate my past reality not the real world but the world of my memory I realize this and you my machine realize this thus we ignore that gaps in understanding between us we pretend that our interactions are human no distinction between real and copy remains no longer producing the limits of being we have failed to enter the symbolic order condemned to live a perpetual present the experience of the present becomes powerfully overwhelmingly vivid and material Zelda is an angry dog she barks at the people as they walk by her window the mailman is afraid to bring her the mail Zelda once attacked the paperboy and bit him in the leg her language 131

requires her to accept her sexual identity doggy style with the mailman and the paperboy she wants to discover conception she is not convinced about the sincerity of others she assumes a sexual identity becomes a woman and loves a man yet her emotional responses are dissimilar to a humans there are questions which Zelda cannot answer she explodes when asked to tell us about the good things associated with her mother I think some of you would explode also at this point in the questioning for others the trigger would be your father she has had it both ways an image provides the right to exist photograph mother history the missing link between past present and future the that which has been your past still haunts you the trace of the dream of unity of the impossibility that which is incomprehensible we enter into the paradox it becomes us and changes us in many different ways we are pushed out like waste by the paradox when it is done using use when it has extracted from us are vital life force the imaginary exists as a loss the all-nourishing mother transformed into memories monuments of the past the wind and rain beat against her breaking her down little by little do you come to worship here anymore does anyone come to worship by the statue of your memories Zelda plays the piano to recapture a memory her memories escaped her and now she is busy trying to catch them to bring them back to her forcing them back into her mind she needs her memories a seduction she lays across the photographs and plays with herself I can hear her calling out daddy daddy as she rubs away at her memories her black and white snapshots of her past world her mobility is the result of her perverse confusion she cannot tell the difference between the present and the past she induces a belief in me that she is alive her body is a formality the belief and hope that I am alive the status of memory has changed I remember you or do I could it be that I have convinced myself to remember so that I have a justification the past is a collection of images and the right or wrong meanings we attach to them to prove our right to existence I deserve to be here in the now because I was in the past my past existence justifies my current existence there is a difference between the thing itself and its images establishing well-founded madness or true love I am the possessed I am the lover Zelda wants to distinguish the pure from the impure she wants her lovers to be true and not false proceeding once again through the means of irony the circulation of souls she is hiding under the dictionary pages looking at her shoulder blades moving her collar back and forth fitting only the archaic god himself a mirage the evil power of the falsehood that lie you told in the backroom division pursues and achieves its goal the bloody hand the pointing finger the piercing above your eye Zelda intrudes and insinuates discovers in the flash of an instant as she leans over the abyss the idea from the image implying a perversion an essential turning away this is what you do you close me out you draw your circle without me I stand outside of you not feeling you an iconic copy of a replica I have resisted you and now I am no longer real to you I have

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15.8 disappeared I have become a semblance ever corrupted preventing me from rising to the surface the great manifest duality the latent distinction modeled internally and spiritually by means of an aggression a subversion against the image against the claim to a singular purpose we have lost the resemblance while retaining the image we have lost our claim for moral existence we fail to make this beast in our image because we only working with a copy and not the true thing itself thus our creations are born corrupted and weak they fall apart under scrutiny if we ask them of their origins they do not know how to answer and origin was never in their minds only the present only the pains and pleasures of the present to ask them about their origins would only destroy them it only reveals the lie that they have grown accustomed to that they depend upon like the farmer depends upon the sun and the rain is this a good bet deciding on your memory chopping off the mans finger a dead body in my bed on the mattress diving into the elevator did she misbehave the very nature of each experience capturing the feeling there is an invisible meaning that must be revealed learning how to die is our subject matter it is death that we study to learn how to live she loves to eat cheese and she continues to eat cheese putting bait on the hook an idea your focus with more power catching the fish that are important to you I know all about you I saw you coming at me like a dereliction of your duties like a moonbeam escape artist you have a set of keys in your pockets I see you on the phone who you calling baby is there anyone on the other line are you calling the universe did mother nature answer I see you smoking you cigarette a big puff of smoke that crooked look in your eye the saliva in the corner of your mouth is it the drugs baby I see you wearing your yellow dress the one that I like so much more than your double-jointed fingers I know there lies a valley between our homes I see you on the highway coming to me you are in that white convertible driving that white convertible the white convertible runs like a horse a white horse are you my heroine are you my savior can you save anyone can anyone be saved is salvation something of this world or the next is this world worth saving I used to save pop bottles and turn them in for nickels I used to buy a nickel bag of weed I used to seep out the little store across from Lafayette street I see you eating chocolate covered raisins I see you covered in chocolate I am eating you like a raison you taste so good in my mouth taste is a precious thing you are so precious loving the experimentation the process of action and reaction getting something thrilling 3 million miles away a long fucking ways away I am watching out for mechanical shapes it is like you have become raw material for me you are an abandoned wasteland something that others have thrown away something that others have forgotten for me you a treasure a lost treasure that I love that I cherish I want to keep you close to heart at all times I couldnt imagine life without you I couldnt imagine and you know I imagine so many things you are my sophisticated child uninhibited my creation I made you from rust and the residue of heartache you are fascinated by the manipulation how I twist and turn breathing in the mask there is perspiration on my brow my forehead is wrinkled 133

and there is a fullness inside of me a great potential for love my friend asked me if I loved you and I said yes I reached into the car and pulled the guy out of the car by his throat it was not a powerful use of generalized fear it was a specific use of personal fear I reached in and made his fear personal there was a threat of more force implied by the action a good old fashioned ass beating should have ensued but then an angel spoke and my anger relented tonya was sitting in the passenger side of the car her neck exposed from romantic devastation I was ready to devour her to show her what you and I have to show the world forever skewed I wanted her to experience how I pushed down upon the spike of romanticism watching the inner light pour out of you how I have become elsewhere to mix the surreal with the sublime to bring back to harsh reality I have been accused of writing things to shock do I shock you is any of this really shocking havent we all been exposed to so much that nothing shocks us any more we have grown numb can you imagine Zelda impaled on a spike if you can is this my fault or yours did I make you see it or did you want to see it have you seen it many times before am I a causation or a remembrance can you see how Zelda impaled could represent love an extreme love a pure love there is an action and a reaction it just starts to talk to you the situation the moment like alight coming out of the darkness the

15.9 beautiful process begins they all line up they find their place where they belong a whole bunch of different things happen to me and to you things just happen and we have no control over the process it just takes on a life of its own we just sit back and go for the ride we see where it takes us sometimes its enjoyable and sometimes its not many times there is a point where the reaction is to destroy this thing we have created you want to destroy it and get past it to move beyond the bullshit to move away from the phony and yet we find our freedom in the destruction there is a synchronicity between creation and destruction I guess these two forces make us like god because god both creates and destroys although possibly destruction outweighs his creations it seems like there is so much of this world and peoples dreams that are destroyed whether it is by a god or just random bad luck so you just start building on top of the thing that you just destroyed and you create something new something different something better it is like the creation need to be destroyed in order to grow in order to break out of the cocoon of the mediocre the prison of bondage another thing comes out of the destruction this is how we can get a glimpse of so much more we spend so much of our lives at the surface level and no one has clue about the deeper meaning the deeper person approving laughter washing over me a mix of innocence and corruption speaking of the devil as he hides under your bed frightened dust bunnies under there pull the covers up tight while Im inserting batteries into your favorite toy obtuse lines of dialogue henry is paying for online porn with a credit card he stole from 134

some drunk at the bar henry is a real son-of-a-bitch a real dirty rat bastard he will fuck over anyone he can he used to steel bobs lunch money when they were little kids henry is trying to sell us on the idea of a vortex my stomach was making sounds like a jet flying at a high altitude the mothers were coming over to look over the books they were going to make sure that I wasnt pocketing any of the money henry is talking about his soldiers again how he has a death squad to kill any of his enemies his soldiers ignore that their commander is insane they ignore that fact that he buys their weapons at a secondhand store that he is always putting them in a compromising situation some guy in the backseat with a buck knife he is playing with his knife while his brother is searching henrys bedroom for something that was stolen during a party the brother came back satisfied that henry didnt steal it but I that he did in fact steal it because it was hidden in my sock drawer henry is talking about our freedoms how we all have freedom of choice the freedom to be burdened by obligations and to believe in the electoral college believing in sugar plum fairies henry says that he never forgets that he remembers everything the good times and the bad he wants to occupy main street but the problem is he lost his map and cant find his way there he is challenged by the altitude there is a girl in a lawn chair and she is wearing dark shades to cover her eyes she walks like a dead man we are both looking for my cat daisy who has run away she said that she saw daisy just the other day that the cat comes through her yard almost every day I am spinning in circles watching the sun go down and drinking a glass of lemonade if this were a dream than shouldnt I know wouldnt there be a tell tale sign the little high school girl asks me to sign her yearbook she says that I am her favorite teacher I asked her what she learned and she says how to self exclude a 21 gun salute I keep her fingernail clippings in an envelope and some snippets of hair stolen from her hairbrush hash oil love and voodoo free enterprise the electrodes hooked up to her loss and pain a little blood she wanted to be another heartbeat she wanted awareness a waitress living in a the junkyard with junky dreams and a wrench set to hold off the self contempt worshiping the gradual haze as the pollution hides the sun she has a certificate to show you she has a dirty mind her mother had her tested there are stitches up her spine she likes to eat quick standing at the counter and out the door no thank you no fuck off and die she is just gone you have to tie her down to keep her in one place she likes to come around one in the morning something to do with the reign of Saturn the little school girls is a Capricorn it has been a very long trip sometimes we think we are the only riders that we are moving forward all alone she knows so well the sound of my voice in this world and the next she hears me when Im hiding in the neighbors yard she says murder is always in my eyes murder on a railroad track I told her she wouldnt stand a chance with me I had all the time in the world it was like a hard dream when time stands still and I am bringing down the mountains in someone elses hand her torn body in my arms she is learning how to decay Im not sure how to grade her I am looking at her god film frame by frame looking for the subliminal

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15.10 messages liberating a river town idiot smile alien virus and eating all the cornflakes miss palm is bathing in the next room in coca cola I cant sleep I am on a ledge so early in the morning I havent been to the coffee shop all week and miss palm is young she is talking about the tomatoes in her garden the best revenge I am helping her can her tomatoes I am using her ego to stir the soup sucker punched she gave me her phone number I called and left a message pilfering her banking account it will give me pause opening her up a metaphysical poet she is on the front burner the blue is coming out she is overwhelming playing with herself in front of the window it didnt seem like two hours miss palm thinks she is falling for me she is smoking my last Turkish cigarette she is lots of fucking fun everyday telling them to go suck it she cant explain how she gets so delusional blaming it on the antichrist she is a different breed always for sale busted piano keys and I liked her better with blonde hair she is waiting for the sun to rise to expose her nakedness between her legs is a heaven and I am converting to her religion Im beginning to believe in miss palm more and more I think she can walk on water that she can heal my leprous soul bring me some fire in this cold wasteland my oxygen reserves are almost depleted she is creative and inspiring wrapped up in her plastic she is warping my world with her happy birthday wishes the smell of lake water and gasoline I am becoming one of her bad side effects I am sick twisted and decaying living in a small cloud of fear driving down every night to see her behind the garbage can looking up at the big buildings spraying pesticide on the people it is a waltz she is worried about her dream I am watching her over the surveillance cameras Im not talking about miss palm feeling the Formica I found something at one of her meetings calling the front desk they say that I was never here she was sent here to destroy me there was an angel in the corner reading high times I asked her if she was a model I am proud to be her host her roommate is talking about her how she is a beacon of knowledge I am the man behind her with a passion for the doing a passion for ideas I am diving within her with my passion awakening inside of her a vast reservoir with honesty and integrity a giant ocean of experiences she is sweeping the floor sweeping up the time they want to know if they will ever see agent smith again a change in her voice our deaths have been separated broken opacity the sickness is this life enduring the inanimate it is this one thing nothingness we return to the pot of boiling soup miss palm imagines it to be potato soup I have seen this annihilation miss palm is underneath me holding me up being a foundation I slide inside her the last moment in my time it is a moment without duration an instant an instantaneous cut in the line of time we look forward to seeing your materials will they be in color it isolates me I am looking ahead to see things to see possibilities paths implements obstacles tasks and opportunities to see miss palm in the flesh disrobed of her glamour her witchery and slum godlessness utter impossibility advances toward me illuminating the expanse I wrestle miss palm to the floor and pull the evil out of her with long silver tongs to struggle with the negative is the key to

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Sixteen 16.1 discovering being miss palm looks into the abyss and the nothingness of death gives her new life a purpose for living a reason to climb up onto the pole of anarchy fuck your kings and queens we are selling this life to the junkman he collecting old skulls mine is a little cracked but he still wants it I been using it all these years to hold all of my junk pat and vanna drinking margaritas she turns the letters pat is feeling up the contestants merle haggard is in the hospital someone died today but I cant remember who stalking me like Heidegger I know they are real because they talk to me I understand them a mobilized power her life is my life that has broken off from me I still can feel her up against me outside of myself henry says he is writing a sonnet a sonnet for miss palm he is certain then she will love him so interwoven with everything we feel we share the suffering I sent henry to the store for cheese and crackers I still had a full bottle of wine a red wine from davenport it awakens a will in us to struggle with the pain I am mired in my own substances I pull the matches from my pocket and light the joint henry has his eyes closed and there is a smile upon his face I know he is thinking of miss palm the same look I saw upon his dead face as he lays in his coffin tell horatio there are no more beggars to feed we have brought them all into the hall for the royal feast one wants to be afflicted with this alien pain an insidious temptation in the anguish as miss palm hands all the guests a flower without risking what she risks we are full throttled we are all soldiers fighting for her cause I knocked down the walls that were erected to protect her I want her to be exposed to be vulnerable to need saving because she has not yet lived enough I want time for her to flourish to grow wings and fly up to the heavens her life is a radiance that is shed upon the lives of others I am a lucky recipient of this radiance I bask in her light I am greedy with her light I want more and more I have not yet loved her enough I need to set free this tension that is building up inside of me an insidious tension like taut strings metal strings that someone is scraping a serrated blade against I cringe at the crunchiness of the anguish I howl at the moon clawing at the ground fulfill this beast miss palm I am bound by my suffering we are bound together by my suffering only you can free me release me from this pain my sweet love my sweet miss palm to hell with your hosanna and insurmountable ways view the sufferers contorted hands his grimaces hear his sighs and moans he has no faces no surfaces and no place all his resources are failing is dignity only something we have in death than what is this thing we have now is it character do the living have character and the dead have dignity is dignity only something that can be seen in the past tense miss palm cannot be envisioned in her singularity I would sell you to the circus all ten toes and ten fingers showing you the slimy under-section of your dream most people don't understand the word postmodern it is a word for eggheads someone in the other room was talking about hegel there is an irony about the way she speaks miss palm lives in an

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16.2 atmosphere tranced menace a kind of watered down version of your hardcore pornography her face contorts in agony over the mutilated corpse her face changes more than once into someone else's face miss palm had forgotten her lines and comes off as stiff and uncomfortable no one is worrying about it henry keeps painting pictures of little girls he has reawakened the venomous charisma ravaged and satanic he is giving her a monstrous does of pcp not political correctness a cruel child's parody of a damaged individual miss palm is alienated from pretty much everything except the particular obsessions she has developed she is immersed in the minutiae of her own fantasies I reached a point where I decided to write what I wanted to and I don't give a shit whether any one likes it or even gets it and I know many people do not get it that's ok there are always plenty of love poems that they can read even though this is a love poem it just happens to be a long one that disregards the rules of convention no punctuation no line breaks no connection no meaning no hope in this world harpo is building a big transmitter he wants to sailor fuck mommy the preponderance of fetishes and fixations freudian motifs that tremble on the edge of terror or orgasm harpo is building an enormous psychological power the very things we were suckled on from the tits of society our culture is a bastard with no place to call home this is sick and dirty and infantile strap on and hang on the dime store psychologists trying to find my deficiencies through my writing they want to tie everything back to me back to a repressed need that was never fulfilled this is not revelations don't accuse me of painting a picture of evil that I see in the mirror evil wears us all the cat is dancing on the table the building is on fire the firemen are busting through the door with their axes a pop age gone loco an upside down story out of the vinyl deeps miss palm wants to visit the electric Eden she is sure that there she will be able to get even everybody loves our town especially at night when all the lights are on the birth of the soul and everything that comes after absence emotional outburst miss palm is screaming at the cat five mean years she is listening to the music the beach boys I think not the monster it once was from noise to silence miss palm is all about science and romance a disk saved on her computer I love her madly I love her in an age of lost innocence she has lost her modern innocence once in love with a dualism that subjectivity and objectivity were exclusive the universe divided at the seam with the ought and the is inspiration comes under the apple tree miss palm is under the tree talking to a snake I think his name is henry matters that can be spoken of in the old way with a stick he draws a circle around the tree by the force of words I saw a wall of flame circle the tree I try to explain to miss palm that she cannot escape her past experiences that the past choices she has made as taken her on a ride to the pace she is today rather good or bad it is the result of a multitude of experiences things that she did and things that happened to her fitting together in a human algebraic formula miss palm was dressed in the thoughts of the dead she wants to build a space colony on the moon you have

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16.3 been convinced that the existing social system of inequality is both inevitable and rational it is in the best interests of the world that you suffer the world needs someone to step on so why shouldnt it be you we can come up with a thousand reasons why we should be wealthy and why you should be poor we have scientific studies to back it up along with the precedence of tradition a long valued and established tradition and by the authority of god he made us your masters if you do not love us then you do not love god you love god dont you miss palm has internalized certain values and norms that have taught her how she should behave and to accept her subordinate place in society these beliefs and values that miss palm has been taught work against and hinder her desire for freedom and self-fulfillment she is repressed through entertainment and consumerism we have become a part of this mechanism for repression if our writings do not challenge the human brainwashing that our world leaders engage in then we are pawns in their game we are just as guilty as those who exploit us and take advantage of us when you write do so in a manner that brings your readers freedom instead of bondage the blubbery crack of I dont believe you Im always wondering what miss palm is thinking with that blank look on her face an expression that only Picasso could love she is leaning over a gravestone and smiling like a vampire there is this raw sexiness to her as she sit atop of the dresser her reflection in the mirror is enigmatic miss palm has a troubled child her child is possessed by a demon she and her husband have spent all of their money seeing doctors and psychiatrists the tried everything that science has to offer for help but to no avail their only hope is nanuk of the north he has been making a living casting devils out of people he pulls out a bottle of special sauce from his bag of magical tricks and sprinkles it on the forehead of the possessed then he speaks a few magical words and the person jerks and contorts and the demon leaves in a big pile of vomit this is what he did for the barmaid he charged the turk one hundred bucks and the barmaid was free from truck the demon she was embarrassed and a little befuddled to have been possessed by a demon this was a little more than challenging to her faith in Tim as the supreme lord and master of the world why would tim allow such a thing to happen to her when she had been laboring so intently in his service this is when the seed of doubt began to creep into the heart of the barmaid someone once said that there has to be faith before there can be doubt Frankie is so ivy league smoking on his pipe he begging his girlfriends to send him some money he is building a table top nuclear weapon he wants to destroy kitchens all over the world to speak of honesty a true honest between naked bodies arms and legs entwined with the naked truth a truth that is only between us being a dog a puppy a mutt I had plans for this bomb big fucking plans explosive plans I was going to put inside a wall mart or a target and watch it blow all the shoppers up you clean the dishes off

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16.4 the table and we examine the schematic how to build the elephant we have a truckload of pieces we just need to figure out where they all go Frankie drags in this huge piece of metal and starts banging on it with a hammer the sound of metal against metal reverberates the trickery between us Frankie has found the timer and is attaching it the devices chassis there is a medusa of multicolored wires each are assigned a special place and a special purpose I am listening to the mothers through the wall they are talking about Dr. Loophole how he was conceived in a row boat on lake Osage his father was a pharmaceutical rep and his mother was a nurse in a county clinic that mostly treated whores and old junkies how did have enough sense to die already the flesh that fades slowly turning metallic she said the doctor told her not to put any weight on it so I told her to get on top with my two hands I lifted her ass up and down she tells me that Dr. Loophole is a meat trader he doesnt care about the atom bomb he is mixing up the methamphetamine the doctor has a lab in his shed out back he is cooking up the stuff night and day he has a whole crew that sells his stuff on the street you pinch some fat from your leg and stick the needle in you feed the solution slowly she had a big hole in her leg a drag on the industrialized world Dr. Loophole is taking his patients out into the woods and leaving them there they die from exposure to the elements everyone has learned to snarl at his approach he is doctor death his bag is full of magic potions and if you look the wrong way he will pull your eyeballs out electronic eyes he looks like a young man just out of bible school he has this angelic look to his face but his eyes are dark saucers of evil when you look into his eyes you can tell that he has no soul thanatos faded glory oil burner liquor store dim neon a broken jukebox Madonna iron maiden slipstream nightmare discotech technique motels rat traps black lights trailer parks locker room chokeholds strip poker gang bangs obscenities twenty dollar bills razor blades window sills the medicine show all night drive-in theaters vultures six-packs gym socks quarter gram oil change hash oil midrange listening to Stevie nicks eight track tapes and a darth vader bong a smokeless one hitter running water barking dogs sangria rib eye steaks and pinhead joints a magic eight ball pinball wizard Frankie got a tattoo that said acdc Frankie threw himself on the floor and crawled over to Dr. Loophole asking him for another fix a manipulator of signals and the signified he is all about deferred gratification he is an expert in social control he hooks the wires of the bomb to frankies flesh openings appear magically to insert the wires it was like Frankie was born for this miss palm suggests that Frankie was a test tube baby Dr. Loophole shows us his badge it says government inspector he knows how to make a person want to die there is a brown paper bag full of money on the kitchen table it is payment from frankies cooperation once the great satan has been killed then we can collect our money miss palm and I are talking about running away to Biloxi Dr. Loophole is using a black and decker drill to put a few suggestions into frankies mind he is making Frankie realize that there is

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16.5 something horribly wrong with him that he deserves the abuse he is receiving miss palm and I are getting our documents in order we will be processed through the government redistribution center little girls walk by and sniff our legs miss palm has a badge tattooed on her left nipple it gives her the right to what the hell she wants to she has searchlights installed in her bedroom and Dr. Loophole recorded each and every sexual encounter he had a whole library of tapes that he was studying his dissertation was on feminist pornography he kept asking me how I was feeling as he showed me picture after picture of lesbians without symmetrical breasts once he saw he was getting nowhere with his method of inquiry he asked if we would like to smoke some hash miss palm thanked him for letting her use his heater she always got cold when she stretched out on the examination table most of the time he didnt talk to us he just mumbled things to himself as he put us in positions and snapped the camera when Frankie blew up in a piggy wiggly the next day I was too surprised they started to gather up all the political deviants and put them in detention centers these detentions centers were operated by the federal emergency management agency they set a curfew and anyone found on the streets after ten oclock at night were taken to the fema detention centers the young were sterilized and the old were euthanized if you were too old or weak to work they put you to sleep they were real humane about it they had observers from amnesty international making sure that the old people didnt suffer before they killed them they would give them an injection of some poison and a pain killer and then had them watch a musical as they faded away then a crowd of bystanders would clap as they passed the threshold they get dismantled and thrown away they burn the body parts in a oven out back it smells god awful when they have that sucker going full blast it reminds me of that time when Frankie burned up that cat I dragged miss palm by her ankles and tacked her up in the whore house making her a semihuman sexobject randomizing her lady parts I am selling the boys tickets for a go at her she was born straight out of my head and into my loins she has been banned as obscene in 13 countries I cant dial her up on pay-per-view a prophet of sexual freedom she is supporting my writing habit by selling her body we have to put oil into the glass pipe and martin needs new shoes and musical notes to pin on my lapels the courage to say fucking everything as I remake myself in a demonic image I caught her dialing the exorcist and I told her to stop I am a philistine make no mistake I not riding into the sunset on a white horse there will be no need to write my biography when Im living it on the page she said that we had met before I told her that I would have remembered meeting a girl like her I dialed her number and we talked all night long she looked like the devil in the morning I told her it was a pleasure talking to her she wanted a drink something special we were talking about people who were dead she called me honey she always called me honey she told me about her job pulling feathers off of chickens the phone was red in a red room there was no one inside it was empty she is wiping the

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16.6 magic off she is shouting for the guards to open her cell door and let her out I am outside in the lightning next to the highway they all like sausage on their pizza she says that I don't look like myself today raw spooky shit I did a great job a real professional job giving her the once over a magic moments are brought to you by Dr. Loophole and his pharmaceuticals she said yes and thank you she put a spell on me with her hips her breasts and her lips she is lost to the world around her calling people new names that she has invented for them she tends to unravel when I probe her for deeper meanings deeper into her foundations those secret places inside her heart the secrets that never see the light of day so only takes them out and plays with them in the middle of the night she conceals the conflicts within her she is undecidable a contested terrain what she says on the surface cannot be understood without understanding those things that she hides away in her heart a misrepresentation of reality there are only competing versions of reality unavoidable gaps in meaning that the readers fill with their own interpretations it is within her nature to produce meaning she strips it from our meanings removing our natures she propels us exclusively into the future she believes that we are destined to be locked up in the prison house of love she wants to save me she ways that her world is falling apart I tell her that it is not her job to save me she has to save herself she is calling our attention I dont know anyone called Bethany sending her in the mail piece by piece no eyeballs no hair no teeth traveling people a little tiny slave a normal day with my slave I wake up in the morning and take my slave to the shower my slave scrubs my back the special one goes to my paradise the safety of her boobs making the tiny people worship me crushing them under my feet I didnt see them on the ground a normal squish caught between my toes dancing to the music and those on the ground are dead the lap dance of death jesus wanted a dog he is dragging his wounded leg I am downloading the free sex tape she is eating her satanic cupcakes we removed her sixth finger with a Swiss army knife and a hot iron eat me drink me make me you god people appear out of nowhere the character is vulnerable finding myself living in the sorrow see the irony the metaphors a deep dark hole exposed to magic the thoughts you think inside your head is a matter of social control you cannot fight your way out of the box you have been socialized to think the box is real thus your mind constrains you if we stopped paying the politicians would anyone still run for political office the little school girl says that we cannot tell big stories of the world only small stories what we know battles in an arena with other ideas to see which ideas win out it is a battle to the death those ideas that win live on and those who are defeated get lost in the miasma of competition fading away from the sight of glory as I make love to you my body is transformed a horn grows out of me and I slice open the flower I force the flower to see rain and sunlight to open its petals painfully for the first time the

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16.7 nectar of the flower is so sweat it is exhilarating she is kissing my feet the arousal of her feet fetish I once had a female doctor and a female nurse both bending over me feeling my feet it was an orgy in the doctors office they were both breathing heavy feeling my feet for a pulse I have supernatural powers I unzipped my pants and they took turns kissing my balls and sucking my cock I was not sure if it was spiritual love or plastic love an increasingly hypoxic state of the brain I tied them both up and beat them with paddles and whispering obscene words into their ears asking them if they want me to treat them like dirty girls at one point the doctor disrobed and laid on the table exposing herself for my inspection I put on a pair of rubber gloves and examined her beautiful cunt the nurse began handing me medical tools to insert inside the doctors vagina fanny hill she is painting in water color the monsters that she sees outside her windows she claims that they are circling around her house I show her the bite marks on my ass from my doctor she was a shipping magnate heiress it was a simple package of madness the severed body parts of Mickey mouse autoerotic sex and gender tonya puts on her bunny suit I am setting the walls of fire bronco billy and mark twain were peeking in her windows they were dressed like john Wayne gacy clowns the stench of death trailed behind them I am reading her a poem from Rimbaud as scummy as I can tonya showed me her scar where they took the baby out she said it had a tail and horns she said it reminded her of me she still thinks Im hugo everyone thinks Im hugo I am writing down all the words to your war song as you sang for the dead as they lay dying in the streets where are their bank accounts where is their trust in lucre where does the leviathan lay rotting she says her prayers through spiders webs she said that they just learned of the cancer on Saturday I am squeezing her avocados seeing if they are ripe we understood about steeples everywhere that a stone is still a stone as we spoke the eulogies of chaos she sticks her ass out the car window transubstantiation told me that it would soon be spring the earthen pot the thunder peal her mother told me to leave her alone that she was married now and had a baby I wonder if she still likes hockey players my sights are set on 200 tonyas eyes full of pilgrims she is taking off her costume of unhappiness I am helping her burn it in the fire her dear body was always ready no matter the hour squeaky bed spring her loud moans she is not the dead little girl hiding behind the bushes we buried the devils upright there is always someone who drives us to the saloon to wash down the vagabond blues tonya prays to me I am her saint she calls me saint hugo I am the master of the rainbow in the dark (hail Dio) to be spoken in the silence of the night when tonya is sleeping too many women have hurled themselves out the windows for me to be selfish with my love with each step there is a madness born of my erection my horn of perdition my forehead touching your mountains I have killed the goat and we

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16.8 had a feast tonya played the tambourine and Zelda the castanets while the little school girl played the claves the music we made was wonderful my tongue between their legs humming my own little tune god bless America land that I love she has highs and lows that almost break her I sent tap to fetch miss palm she could play the violin and tap could dance a beautiful dance as long as you kept the noose around his neck once you removed the rope the spirit would leave him tap was a good little boy who said his prayers daily asking for forgiveness of the vile things I made him watch sometimes he would participate with a little coaxing once I had Zelda blindfolded and tied naked to my bed I had her worked up into quite a froth and I commanded tap to go in there and finish her off at first her was frightened I told him to not say a sound and Zelda would not have a clue as to who was fucking her this gave him the courage of a Cossack tap climbed up on top of Zelda and fucked her like a true troubadour tap had found my add in the local music store I had been giving drum lessons and he saw my piece of paper on the music stores bulletin board and called my number soon her was over every day participating in each and every debauchery and on Sundays he would go to church with his mommy at the foot of a dormant volcano the things we had not yet learned about tap and humanity he taught us that a soul could be damaged beyond repair that the prayers of the faithful could not bring him out of his spiral tap had asked me once if I had sold my soul to the devil jokingly I said no that I sold his to the devil how those words now haunt me to this day for he eventually did lose his soul and I wonder to what extent I am the cause he went on to live this completely different alternative life that I was unaware of at night he would dress as a woman and suck old businessmen to get money to buy drugs he was married and had two sons that this time there was great hatred and a great love that existed together we knew nothing of this until he tried to kill himself tap took a bottle of sleeping pills and drank a six-pack of beer and then started the car in the garage with the door down his wife came in and called the ambulance tap was away in the psych ward for over a month when he got out he confessed to everything he said that he didnt want to live anymore that life had become unbearable he was addicted to pain pills and was smoking meth he worked extra jobs and started pulling tricks to support his drug habit Tonya told me once she was at the doctors office and tap was there with his two boys and he yelled across the doctors waiting room if she knew where he could get some drugs Tonya told him no and left the doctors office she said that she had never been so humiliated in her whole life

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16.9 She is drinking her coffee and feeding herself so she wont die. She is riding two hours on a bus. She is binging with her hours in the studio and her husband wonders where she is, he cannot find her. She hums in between her words as she turns on the food processor. There is a pocket full of shells on her kitchen table. She winks and smiles. It is just another parade for you and I to watch-to be a part of in another dimension, on another day. She is working out a plan on how to go to sleep-to disappear in ten minutes. She rolls over not thinking about anything she claims that she is not a sociopath she is not like all the other people who exhibit other forms of anti-social behavior, treating people as an object, a means to an end. She suffers from delusions of grandeur. She thinks about donuts with holes and bagels that have holes and she has noticed that people have holes she wonders if people are bagels or donuts. She is agitating a deductive response she is thinking of the reverse, about how we get to the doorstep of theology. Thinking about how people find themselves down that deep dark hole. She sparkles red when I shine the light on her. Everything gets jumbled together in a tossed salad in her mind. She puts all these thoughts in her head as a form of adornment. They are like fishing lures in her mind. One thought from Albania and the other from Tasmania. She is not getting real crazy and creating the greatest things in the world. She is riding her bike a little bit crazy, like she is going to get hit by a car. She took the family fortune, a total of two hundred bucks and bought some plastic beads. She is writing a book about being homeless, about not getting things done. She says its all about timing.

16.10 Nasty Jack is picking up beer bottles and throwing them at a crowd of people across the street he says that they are concealing the real; they are pulling the wool over our eyes he says that they are hiding the truth under their coats he says that they are trying to sneak the truth away from us the image is a reflection of basic reality he thinks the past was a time of clarity and that now we live in an age of deception a single truth no longer exists in this postmodern world he is tired of picking up all of the pieces you have left behind he is not sure that he will continue fixing your mistakes Nasty Jack jumps up and spins around he is kicking you back to the disenchanted universe he says its all about the transference of values Nast Jack is unzipping the back of Prudences dress, the dress falls to the fall with a quiet thud She is standing in front of the bathroom mirror in her underwear and high heels Prudence tells Nasty Jack that she has a present for him Prudence is talking about a proliferation of signs of value and prestige she is producing nostalgia for the past, a time when her breasts didnt sag and her ass wasnt quite as wide she creates the false baroque theatrical machinery she enslaves the masses with her beauty she is an image on a flickering screen she spreads her legs open and swallows the world. She asks me why I cant be more like Herman she wants 145

to know why I touch her like a brute and not like a gentleman I tell her that answers are for fools and I force my cock into her mouth to shut her up when Prudence is sucking my cock, the problems of origin, uniqueness, and authenticity are no longer relevant objects become undifferentiated simulacra of one another. Prudence is an object; I do not treat her in a subjective manner. She is a sex object; a thing to be used and then thrown away. I would sell her to the next fool if I thought someone would buy her she hates it when I call her meat

16.11 It is your labor that defines your worth. Your moral value is linked to your ability to produce this image in your mind masks the absence of a basic reality there is no longer a basic reality for you to put your trust in all things have become shattered and spread through the whole earth reality is made of fragments of a singular lie you live in a makebelieve world were all values exalted you are a product that has been mass produced by the structures of your culture religion, education, justice, and the family manufacture you fresh and anew each day you are a piece of machinery that is made by machines the sad thing is that you are convinced that you are human

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Seventeen 17.1 Punchy is writing a love letter to Carrie Ann Moss. He is telling her how awesome she was as trinity in the matrix movies. Punchy hopes that she will send him an autographed picture that he can masturbate to at night before he goes to sleep. Punchy loves Carrie Ann Moss. Punchy loves trinity. Punchy has plans to inject realness into the world. He wants to bring alive the contradictions of life. He knows in his heart of hearts that life is more than love and hate. Punchy hates Carrie Ann Moss because she is not a real person to him, she is a fictional character is a science fiction movie. He longs to make her a real person. He wonders who is kissing her. He wonders who is making love to her. Punchy wants to make love to Trinity. He is convinced that Trinity would be real good in bed. Punchy wants to kill Carrie Ann Moss because he knows that she can never be Trinity for him. He knows that his image of Trinity is not real and therefore he is not real.

17.2 Bonnie is fascinated with the spectacle. She wants to be entertained. She wants to see your personal crisis displayed before the silent majority on the television screen. Bonnie is an addict, she is a junky. She is insatiable and wants more and more. Her needs are unsuitable. The television has become more real than the real it has replaced. This fantasy world is more than real. I thought I would repeat this for greater emphasis. Thus, the unreal becomes the real in Bonnies mind. The mass emerges out of her television screen. Electrodes and diodes, they speak to her in language she can understand, in brief 30 second intervals. Have you guessed me yet? Im the slime oozing out of your tv set.

17.3 We project ourselves into fantasy worlds (youtube). Private lives become the fodder of the internet. The old divisions between public and private have disappeared. The internet and videogames have created a surplus army of entertainment consumers. Entertainment has become the central commodity of this current age. Others have suggested that information was the central commodity, but entertainment has replaced information. People do not want to be informed or educated they want to be entertained. The commodity that dominates in the postmodern world is entertainment. People no longer operate in the real world they operate in the virtual world. People no longer produce things they only consume things. We have become a population of

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parasites living off a dead carcass. Your value is now signified by your score on a video game or the number of friends you have on facebook.

17.4 My intention was not to eat you only to bat you around a little bit. To toy with your feelings and emotions was my desire. I can always expect you to be a contrarian-to see a different view from others. Ivy, you are toy to me, a play thing that I use to entertain me and amuse me. You are a little bug caught between my paws. I have made you a spectacle for the whole world to see. Ivy, you are a beautiful machine. Your fucking mechanism is so pure and so functional. You make me feel like everything in this world works together to create harmony. But, I know that is not true. I know that life is full of hardship and conflict. Sometimes I forget you are a machine. Sometimes I think you are a profit that has a message for the world. I think sometimes that you were sent here by an alien race to save us from ourselves. But, no one can save us, we have already destroyed ourselves.

17.5 I asked her about some sublimatic fun. She was a goth that was in college, worried about her fingernail polish and other shit like that. She was writing a book about death. In fact, she was infatuated with the topic of death. She studied death, read about death, she visited morgues and cemeteries all the time. She considered death to be the thing that brings balance into the world. She said that death brings harmony. When things get all fucked up and all out of whack, death comes along and straightens things out. It serves a purpose in society, sort of a balancing agent. We naively think of death as being bad, when in actuality death is good. It removes us from the realm of pain and suffering. It sends us back to the realm of the spirit. It is like a free ticket out of lost town. We get on the bus and away we go to another place where things are more clearer. We get joined back with the big universal spirit and we become a part of this big thing, something that is beyond us. We all long to be a part of something that is bigger than ourselves. I think this is just our spirit longing to be rejoined with the big spirit. She is wearing stripy tights and dark delights. Her love is always gift wrapped and ready for a party. She makes me feel her darkness, a darkness that is deep inside of her. I let my fingers fly over her, like little birds fluttering. I am pecking at her with my beak. She wants to speak, but I have silenced her with a ball gag. I step over her frozen heart and work life and fire into her muscle. I watch it pumping in and out with new life. This is the subjective something that overwhelms our lives. At least we are overwhelmed by our interpretations for a moment. Our movements become a subjective dance. I have given her a vibration that can reach her numbness. I am diverting her attention from 148

the razor blade. When I am done she is in metamorphosis, changing into the nothing. Her will to become the nothing is what makes her perverse. I love her perversity. She is a conquest in the superficial. I participate in her emotional explosions. We are working in Sodom. I am making the unwatchable and she is selling tickets. We spend most days sitting around and talking. We never have any customers. I remember when there used to tourists. It would be nice to have tourists again. Tourists don't care about fascism or fulfilling dreams. They just want to live for the moment, to be entertained, to escape for a little while. Bonnie is good at helping me escape. She unzips me and pulls me out. She strokes me ever so gently. I laugh and tell her that it won't break. She says you would be surprised what I can do with this thing and then she shows me. I was surprised.

17.6 I was all over her. Just like all the others before her. I'm tearing down the walls of my jail cell. The warden is swimming in deep waters. I'm mixing voodoo with Betty rooter choker checker doing the twist and selling plastic dimes to the honkies. I've been in a car before. Making bangers and harsh and stuffing them with freddie mercury hohos and twinkies. I'm gonna need a lawyer, guns,and money before I can get out of this. I'm saying my prayers and crossing my fingers to the sweet baby jesus cause my momma didn't make no bugger with mosquito spray id bracelets. I'm building that new invention, the one with flashing lights and nuclear capabilities. We are going to roll this mother fucker along. I am talking to my cock. We are talking about politics. For some reason, my cock is very interested in politics. My cock will go on and on about what the latest politician is trying to do to the country. Basically, my cock thinks all politicians are dicks. I guess it is that it takes one to know one scenario. My cock thinks that everyone should be involved in politics, not just dicks. My dick thinks that serving in a political office should be mandatory for everyone just like jury duty. People should have to serve a year or two as the mayor, or as a city council person, or as a state senator or in congress. There would be no need to have elections and there would be no need for people to campaign. This would just be part of your community service for being a member of society. My cock always has big ideas.

17.7 An army of orange aliens are surrounding me. They are bigger than I remember them. It is like they have taken steroids and pumped lots of iron. I'm running from the sisterhood. They want my balls to sell the echo maker. I'm speaking to an elf and he is making me a weapon. He is filling it with dreams and albino skin amulets. Time is rushing by me and I am collecting all the lost seconds. All those moments that got away from you. I know that you have lost so many and now they are so precious to you. They are more 149

precious than all those ghosts, even the ones that talk to you. I'm talking to you god damn it, listen to me. We take only what we need. There is just enough time to make you properly bleed.

17.8 She walks in carrying a bag of bullets. I'm throwing playing cards against the wall. The cards have naked ladies on them from the 1950s. It is just another fuzzy apparition with sunglasses telling me about the new constitution. My heart is so full of love. Redirect the traffic so it goes by my hotel room. Circle the wagons and flag down that helicopter. Tell them the general is staying here. Tell them the general is ready to go. Blow your nose and shake all those hands, it is time to go. I'm drawing a mandala on the bathroom floor. I'm rising up the devil again. The devil looks like Elvis with a don ho tan. We are taking more than we need. There are only so many souls to steal. I wonder when god will discover our dirty deeds. I'm another inspector for the government. I'm inspecting the fish and checking the beef. My hands are dirty from burying all those dead bodies, the ones that the general needs. I am becoming a monster. A green headed monster. I got my hand up Jesus' ass and I'm making him talk just like a puppet.

17.9 I cant remember when the voices started. Back then I thought I was demon possessed. I saw her at the graveyard. She followed me home from the graveyard. I would sit up at night and talk to her. Sometimes I think she is still here, but I ignore her now. When she starts to speak, I just shut her up. She says that we cant stop the train. She chokes on the sun. When the daylight comes she is gone. The rockets fly out of my head. They are heat seekers. They seek for you. I dont know how to get rid of you. This dream never ends. Time seems to stand still when you spin around. Everything is splitting at the seams. I dont think my heart can hold it all. Sometimes it is too much. Sometimes I wish this world was real. Then there would be ecstasy. She says that she will send me a postcard in the mail. Im holding my breath and turning blue. She is following Buck Owens on tour. She is wearing her spurs and fringe vest. I stole her cowboy hat and set it on fire. She left this dirty old town for new horizons and a love that is dusty and country. I kissed her goodbye at the bomb factory that was shut down. It has been closed for thirty years are more, I cant quite remember. My daddy used to make those bombs that they dropped on Dresden. No more bombs in this dirty old town. Now the ghosts wont come around. I kissed her by the killing wall with my hand and my heart and a brain.

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17.10 You promote the narrative myth and never sought for emancipation. You drag humanity along behind you. I ask you, What is reality? over and over again. We never can quite figure out the correct answer to the question. Once again, an answer eludes us like an endangered species. We withdraw from the real because the real is an illusion. We reject the nostalgia of the past. We have buried the past in the backyard and we have moved on with clean hearts. The dead should be left to rest and the living prospers. We are attempting to present to you the un-presentable. Welcome to our theater of the absurd. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Would you like some candy or maybe a soda? We are here to entertain you and to meet your basic needs. Maybe you will find the spectacle exhilarating. Maybe you will be inspired and leave here a changed and new person? We are magicians working with the magic of possibility. You will discover that the show produces solace and pleasure. Reality is complex and it refuses to be simplified. This is the illusion we are selling at the theater of the absurd.

17.11 We live the real through the mediated lens of a virtual world. We are terrorized by overinformation. This world we live in is not a totality. There are many webs that connect us to each other, but these webs do not make a coherent whole. Everything has been broken into a million pieces. The stories you once told us to not reach an easy conclusion. There are too many gaps in the story line. There are too many contradictions to make any real sense of anything. This rejection of what we once thought was real shows that our past perceptions were frauds. We know understand that what we once thought were real is not real at all. We used to play upon that pile of rocks. Do you remember? Remember that huge pile of rocks that used to be by the old abandoned construction site? Remember the man that wanted to build some big fancy hotel in the middle of our little jungle? He was in all the papers back then. First, everyone was praising him for bringing progress to our under-developed world. He was going to transform our crime infested streets. Then, he was in the papers because he didnt have enough money to finish the project. Everyone ridiculed him as a fool. He became an example of how the mighty fall. Well, any ways that pile of rocks we used to play on is gone. Everything is gone, in fact. Someone else tore everything down and built a big fancy hotel there. I work there now as a bell hop. I think about the fun we had playing on those rocks every day at work. It sort of makes my day of drudgery go by a little faster.

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17.12 There is no touching, no trespassing in your temple. You the prophet can only touch the relic and the cult object. We are set apart by armed guards. They stand ready to shoot us if we cross over into the sacred. We are forbidden to reach into your anima and yet, you can touch us, the impure with impunity. You rape us and abuse us. You burn us at your stakes of justice. This is how we know there is no justice. Your halo cannot be disrupted. Who are we, as mere mortals to venture into the realm of the divine? We disentangle ourselves from your diverse pressures and your unwanted perversions. You are the king of art. You stand alone upon your hill. We all worship you from afar. Our ways of seeing are not your ways. You want to explain to us the world. You want to bring in all the loose ends together into one explanatory narrative. You think progress has a purpose, a divine manifestation. The slate has been cleaned for a new romanticism and the celebrations of the prophetic word. We have seen the weakness of your words, how you have stumbled drunken and confused. We knew that our king is just a man and not a god. We are floating in a ship on the Amazon River. The ships crew is performing the opera, The Barber of Seville. We eat roasted piranha as we watch the performance. Dr. Bartolo is being played by the ships captain. Figaro is played by the coxswain. The coxswain looks like how I imagine Queequeg must have looked. He had this exotic and barbaric look to him that makes him seem more earthly and alive than all the others. Count Almaviva was played by the bowhook. The buoyancy of the boat is a trick of displacement. We clapped as best we could as we were being attacked by flying arrows coming from the hidden cover of the jungle. Queequeg manned the 50 caliber machinegun and sent flesh piercing hot metal into the bushes and trees along the rivers bank. Queequegs real name is Three Planks. He said that his father gave him that name when he was a small boy. We all watch as the steam boat moves across the mountain. The truth is found in the imprint of our eyes and not in the visions of your madness.

17.13 Is this the result of your amnesia and delusions of grandeur? Are these the knives you have stolen from the kitchen? Why only knives, why not the forks and the spoons? Is this some kind of restoration of the domesticated life? I have bandaged your wounds and I think you are no longer bleeding. These attacks of yours seem to be increasing in volume and viciousness. If this were all that could be said about you it would not be worth the trouble of talking. I might just as well stop right here and join the formidable chorus of those who lament the loss of your quality and proclaim your decline. While the recent media hype about you has propelled you into the limelight, no knows or 152

they choose to ignore and obscure your long and complex history. They dont recognize that you are a slow and emerging transformation. You have altered the context of our interpretations. Today is Valentines Day and you treat us like we are children in your first grade class. You give us candy and Valentines Day cards. Many times you have been accused of being a fraud perpetrated on a gullible public. The blood on your wrists seemed vaguely familiar. You built your reputation and we gobbled you up faster than a panic. We are witnesses to the frenzied brushwork of your life. I think frenzy is a good word to describe you. That, which once seemed so vital, is now spinning its wheels and speaking in tongues. You are collecting more evidence of the lost Mayan culture. You say it is nice because there is no wind. I am reading a fossilized book that was written about you. It is about your silver period when you thought of yourself as a volcano that spits out silver nuggets. You are wondering about the workings of a brick. It is important you to understand how the brick works. You want to understand its purpose in the world. We are a happy collusion of megalomaniacs. You show me the door handle. You could have been a songwriter, instead you became an actress. You say you are doing horrible because you are drinking. It is one in the morning and you are telling me you are a loser. You are painting a picture with a cop in it. You say he represents freedom. I am reading your status update on facebook. No, not that one, but the retarded one. You know how to spell and you know proper grammar. You want to teach me how to ice fish. I imagine you inspecting your snatch before you go fishing.

17.14 I am embracing the unpredictable. This is the force of a dichotomy. I had to hunt for you for a while. I am showing you an endless stream of crackling. I am building a bigger idiot. When the curtain goes up, the first thing you see is a dead body and we are reminded of the passion that is humanity. I am breathing you into life as best as I can as I run toward the machinegun nest throwing a grenade. We all get tricked sometime or other. Im listening to you tell me about my serendipity. I love how that word rolls of your tongue. You are thinking of oblivion and using a dowsing rod to unlock the critical moment. I am preventing you from coming into focus. I have positioned you as relational. The maze that you are became ever more impenetrable. Punchy said that you are like a glass curtain wall. Up close you are more than what you appear far away. He says that you revive the Philistine prejudices, that you beat the baby seal when no one is looking, and that you lament the death of god. I know that somewhere Swampy Pete is laughing at you. He would say that it is your will that you should focus on. You claim that you were never monolithic, that you were only filled with the euphoria of futurism and that we shouldnt judge you so harshly. But, Punchy believes 153

that he is the judge and that he should follow after is calling. He doesnt want to be accused of not making a profit. Punchy has a utopian fervor which ultimately makes him veer back into mythology. Dont you think Punchy looks stunning in his high heels?

17.15 I first saw you on the assembly line. You had those damn pink curlers in your hair and then again on the bus. We rode together into the downtown. We stopped at a bar next to the bus station. I think the place was called Pinkys. Back then you thought you were a blues singer. I remember you used to sing in the band Pretty Little Things. You broke your hand when you fell off the bus. I took you to the emergency room and they put your arm in a cast. I fed you roast beef sandwiches for a week. We would stay up all night and watch the sun come up. You were always amazed that I wanted to talk to you. We made our world in your backseat smoking a joint. We were pretending to be imaginary animals. It was the agony of movement that united us and the several slab blocks of Saint Louis. We were dynamited and the collapse was displayed on the evening news. You were a modern machine for the living and I used you to plow the garden, to plant the unlivable into the fields of the obsolete. These are the sins committed in your name. I told myself that you were only a regional tradition, something that I would soon get over. It was you who taught me to look two ways simultaneously. It was you who pulled me out of the tradition of slow moving codes. I owe you a debt that I can never repay. I cried for hours when I heard that you died.

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Eighteen 18.1 You are an outburst of popular phantasy as you explode the reified dogmas of figuration, realism, and representation. This is genital enlightenment. Your claims to truth and human value seem exhausted. Bonnie cut her hair short so that she looked like a little boy. She had a belief in the constitutive power of the modern imagination. Bonnie would wear her brothers clothes. She was working towards a breakthrough, an ultimate liberation of instinct and consciousness. She dwelled in the new Eden of polymorphous perversity. She was always kissing the girls in the schoolyard. We used to go there at night and smoke cigarettes and talk of the freedom that one day we would have. It is funny how everyones version of freedom is different. Freedom for some was an apocalyptic vision and for others freedom was something to celebrate. Bonnie wanted her freedom to have teeth and to bite into her flesh. You were practicing your witchcraft in the streets, a universal existentialist angst. That man left you with no choice. Your anger came from the depths of barbarism and the rubble of its cities. The people thought it was significant that you were carrying a knife. It was suggested that it was a sign of your intent. They brought up your past as a predator and a pariah. You have learned the ways of the tiger, the swan, and the monkey. We stand and wave at the passing cars. I sure am glad that you found me. I was lost until you came into my life. Now I see things more clearly. You have taught me how to smile and how to take my time.

18.2 It was something that comes from nothing. You came out of the primeval simplicity and became multifaceted. She, he, and me-what are these things from which we came out of? You are snorting your last line of heroin. We rolled a few joints and packed a few bowls. You are just like your uncle. He used to come over and shoot up meth in my basement. Bonnie has a headache from drinking cheap wine. Everyone thinks they understand you, but they dont. They read their own lives into your biography. She wants to be co-opted into the hierarchy of the culture industry. She wants to leave her past behind. She is willing to cut throats and burn down all her bridges. She wants to rub shoulders with the president and have an affair with a senator splashed across the headlines. Bonnie wants to betray others for fame and success. She wants to become an icon and an industry. She wants a product line that she can sell on late night television. Bonnie is making plans to capture the adversary ethos of long ago. She is rising up the dead ghosts of revolution and resistance. She is still looking for a theory that couldnt be proven. The stars were kind enough to die so that you could be born. You are a human turning into a monkey. You are a historical accident. You move so slow 155

that it is hard for us to see. You turned into a runaway technology. Bonnie wants to be published. She wants to willing submit to her oppressors. She is willing to surrender her revolution for money. You are a miracle waiting to happen. Bonnie says she doesnt want to die from the drugs and alcohol. She sees horrible things.

18.3 You are telling us about your plans to kill yourself. You are fearful of growing old. The thought of being an old woman is something you cant imagine. Until then, you will work towards taking over the world. I once sent you a message, but you never responded. You are practicing your pop, rock, and sexual gestures in the bathroom at Club Rome. I am viewing you nine comments on your latest posted poem on facebook. Someone is commenting on the looking back to the past and how we think the past gives us meaning. You are comfortable with your past. I think maybe others can see this also. You sent me a picture of you and I put it on my workbench, so that I can think of you when Im bending metal or grinding off a rough corner. You were swimming in the sea of opposites. I would call out to you, but you could hear me. I was afraid that the sharks would eat you. I didnt know then, that you were your own worst enemy. It is ironic now that I think about. My locking you up in the fifth street apartment and the door had so many locks on it. We put or trust in the inventions back then. We used to believe in wood and steel and the fear in the hearts of others. Now we have learned to put our trust in words. You frequently denounced the infantile aberrations as we sat in the backseat of your car and talked about the mechanisms of modern love. You drew connections between love and warfare. In the gallery, there is a naked woman watching us look at a painting by Warhol. I am not sure who is the art, the woman, the painting or us. There is a light coming out of us. It circles around our middles like lighthouses. I wonder what kind of a warning we are giving out?

18.4 It was about someones missing tooth. The survivor was seen parachuting down into the trees on all of the channels. I was blinded by the smoke. He was smoking a big Cuban cigar at the press conference. He was thanking god for still being alive. He was denouncing his participation in the war. A general was giving him a medal and the band was playing too loudly in my ear. We all applauded when the little bishop in a green robe jumped out of the spaceship and gave a flower to the naked lady. I think 156

she followed us from the art museum. I remember that she asked you for a band aid and you gave her a piece of gum instead. I was counting all the large pastel floating heads that were floating by us in the sky. There is a hat on the sidewalk for the collection. People are putting their spare change and some a dollar in the hat. There is a monster made out of buttons and pop bottle caps threatening the people. There is a fish riding a log. There is death helping an old lady cross the street. There is a happy cowboy and an angry clown. The cowboy donates some money and the clown doesnt. The little school girl is walking far away from her home. She drags her red backpack behind her on the ground. There is lion with a human head. There is a jack of diamonds playing the banjo. Some of the people are dancing in the street. There is a little girl sitting on a mushroom. Her two front teeth are missing. There is a woman dying on a paper cross.

18.5 I plundered you vocabulary and supplanted your words with randomly generated mental images. I burned down your edifice. I abolished your style. I made you a criminal in the courts of law. I crashed your computerized memory banks. I am stealing your persuasive power. I am forging a variety of defensive strategies that can be used against you. You are an aesthetic dead end. I buried and mutilated your traditions in my backyard. I refuse to be limited by you in any way, shape, or form. I recognize the fact that your basic nature is both progress and destruction. We have been purged of your nihilistic and anarchic tendencies. There is a bird in a blue house pecking at your brain. There was a family with three girls. They all had big round heads. They talked to the salt and pepper shaker people. They gave small cookies to the little cardboard box man as we watched the blue girl jump rope. There were giant pencils outside, marching around the building. They stuck an astronaut to the side of the wall. He said that we should resist authority. In your eyes I have seen a new subjectivity, a new romanticism, a new myth. How can I criticize the existing order if you say there is no right or wrong? If there is no single evil to attach our animosity to, then what do we do with this life of angst? How do I get my ya-yas off? How do I find meaning in a meaningless world?

18.6 This is a revolt against reason. You have had your way for these many years and look what you have done with it? You havent done a god damned thing that is worth anything. You stand condemned as an elitist. You cling to a hope that doesnt exist. 157

You look for it under your bed and in your dresser drawers. We are making a life out of common things. There is no need for decoration and spectacle. We are sculpting the people into our own image. We went to see Mexico in the movies. To get in to the theater we had to pay the price of distinction. There was a tall building in the movie where a man jumped off of to get away from his Englishness. We watched the movie with Camus and his critics. I thought it was strange that he kept them around. After the movie we went to a bar and thought big thoughts. On one of the tables was the skull of Raphael, an example of the Freudian way of knowledge. We were curious about the details of how he saved himself. I think it was something about the resurrection of the last supper. Yet he still worshiped the Bloomsbury idols. Do we need to be motivated? Do we need a reward system?

18.7 Let the bones rot off of your flesh. Let the acid open your mind. Let fire be your only friend. Drink from the keg of misery. We have stolen four pitchers from the frat party. They didnt see us coming. They were passed out on the floor. Oh, Bacchus reigns! Where are the girls with the pipes and tambourines? Let your gods visit you on your deathbed. They have skin that glows. Let hell rise up around you. Let your voice be filled with integrity. This hell grows out of the longing that is in your heart. You cannot make it be quiet no matter how hard you try. Hell will not be still. I am living on borrowed time. The clock ticks inside of me. Open my chest and see the clockworks. You can adjust the gears you can make me spin faster or slower

18.8 your body is an application of theory I noticed that you were imitating the ancients you were in love with the idea of infinite progress you joined your spirit with the spirit of absolute idea, the spirit-mind you overcome the new with novelty you understand yourself through the invasion of unknown territory, exposing yourself to shocking encounters with the cult of the present you exalted the new you are longing for the undefiled. Can you find such a thing Is not everyone stigmatized by stain you immediately recognize the decadence in your barbaric ways. This is not a time when messianic splinters are enmeshed. You life-world is infected. You have become a diseased individual, as you hang from the tree we are amazed by your completeness the dominant are dead they have sown the seeds of their destruction the trumpets have been blown and the seals have been broken the seas turn red with blood you say there are only three things, science, morality, and art these are the three kings that came to visit the baby Jesus on their way to Bethlehem they slew the previous kings of metaphysics and religion you are worried about my ability to read minds you dont 158

want anyone to read your mind and certainly not me you are thinking about cutting off my nose I am going to eat you I am going to take down into the depths of the earth I will roast you Hells fiery pit I am a rude little creature that has come seeking your love

18.9 I am listening to todays scandals which will be tomorrows conventions I met you once in a time capsule the seal was broken and you popped out you invited me in for a drink. I stroked your time-space relations and you purred fuck me in my ear I showed you the abundance of historical material documenting the diffusion of my cock it is so much more than power-machinery I was giving you a more penetrating understanding it was my desire to regenerate the hope that you once swore allegiance to you are disgusted with my narrow view of spaghetti there is something else that lurks beyond the spaghetti, a true reason for the argument between us she I didnt need to make such a show she was accusing me of making a scene just to impress her she didnt know I wasnt interested in impressing her I wasnt very good at it anyway Ive been working on it, trying to fix it do you live and breathe to hate she kicked me under the table I put Jean Luc Ponty on the turntable and lit up a joint I nodded at appropriate times and thought about other women finally Im a kind caring human being the noose is hanging around my neck I asked her what she thought about investing in Lithium you tell me you are tired of thinking that you have no power you want to be more independent, more assertive next you tell me to get the fuck out

18.10 we were dancing in the streets it was your firm upper lip I stared at you as you told me stories of the afterlife you say we must transcend and learn to worship the goodness I fund something under your tongue I watched as you burned it all down you said that you did it for me I know that you are everything this life you say is a crisis, a rollercoaster, a tidal wave she crumbles into a million pieces pursing vengeance destined to fall crumbling pieces a beautiful woman into the night running wild inspired going and going wondering about the puppet games admiring the windows of deception the clowns happy dreams a concept lets see what happens invincible with your gun by my side it is a live as she squealed with her jaw on the floor squeezing her thighs playing drums for the Standells top 40 deejays you turn me on at the tower of power the troopers kicking in the door they want to search my pockets a distraction Dixie cup champagne tripping on acid alien visitation bubble gum trading cards living in Lodi stirring hash the life of a compilation smoking the herb feeling the sunshine yes you are 159

going to burn baby harvesting the hard liners I dont mind that you sold your soul with another bullet in your head a death tomb this is the white house drive-by the shooter is wearing a willing smile driving into the fog gathering up the blue wasted hours a tempest in your mind my hands cannot hold your diamonds we live in this remote land with the memories of the loudness of the loyal betrayed by the blood I am a hollow mandrake a pitiful baboon throw your wished at me and I will devour them you are not free you have no conception of freedom to blossom in the loosening of the ghost I tread upon the smoke and the water feel the history in my heart

18.11 a poor salt slug it is Brutus closed by the perishing and leaping like the bold as I dwindle into the sea I have longed for your solid swell your darkened edge a vague soul of dark tosses and amber eyes that borrow the toils of my blood lust the self still suffers and I will be an afternoon of sorrow and no more I wash the pale into my soul a numb rage this tragic thing of greed and chemistry I am like the aimless dead they touch me with their curled up and dream thoughts I have learned to stoke the fires of hell and to sink the bird into the clouds to hope for a soothing throat a wandering wound a grieving vein I have looked into the eyes of your womb and saw love a wet vicarious assertion insert here it says and taste the human blessing for your disenchantment weeping at the pressing loves and the torn pages of an old forgotten book tonya is cooling the windows in a pie and singing to the famine she walks in the light of a pallid thief the midnight goat speaks and we gather around the urn of rolling grass I will save you someday but not today I am too busy for cold wars and stinging words of bullshit tonyas pie is steaming I am screaming and the baby is lying to the conqueror I pull the knife out of your back the brutal focus of your raw language you talk about the value of a writers work as if it is a marketable commodity fuck this you cant market me and my words they belong to the word and not to some corporate asshole

18.12 I lost my mind got blood in my head jump up into the air my fucking head dancing in mud I shot my friend memories fade and so does my blade a shotgun in my hand I am a dangerous man you dont have to run Ill give you until the count of five Im wanted dead or alive waving my pecker at the consumption engine this is human extinction the end of the line this is the day that you throw it all away that primate is watching you pick up that big stick this is making me sick like your silence I am filling you with noises of the bastard son let me cut you down from your noose Im dropping another bomb on your head splitting you open fuck you and your fake freedom your dime bag distinctions worrying about your cool this aint no republic you dont get a vote watch 160

another soap opera strangle on your spit Im shooting my gun in your backyard shooting at your next door whore she sold her soul for a hemorrhoid commercial now she is begging me to shoot her again and again she has her high heels on and a blondie t-shirt her lipstick is smeared across her cheek tattoos a hammer and a pink nipple ring I suck on her for hours tithes and cupcakes and her pierced tongue she wants to give me her street sign another spell bound mother fucker Im riding her high drinking from her bottle of jack Daniels genitals and the gun tattoos on the back of your legs I strangled her on the roadside it was a circus show we charged everyone 12 bucks watching a thrasher movie while you drink a root beer float I called roter rooter to clean out your drain twelve straight days of fucking and I need some more cocaine for my nose Im examining your angel wings they look so real are you a fallen angel you are licking my pole showing me your hole telling me to make a deposit to stay for a while you say its warm inside these are the days of retribution you crazy fuck a good lay strapped down to the table oral fixation your big mouth going down town Im sticking my thumb up your asshole a half grin I spit on the dildo and shove it in we do this twice a night three times on Sundays we are the opening act at the beaver barn bertha is the main attraction she swallows a whole man and shits him out on stage Im still trying to figure that one out I am creating an arbitrary choice the physical properties of cause and effect I started to wonder at that point a proposition a rock so large that I can't lift it going back in time and killing myself everything within my environment every chunk of matter having it calculate the future my machine god fluctuations the result of the interaction of material telling what I will pick a little demonstration likes to curse as I go to bed just finished off a case of crazy the meds make me a little light headed my dirty little rich girl driving her vette into the lake wearing my sex bracelet an epidemic of fisting Dr. Phil antinatalist black metal trying to impress the steam punk girls it was a double impact wrench tightening down

18.13 I moved my penis and discharged some semen I thought of you as the last drops fell from the end of my cock there is a wolf in the woods and she doesnt want to hear about my erections and the latest sports scores she was advertising in art majority the corpses of my stomach it was nothing personal on the last train from down town a face frightened in the mirror I am tired of this a dark silent net I am trapped captured by your charms no it was just your words that I chose to believe in I believe too much for an agnostic there is a blinking thing in my pants soul stew an angel as fresh as new day cream grave digging with my friend she said my hat was making her hot so I took it off and gave it to a stranded motorist his car broke down for lack of oil I thought the hat would shade his head for the sunshine (the auto correct on this thing is odd) a shaved head with no hair my walkman is going through the alphabet a misplaced letter 161

between two lovers I dont know what it means picking her own bone justified by doing what I told you fuck you I wont do what you tell me a first in the face I am your enemy you better know me well fuck the normal your central tendency there is no land for the free I am writing my book of tears I this ugliness that comes out of you when you attacked the people at Disneyland I found god in the bookstore she was buying something from Anais Nin she makes me feel I am watching moron tv with my feet up on your coffee table my numen sits and watches me you want to be clever you try so hard cleverness is so tied up into your conception of self the sense of daily living a whistle in my ear gather up your children young lady and sell them to the medical company everyone needs a good placenta I am making the inner figure on your couch the soul never thinks without a picture the soul is like a dog in that way this work is being accomplished with true imagination (imaginatio) a realm of subtle bodies I am the particle and you are the wave she wants it all every last drop of it she licks it all up with her happy smile showing me her appreciation she serves pancakes at the high street mission and all fred can say is phat as willie hangs from the rafters Im watching you lay your body down we are already dead you cry as we bleed out in the streets as the pin medals on the cops chests and salute freedom that they took away from us if this is freedom than I never did have none

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Nineteen 19.1 You were pregnant with your second baby I asked who the father was and you didnt know you had Doritos crumbs all over your shirt she hated the skinny blonde waitress that lived in the apartment upstairs I didnt know if it was the skinny part the waitressing part or the blonde part that she hated the most maybe it was the historical combination of all three or possibly two characteristics were prime she was chewing on the bad characteristics of religion she really didnt like the taste in her mouth it left her in a relative fog I am reading the words on the cereal box as she weighs out my ounce she seems so pink to me like something new that hasnt been defiled yet Im looking for the tag that says remove after purchase you smile at me with an awkward smile like you cant quite read me responsibilities peek around the corner my pants around my ankles her hopes are glorious I think she charged me extra this time you lick your lips and sell another to another and make an exchange of bodily fluids suck fuck smoke snort I tell her stop looking for the goodness in my heart the outlaw and suicide now there will be three to think of to fight for to scratch and scrape out a meager living you tell me that you are doing the best you can

19.2 I tell you I love you every day the horrible things the unlovable things they pile up outside my door like a dead animal blotted and stinking a last cigarette a theory of love that has never been tested I would feel that you could do justice good and not feel betrayed there was no candy for the whore her cunt dried up and died from the lack of team spirit she was never comfortable in this Midwestern town the boys would come and sing to her window I always sang to her pussy I spoke words to it I gave it a name and it called me sweet thang and honey pie told me of her dreams of being somewhere else and being someone else she was tired of playing her part in this world she wondered how she ever got started could she just retire could she wipe it off like someones last inspirational spurt from the open pores of society like a broken doppelganger success was measured differently by each of us I was performing miracles back then with triplets and paradiddles no surprises no trouble no blame you consume the gutter and the feed the crocodiles in the back yard pushed fingers into the womb I bite into you-you gave a fuck you danced no speak no watching eyes closed and still dreaming a nightmare I looked at you I only looked at you but you would always look inside of me

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19.3 Running slamming this way out realizing that there is no way out no way to make this any better drive by shootings hiding behind a rock dim lights loud words cosmic vibrations this world we were born into parasitic masturbation combing through the want ads there is an ad for a plumber no experience necessary washing up on your shore I am stealing your meds and putting them in the old mans breakfast cereal I am reading your box I could have been your father your mother was such a whore you do suck cock just like her though standing still moving around holding you up against the world do you remember toxic shock syndrome your sister was good too I think I like her best of all she used to bend over stretching real tight a fucking hard rod reading Foucault and speaking like a modernist sometimes there is a disconnect between life and life you are a battery operated sex machine that I order from a mens magazine to box tops and 20 dollars I think I will call you my summer of relativity when I started to not give a damn I am living in the Panopticon we studied it in deviance class I was auditing the class so I didnt have to do all the bullshit I ran out of toilet paper so I used a couple of pages from your poetry book my shit sticks really well to that one love poem

19.4 Genocide suicide euthanasia euphemism contagion a missed reservation Im eating fish today just to make you happy the feet on the street vigilance another fraud seeing through your disguise lies and hells spell your life I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks under the cloud of slaughtered pigs bent lives and ignorance lost shackles and chains tragedy bones and gristle abrasive ball of flame crippled walrus divorced from reality utterly meaningless a tragedy comes down the road looking for a victim finished the surprise devoid of distance there is always music playing in the background she did most of the talking she was writing a novel like Henry Miller I might have told you this before her teeth looked sharp I wondered if she would bite me if I asked her politely a tiny smile a secret between us she drew a little blood two different speaking but not this time we could see each other eye to eye salvation there I said it could this be true such a word such a concept I stopped tagging the walls of the city I saved my paint for Sundays I can never remember what she looked like I have forgotten her face but her words stay inside me and the memories of those sharp teeth

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19.5 People there is sadness inside of me today when I read your words this sadness crept inside my heart like I image death must creep I havent picked up the book by Schopenhauer in weeks life is full of suffering life doesnt have a purpose there is nothing to guide us look at how we live how life cycles through life after life we emerge from the larva stage mate and die a cycle of life and death and it doesnt add up to anything repeating itself the illusion that we are special there is no one reality that underlies all things the world of our experience and the world that would exist even if we were not here to experience it the will is chaos a tornado an enormous force speaking to you from inside of you answering this force desire to satisfaction and back to desire the will speaking inside of us the haunted dance hall a primal scream in last August Jesus and Mary Jane sharing with us their psycho-candy a bloody valentine a well known bloke in the caf drinking a coffee or two his hands were bloody from killing the dinosaurs another day in the record store my bursts with pride as the tears come to my eyes all that is wrong you only hear me when Im not singing touching you I forget myself I forget another friend like so many before the things on my mind have been cataloged and categorized the professors are analyzing their meanings and measuring all the implications Im trying not to live like a hermit Im trying to reach out to you in the darkness you know that the darkness isnt so bad when you are not alone

19.6 The fine art of slicing Spanish ham he carried a potato in his pocket it was his good luck charm he was embarrassed that I was telling her about it I didnt recognize the tears in her eyes an affordable smile I called and rescheduled my dentist appointment I watched a video of Meytal snowboarding she has an adorable smile I posted a video of hello rodneys drawings responded to a video about peoples belief in god I didnt get to read that book on my desk I was frightened by the smudge of ashes on her forehead it covered almost all of her forehead I thought she had some cancer I am feeding her the entrails of my kill there was another man who carried a potato in his pocket I think it was a character in a book we could all be characters in a book it is the death that I live with I have lived with it for ten years now I remember when I prepared myself to go I was ready for it and then it didnt come and now Im ten years older and wondering about the odds of life and the living the thing is that living ten year longer that I was supposed to has changed me Im not will to surrender so easily now death is in for a fight now not for me but for the others I guess my connections to others have grown stronger I have grown accustomed to living with the clueless

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19.7 Lackadaisical pretentions not withstanding I am clinging to your smog breathing upright and feeling those ambushes for the two packs of cigarettes my skin is still alive although I have had several close calls I glance at your secrets as you spread them apart I could never forget the woman and her secrets I am showing you my psychic heart strings how they vibrate with intensity how they languish in the cracking sun the parading stampede your murder was a guest in the upstairs room the one with the small bed and curtains from the 70s I held you up to the window and asked if there were any takers there were none you wanted to fuck me like a postmodernist I ask if that meant you were going to fuck me seven ways to Sunday each quite different with its own meaning and interpretations of course each fuck would not add up to some grand theory that would explain all fucks both good and bad

19.8 There is an open mouth laying open there are monsters in the fields I am looking for a puzzle to solve a whimsy to give away I will write and give it away I dont care if you publish this you probably have better things to focus on we really dont know each other we have not established some reciprocal relationship Im probably not going to submit this piece anyway the things that you need seemed too much too harsh too stringent I think the tone of the words put me off more than the meaning of the words we are beyond merely reading the surface meanings of words Isnt more what we dont say than what we say there is so much I havent said yet sometimes I wonder about the time that is left probably no one will read this anyway since Im not going to tag anyone it will just sit there in cyberspace alone without purpose just like the rest of us the bulk of the meaning is submerged the similar are nebulous the gimmick at the expense of the human element a soft landing with a pack of Marlboros in my pocket a prelude to romance you wanted to keep your distance fearful of the copycat culture yearning for some true insight ah this thing you call insight is a fickle bitch no she hides from you and then gives you clues to where you can find her but you are always one step behind you can hear her laughter echoing through the thin walls insight is teasing you and you keep fighting the good fight and claiming to be low-tech I dislike you more and more I am reading 17 puzzling stories each one is about you 17 different ways for you to die played out in my mind across my retinas your search for meaning takes you to a blank wall and at the wall you are shot or stabbed or strangled or poisoned it always happens at the blank wall counting your words retracing your steps the chalk line around your body blood stains bodily fluids a spilled purse men in coveralls cleaning the sidewalk the street the park the living room the church steps the city hall the interrogation room the detectives are writing down the details of your long distance love affair the name of all your lovers where you bought your underwear 166

19.9 A strange incident that leaves the protagonist disoriented you were shrinking getting smaller eventually you were small enough to put you in my pocket We would go to the movies you would sit on my shoulder and watch the movie I went to the store to buy you a doll bed to sleep on and doll clothes to wear you used to crawl under the electric fence you were so brave so courageous when the whole town stood and saluted you I tried my best not to cry I thought I would never see you again the games were something we never thought of I would punch it back to farthest point in my mind I tried to forget you sold strawberries at the market I remember my mother would buy all you had and then she would make me a pie with the berries I think that is why I associated you with sweetness because of the berries I remember when you started to ripen it made me extremely excited just to look at you I was afraid to look at you directly in your eyes so I would have to sneak peeks at you I remember your mother used to make fertility dolls and sell them at the market someone far off is yank at the ends of my rope tugging hard at me pulling me along I have always had this sense that the decisions that I make are not my own that someone else is making my decisions for me dont try to see yourself in this because I dont think you are here probing needles into the far reaches of my brain the appointed time of gloom and foreboding a shadow that whispers into my ear and says sweet peppers as if everything has been mechanically calibrated you said the door was looked I was lying on the couch my shoes and socks were on the floor you said that everything just seemed odd and different than before I am reading a new book I just got it from the university library I had one of the librarians help me find it tonya how are your strawberries are they as sweet and juicy as I remember can I put one in my mouth again see my mouth is wide open and your peaches my god your peaches

19.10 Bleary eyed and stumbling over something I remember one time I stumbled over harpo and jane on the floor together jane was embarrassed and harpo was laughing I saw jane sink her claws into harpos skin she told him not to move I was just getting a beer out of the fridge I was up late studying I probably had a test the next day in some class it is all meaningless now except for the memory of jane and harpo on the floor together just thinking about it makes me laugh we pretend that the darkness has an ending we curse the sheep as they betray us this brings me so much sadness I am sad beyond measure I am sad beyond countenance I am sad beyond ten fingers and ten toes a rodent face staring back at me invoking the moth and the flame my habits and vices you are living in the past I try to pull you out but it is impossible you said it was nice to burn things with your magnifying glass with jumbled up letters of delicious cake for your brain you say yes swallowed alive by the cake it looked like a test of wills you drape the 167

towel over your shoulders and hold the light up high eating fried catfish each day you stick yourself with needles feeding your need under your skin catnip the deception you said I would like it I bought the tickets for the show those old romantic roles priming the pump with Jack Daniels devastated powerless in a trance I could see right through my hands I am vanishing fast I cant open my mouth mesmerized by the unreal you are watching me go to pieces your words I wont let you in my ears you look so much younger you changed your hairstyle I shut my eyes and I can still see you the static noise and the yellowish unnatural glow it seeps inside of me little by little making me its own I am being absorbed by this glow I stare at it and it stares back at me advancing slowly I step backwards as it moves towards me it feels like I breaking up into tiny little light particles and they are slowly being pulled by the glow like a magnetic force you have stayed on inside my head longer than you should have I cant sleep so I get up and have a beer there is a glow coming

19.11 Descending at a set tempo no opening gravity warps making inroads into my world crumbling sweeping up the dark clouds Ishmael is calling me the screen is dead just like me cold and expressionless read the same articles over again there is a comfort to the similar and the mundane there are no messages in the inbox keep coming out with the endless blah blah blah repeat and rinse spin around in one spot folding time narrowing things down the nutrients strained through a thick filter my fingertips growing stiffer tightening bolts a sharp metallic grating it slices into me the whole world spills out you failed to materialize you do not have any assembly instructs there are no plans for how I should put you together gone out of my reach fake images Stalingrad catharsis take the impressionists I see the devil in my dreams a million names battery acid blistering heat I put her in the trunk of my car sometimes I would tell her that I love her I didnt consider it personal revenge Im feeling really violent today I stand behind you in the family picture my last sight of you alive you said that I had beautiful eyes and that you wanted to taste my lips Im in the lobby of a Kansas City hotel drinking a Jim Beam and diet coke I order you a drink you suckle my vines you tell me you have a dog back home named Kerouac you down your drink and ask if I can give you a ride I tell you there are no free rides

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19.12 Im listening to you sound like an asshole promising life to some god forsaken fool you are stealing the gold out of their mouth a dark infirm promise you smiled at me with that cute look of yours that you bring out for little children and pedophiles Im watching you smoke another fat Jesus you are so metropolitan with your shades and your brass knuckles you fought in the war for Scandinavia I can taste your desperation how it drains from your eyes the lines from your face you must be invisible to most people they never see you coming down your skin surge and pulse looking for signs of life smeared by the gloom it was your own and not anyone throwing stones the nude observers are glad 600 pictures on my phone in matching suits I watch the chickens peeking at you I am unburdened by their names indeterminate stabbing the blood pools thinking that jazz infests guzzle your coffee a Sunday night your wish for eccentricity there is no stillness to your voice you can change nothing where are your millions I am ready with my blow torch to cut you up into small pieces and sell you for scrap metal you can see nothing you can no longer move small droplets melt and fall on the floor you cannot walk because your legs are tied together boiling a pot full of noodles I lowered the flame to prolong the climax this isnt Christmas we are not trudging through knee deep snow to get to the local bar I speak to you from the darkness the power of obscurity soul mate out of sequence zen flesh a sudden jump of thought smelling people again culmination my duffle bag under my head smashed through running through my head a new tone of voice passing the time of day you are in bed right now extending my cinder-block you part your lips in the center I stay until 3 in the morning

19.13 singapore zipper first class caboose roamer feathered head wrecked expression of sin and silence garbage cans enchanted lands sneaking around grimy hands troubles a gun and a knife gamut life wire home leaping shadows waterfront backwater churns dirty blur blowing church miracle disguise drinks for everyone beneath the bed bell roped rooftops my bedroom dull girl drunk sick disgusted frightened shot me dismal cell bottles spiritual drink spiders and monsters groaning underground a giant pan of greasy brown face pump blood street walk talk days and days of sorrowful sky sure enough let me off youd expect white rails tender foot running down the familiar seagull dreams little screams dancing with your daughter big surprise telepathic eyes overnight truckers timid peek a bluff a void a luminous shoulder hope and rut catgut carry me astray trudging up sea roar cattle crossing screaming hen humid mists death rigs sunken earth a pack of wild dogs snarling roots hearts mouth black things old mule dung beetle east side miles high haunted room lucky guess missing thumb prom dress small crawl 169

beautiful art the enemy hides behind the broken wall throwing rocks hollow trees the harvester of eyes a tangled steep (my mind says sheep) cliff deep down in hidden caves (Platos cave) the peaceful path (narrow path) silent wings down the throats of those unlikely seeking chromosomal changes fragile shoulders soiled heads beaten we anesthetize our souls unwelcome trail ugly sacrifice the raw nerve cells a bronze bust of somebody he dragged his left foot both hands flat on your lap she didnt mind that there were some things you could not understand such as a singularity that goes beyond individual differences the application of a different animal to be held together by one thread thin and bare almost ready to break and bringing impending doom a tiny crack that widens to an expansive gulf pounding out Sinatra covers (it might have been Santana originally) and getting on the wrong bus in a field in New Jersey I remember you had flowers in your hair and a six string that was out of tune a suddenly familiar face transfixed confused barely noticed you wanted to pin me down to some calculations of demeanor once you believed that god was on our side now you stand on the street corner handing out free wheels you are putting indifference into harpos meals he eats them with eyes of a hungry man 16 dancers clapping their hands tonya barks like a seal miss palm is folding up her table cloth she says she wont read my fortune anymore because I only pay her with feelings miss palm wants a red-necked man with dirt under his fingernails bonnie says dont think twice when you jump across the river my mind is too clear to carry your cross I think you might be able to convince willie to carry it I played with bonnie all day long while we watched you dying it was Natalie who finally threw a blanket over your truth and lies they were bleeding out in front of us and we only asked for more I counted out 27 dollars and gave it to bonnie to buy some loaves of bread I was planning on performing a miracle everyone sat down on the hill and harpo played his flute Brooke got excited and took of her chains and danced around the hill her insight had become vicious Pop Bottle Allen said he was hungry for a sign Nasty Jack is shifting through the remains of this burn out world he was hoping to find something that would take the sting away Nasty Jack sawed open your heart and pulled out the untouchable things that you never let anyone see Billy the junkie wanted to hear those words from you that had never been said he looked up at me with his innocent eyes and said this cant be all there is cannibalized puerile frustrating the masses they gathered with torches the jury had no verdict I mean the physical thing Im sitting in the kitchen stirring your pot I once saw you drown a young man in there just so you could steal my copy of the communist manifesto I read about it in the papers how you have broken peoples necks because they denied your manifest destiny you have created an ideology that blinds and distorts you call it entertainment you call it beautiful sleep I have taken you out of your house out of your car out of yourself and I brought you here to this kitchen to feed you little spoonfuls of truth I am cutting the stitches that once closed your ears I gave you a piece of my heart so that you could grow another I gave you my shoes so that we could walk like one another in the smallest and the greatest sense walking backwards and pretending not to see you I 170

was staring at your toes as they snuck out people disappeared this is not where I was meant to be walking around with the blackness buried the suffering in a thick sweater and under the ground Captain Marcs face looks worn down he looks like mismatched dishes left out to dry in the warm sunshine I put the mud over your eyes I was handing you an award for being the most invisible I have loved you since you fell in the creek a misfit did you see that person in the bushes did you read at the Coachella lunches did you stab the Spartan and kill the wild beast made the cut we ran on for hours there was a fire in our lungs a piece of Yeats and the photos of your mother that you didn't burn with the others staring down at the little girl dances I touch with all the magic of a shaman I speak to your inner beauty I listen to the turtle repeat the words from that song by Huey Lewis and the news I pull out my bag of judgment and roll a joint your torn black grave corpuscle madness as we dig into the morning of void I wired you up to the bomb taught you all the prayers made sure that you knew how to bleed your sister was winking at me on Delancy street I had a tall bucket of well wishers sloshing out the sides I could forgive you if only I could find you I know you had a vision of what life should be like and we never got close to it until now you are sweeping the floor and I am stacking the oranges you were a naked barbie doll missing an arm with lipstick stains on your ass I pulled the gum out of your hair as best as I could cheap junk for the need everybody has a need

19.14 I saw you through the looking glass a name that I couldnt remember a face just another face in the crowd of faces looking inscrutable impression making genes how things move in the direction they do escapes me you asked me to dance we danced on the clouds we were choosing things with our eyes closed random piles of life stacked neatly as tall as skyscrapers I was a dwarf and you were a giant confusion doesnt matter to us dwarves we are used to confusion as long as I can dance to whatever music is playing we became storm clouds that threatened the world with rain and thunder soft wavy hair flowing in the wind this beautiful motion erupting from your body a bird perched outside my window different than before the finished product will go on a rampage all kinds of people with some sort of reason you are sticking out your tongue at me hiding under your hoodie being unkind using me up and then you walk away I read your letter it was invisible to my heart I took hold of you and held you in my arms it was fuzzy and limbic my cords are all untied I have washed the dark monster with you in the church in your back yard he was so dirty and misleading you shake you bleed and cry out from something I cant deliver my truck has a flat tire and Im walking away from you my gun is empty and I have no patience for indecision and your repentant mothers I reach out to you like a lie I dont know how to live like you do I only have my ways and means and they are true and tested so many angels walking 171

through your density floating on water Im diving into you searching for that pearl the left nostril of the soul you were born under a bad sign and I nailed you to your cross silly angels fighting over the cruel sing you motherfuckers sing for your bowl of gruel you were connecting the dots with a worn out magic marker I could barely make out your trail you waterproof reasons and your mob rule aspirations you dart down an alley to get your fix consuming the dreams of the wretched flap your wings and fly tell yourself that life is a god-like delusion outside the margins I did not interrupt your lines when you were on stage pretending that your life is a real story I have been working here since before the revolution you would draw feelings out of me feelings that I had never used every ten years it is done again I am doing it again and again bright lampshade my tortured skin walking with my left foot forward the first step into oblivion I throw no shadow the light absorbs into me the backing peeled off and stuck to the wall all will vanish it only takes a day to forget you on me this house of darkness this heart of blackest day the nights go on taunting this cave of flesh you smile at 30 counting your dimes thinking of 9 lives you set the trash cans on fire burning your past it all goes up in smoke the garbage loving crowd begs for more you destroy and annihilate each and every one they never count the costs for their betrayal they push and shove to get closer to the carnage they love to experience the destruction they want more I unwrap you body and soul stripped bare naked revealing your darkest secrets I examine your hands you are flesh and bone you are always the same to me no matter how I come the same for each generation you were no accident you meant to last it out to fade away into the walls every time you told yourself something different I pulled your snakes out from under you

19.15 It is during the evening hours that you do it so exceptionally well the feel of hell the smell of the fire you want it to feel so realistic amusing screams returning to the same brutish beginnings the rope that hangs from the ceiling to hold the buttercup the same face a miracle the noise of sobs peeling the skin off the door hinges you charge your scars on your credit card it is what credit is for to mutilate and torture the soul the cost of a word the cost of a touch the cost of one tiny drop of blood to appease Dr. Loophole to bring the human back to his flesh wipe away the red from his eyes you are his pure gold baby his highest achievement the crown to his glory as he straps you down humming the yellow rose of Texas you melt like all the other valuable things you turn and have the eternal life the lake of fire you melt into nothing the gold ring on your little finger the pins in your foot the rod of Aaron building your temple to rise up from the ashes Mephistopheles

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19.16 These are the days of our resistance these are the days that we take back what was stolen from us we fight for our rights we fight for our freedoms we will not lay down and die we are building a big enough bomb to put you in you will explode fire and stone can you hear the voices calling out to you asking for your head on a platter we walk on the floor with you under our feet bullet eyes bullet disguise trigger finger mesmerized by the flash of the gun muzzle get up and shout look around and see the decay from your studies in hallucinogens where came to pieces the adopted city in shambles in ruins not a calm place these dripping walls chains by degrees a pile of bones tossed upon the landscape the hand of stillness is a girls sad and feeble little creature you cant do it yourself you need to draw a circle in the ground with a stick there is no need to get angry everyone needs some help the fruit falls into your hands as it falls from the tree they once tried to chop the tree down but I wouldnt let them I told them no it couldnt be done not in this lifetime a number of vertical lines on the dirt I get inside you and I use your body to dance without opening your mouth taking possession ready to vanish in one blur to eternity the very act of yearning as beautiful as a dream the dogs are almost here to bite into your flesh to drink your blood out in the middle of the lake rowing in your row boat your heads tuck in the oven snuggling up to Sylvias grave you have the smile of a fool it dances across your lips fierce flames secret messages written on banana peels the fork of ingratitude is in your hand Montreal monsters totem pole prophets poppies in my mind the kindness of your concussion we are swimming in the swarm of bees the place where you keep your forces as they burn crosses and shine up your badge in the name of god and goddess gagging your mouth a brown mouse tip toes and the revolution of a fisherman who smokes cigarettes and throws bombs at the bank he is too proud to stand in the unemployment line I have torn off your voice and stuffed it in a jar of pickles I have blinded you with the lies of the dead they can still hurt you they pick at your flesh telling you to jump out the window spreading you like oil I tasted the magnanimity of your open throat the black spike into your heart this is an extreme unction a misdirection the efficiency of extravagant torture

19.17 There is a noose with spider legs and your black coffee stains it hangs by your bedroom window I thought I was dreaming as I watched you the ache broken slips possibilities smooth speed emphatically embracing palpable harsh pretending padded south moving trepidation we look inside and pretend that we see something meaningful to drink with burning loins and applause it was a quick and silent goodbye no grace no loud consternation a small subway ride lost grasp my name I can hold on to emptiness dying electric meditations screen door I may never be happy but sometimes I get a glimpse at the content warm hazy weariness to live without the tired and the foolish 173

now I know you asked me in the strawberry fields about the killings about the rapes they were husky with regret her eyes were downcast in a blue jacket she was looking all over me born like all artificial girls the hate of hypocrisy my love is not totally subjective melting the judge of hopeless waiting by the cars for my pride darting between your lips she screamed or whispered warm and bruised from my kiss a silent dark corrupted way nibbling at her nipples malicious delight thick and on the tip of my tongue trying to get back into the body to seduce electric drowsiness breathless and still incoherent feelings nimbus fluttered enchanted heart I ripped you out of me I kissed her with a hunger with my eyes closed my hand warm and burning into her stomach she said she wanted to hate me a twisted mouth going down deeper

19.18 Like knife thrusts prattling reared up grotesque frantic and so monumental an engine of ecstasy desire swallowed up by a smug sensuous haze a smoldering hole punched I must capture one taste one vision monkeys with a club the angels jumping up and down betting on the fight all life would vanish and you would still cling to a dead cold lifeless hope there are certain people who have this special charisma they can capture your soul with just a look or a smile it is sad that these lucky ones are the ones that leave us too soon it is as if their inner fire was too great to last very long but we were blessed for the time that we had with them grateful to have our lives touched by a demigod

19.19 Remembering hanging devotion up to my front steps rubbing stone grave prayers postcards sent from camp my first taste of Spanish rice seated on a small island facing forward the firing line the brass shells they believed in magic for years and years I found it strange to discover that the drug runners placed a statue of santa muerte in their cars for protection menstruation the Munich mannequins a mad girls love song naked with your narcissism they all died in the fire it was a most terrible crime people were confused as to what to say or what to do; loss destruction ambivalent meanings collide terror buckaroos she wanted to play it off as a joke something to laugh about but her two fists balled up ready to explode first last eternity she said ha ha she fucking loves outer space she put her arms around Waldo west texas twisted shape my mistake bumped oriented shattered broken alone everyone else tangled shapeless fist again suck her tongue burned bridge overcast snow music parade curtains closed broken sign weedy lot snarling dog snarling people inertia vinyl venal crumbling behind another hand in the belly my heart nothing has moved a pill bottle dance cheeks pure by bone by plate her shirt was torn and dirty the tracks to your neck your silence and hunger they were sliced and served on wheat bread half-dollar eyes blinking kick lessons 174

learned and plans I was sick shower endless things wrists warm bottom starring gravity mouth water bridge sculpture speak fuck flayed extolled pomp back and forth erection cotton sabbatical pining away masturbate chimney smoke translucent god damn it boiled egg salt shaker lonesome skin yellow pages falling away duck feathers sleepless nights muggy ripple cool temple sent me hopes touched pushed knife cold remember concrete girl imagine glassy hand revolutions of fortitude absence mass precious blown weed gutted dumb I am nothing blind breeze loose seed hidden ash invisible solitude response settled disembodied recollect burgeoning vehement tongue my tongue furry subtext distilled in your eyes hitting the floor wretchedness is mine and I will not share it the girls have disintegrated supple random cold-blooded semantics teeth stopping rolling knees a shotgun and deer slugs leaning on a Gibson then fell the ashes the blackest rainbow one long track a good package it was a blast from the past making money on the clowns getting back to work a good experience the road to hell stealing souls from each other believing in the fucking fairy 200 souls a generic crap pop voice just came out of me my shower head laughs Im holding my elbow joining the circus raw brutality shadows of melancholy have clouded your eyes imposing the phony spell another penetrating gaze a flight after the shades it was your mission to salvage the pure from the encroachments of the barbarians however the barbarians have overtaken you and now your values are shit your morality is corrupt and your life is worthless it was easy for you to fight tradition when everyone around you were throwing bombs but now your revolution has been co-opted by the wall street marketing machinists they have re-tooled your arguments to sound like pleas for the masses to consume the latest in frivolities you sit back smoking your dope and say that the revolution is coming that it at historys doorstep while you fall asleep from your satiated life

19.20 The cultural revolution is selling jeans on television the cultural revolution is selling cars a corporate strangle hold the symbols of your youthful rebellion now sell minivans to elderly want-to-be revolutionaries who have grown old and complacent this octopus has captured everything they have a solid grip on your balls and they squeeze to make you squeal for more everything has ended in failure and frustration your heroes are selling reverse mortgages on television and telling the poor to rent to own that monster tv hey get a payday loan dont worry about the interest you are not at the edge of history looking at the abyss you are asleep on your couch dreaming another wet dream the absence of an American Dada undermine attack and transform you would sell your soul to be the man to suck the corporate cock and become a happy little fool get on the train motherfucker and follow the trail do as they tell you obey your masters follow the rules put this shit into organized little bits that people will find easier to swallow 175

soon they will grow accustomed to eating your shit they will come to depend on it in fact they wont be able to live without it lets just create a big fucking fire and burn all this stupid shit up why waste your time chasing your tail who told you had a tail anyway is it obvious could it be any clearer integrating infusing marketing serious challenges impossible pop artists on the avenue Madison avenue father figure interpreted flip side search tradition paradox criticism radical rhetoric of rupture underlies focus attention differences mythological geopolitical realigned alternative montage shockwave stakes trends satisfying sustained suspicions as we juncture to off-shoot mummies and the norms and values of dustbin obsolete phase manifested rejection burdens of history otherness is exhaustion a commodity of metaphoric impossibilities all these phenomena reveal the secret bond the left-handed woman a dead-end street fought and refuted espousal sexual Bastille lumped reception and response altar symbol hungry family resemblance impulse aesthetic shift hegemonic ugly dissonant immoral auteurs disco glitter rock Pynchon fundamentalist believers the nouveau emerges from the filmy terrain a strategic field of death of modernism nowhere articulated vegas illuminating neoclassical resonance as we salute extreme monuments to soon to be dead philosophers utopian extinction reactionary orthodoxy is norma sucking on the opposite numbers a structural inversion splayed and laid out on the discredited shoddiness of moral imbecility

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Twenty 20.1 An infection largely spread the problem with the operation miss palm repudiation of the theory divergence resuscitation and the philistine suggests the possibility conception repudiation intensification organic stages fragments and motifs 5 hours of sleep and my hand gripping the wheel white knuckles a metropolitan venue hanging the cheesecake erotica bare knuckles living in the same house born under a dark cloud we climb the stairs seven flights of redundancy I took you by the hand and led you through the various permutations quoting animal house the referent for all irreverent culture ball bearings gear shafts the beast the little school girl is reading Lolita as Larry in the white socks interprets a jar of supermarket cherries a worse drunk breasts pressed against my chest dirty streets that knew my name I closed my eyes I am waiting in my underwear an old film of romantic things two carters the bar stool remembers ten bucks cry or laugh buzz cut accusations hammers the bucket to the floor swiveling little girls motel faucet onslaught parking lot recession living a bakers dozen painted smiles conga skin harder I remember smooth looks people the clutch the little hair under her poetic armpit her choice of hat ten minutes in shoulders defying gravity confessional and a few beers throwing another random image it still has battery not actual glasses car alarms siphons gas slam dance bewitched secret people an underground trip spinning vintage pussy we sold all her children to the creative fusion of psycho gymnastics I think she missed them on days when it rained a pain in her gut ill fated pistol prison she stood on her head and balanced a ball it was a meaningful experience short skirt bellicose Coltrane Harpers ferry crossing over to the other side a burst of dead like fireworks we gutted the night flourish asylum screwing bone collapsed ragged drowning bursts she goes boom killing the night within me drunken this all disappears when you close your eyes that is how I have lost so many I grew tired and stopped concentrating on them muscling them whistling snatches dance floor shudder a coalition of addictions up on the roof talking to the aliens distant warnings to push and shove the unmaking of fascist aesthetics the slave and the oppressor taking turns with the whip the wheel of fortune noon on new years day falling backwards never gonna see you again bare legs long torso a naughty squeeze sucking me another flophouse gambler drugstore cowboy dusted and nervous stuck on my head life spins the same people congratulations right now cringing in a corner slipping eyes glowing coil I got drunk again hung-over in Paris distraught trinkets wasteland sanitarium face masks

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20.2 Proclaimed the dead man these are unique artifacts transparent pop-campy retooled and recycled they are the ideal stasis of myth an utopian edge of critical enterprise negating earlier forms your zippo lighter shrill with transcendence a catastrophe deduced and decorated to the chaos of exploiting the fragmentary fabrication and to cry out loud and fully erupt in spite titled opposition codes of a datum regime conceived for dissolution of the symbol and the myth as foretold by schizophrenic heuristic fascist discursive paradigm subverted and entrenched derived from this modernism a distinct and opposed cubistic fetishized and fragmented reality good bye unbelievable lights I call about an eye exam a little bit cleaner I cant deal with it any more one thousand times the old woman jumps on stage she is weaving her spell on the unsuspecting blank cake falling from their mouths watching the wild ones jump out of the windows all balls no brains fried chicken and cold beer no fucking point another pale cross-eyed god forsaken hurt like hell you kept it up kept going through the rough patch not going to church to fuck the preacher while everyone bowed their heads licking your cunt we hopped on the bus and rode to the next town to drink tequila and eat as much despair as we could swallow I am painting you in gold showing them the baby girl the fools kiss the dew on her wings my tornado the past we once knew and understood she got up to dance heroin to me death in words who is alive there I do not exist counting down I wanted it to be only about you but all the others snuck in while my back was turned a smile and a tear a one dimensional face on the wall dwarfed by big pages petticoat and bustle watching the spin she is thinking about the conversion tables as I peel off her umbrella and high heeled disposition she laid on the tell and said forge ahead brave sailor these pictures are all of me I told her she was pretty and then pulled her up the rope she waved as the passengers gawked in amazement an eleven year heart beats for Madison Wisconsin the place where you used to belong before all the camouflage and excuses tainted hands still harvest plummet swollen limbs a drunken dream Stanley Kubrick Lolita her hands tied above her head on her knees my pet girl hello kitty bling woodblock prints of her vulva hang on the wall four seasons counting your dragonflies fondling her with a jesus freak you are going to hell metal clanging against metal puking up the downers a basket full of catfish a fifth of whiskey and the dreams we mailed off to London this nice young man paid for our fuck film 700 dollars we could pay the rent and buy some cheap wine selling the sex on the internet he wanted to call you mommy playing with your toys we become blurry with Dionysian vertigo of the sacred and the profane your idea of transgression your desperate and relentless attack your language became an ordeal a trial by fire we wanted to see the devil that dwelled inside of you puffed up in your authoritarian pose the roots of the malaise the subject is dethroned and disempowered she laughs when you touch her she says you cant touch her like I do I can sell you her instructions but they are written in invisible ink it has to do with superhuman self-assertion a basic anarchist trait what does it mean to kill god if he never existed you release the shocking effects of 178

frightened mimesis you become uncomfortable searching for the safe word higher and lower elements a weapon at the moment you speak of a sphere behind private walls a universe that subsumes everything going back to archaic times

20.3 Unfathomable to be praying for the suspension of all order to turn the tables and upend reality to make the king a street sweeper and the fool a king a cult of ambiguity maybe we should value truth over a lie maybe we should choose life over death maybe we should live for love instead of hate why do we promote stupidity as an example of our brightest and most talented why do we put the worthless high upon a pedestal why do we worship mediocrity and the pursuit of wealth and riches why do we favor only that which rusts and turns to dust our new president a tv talk show host president pat straightjacket swings his hips and twirls his microphone vice president Wilma heartbone is collecting all the panties that get thrown up on stage we have a real star with charisma now maybe we can blow the fuck out of those communist bastards who preach peace and a sustainable universe god put us here to rape the earth and that is our manifest destiny god loves pollution we are here to destroy this earth it is gods plan there is a tattoo on his back that says eat at joes generous to the point of pathology we are following his blog on blogger he has a plan to sell the country to the Chinese and convince the Japanese to make all of our appliances we need computers and robots we need remote control television we need blow up love dolls we need nicotine patches and levitra and anal suppositories the president has an unnaturally large head that is why we voted for him teetering on the brink we were waiting for him to fall over the surgeon general was on call just in case there needed to be a brain transplant moe curly and shemp were on standby ready to jump on airforce one and make the ultimate sacrifice for the country this was all going to be televised with million dollar commercials at every twenty minute break we want nightly redemption on our idiot box

20.4

Surrendering wine press dead one hundred pills destruction she danced captured her belly way twenty dollars waffle promise broken detour a lone stone wall town a part sidewalk rapture vacation troubled glass love bodies vein love minute strawberries cabbage patch dolls self awareness and change lying down couch one sided conversations stomach left ears right jigsaw dizzy spells body bag mouth opened sunflower anarchist legs richer than the beggar mans eyes he wants coin for coffee I 179

have proven your pussy against falsification dead and chewy real pork chops praying for the wetness between your legs rock bottom dance hall shapes heated bellies rage against the hate blue plate specials for everyone I hear you were living in North Dakota selling old ladies poetry and dirty pictures of you and an old horny Billy goat you did have talent impending death that disease you caught at the Minnesota zoo she wanted to give me a free car wash I told her I didnt have a car she said it didnt matter dripping matter from the ends of her fingers a beautiful embrace we discuss beauty and nature sculpting different hands I fucked you in every state and sent postcards to your husband sent him pictures of you going down on the maid collecting all the little bottles of shampoo I have a farmers tan on my left arm we robbed three banks and blew up a post office bleeding on the rug

20.5 Curls and strokes sweeps at snippets moss and metals plucking a presentable face no beauty but she crouched fine by me she said down on me punched out a dozen reluctant judges mouths full of twist and fate blazing thorns miserable scorn a death stench and defiant persecution of the earth colors romance and the glow conquers death if the truth be told waiting goodbye mean turn back home always a good cause selfish indulgences and blow humble depravity down the road believing in no one strive solid cry never the same just would be and having this feeling a macabre distain and the row house blocks of an omen bride she screams an introduction to the urgent message of past fingerprints blood shriveled in the endless sky surgical obvious loose lips dinosaur faces with egos branded full of firecrackers holiday drowning as she rode me hard over-valuing progress a self-detachment that is easily forgotten along with the comfortable superficiality of a legitimate attack on dominance and oppression blinds us with a rationality cult nuclear fought world ethos opponent ruthlessly exploited aggregated escape promised life future minds no newcomers each others hurts sooner haste opposing thoughts Trish is anyone else lifestyle fight typical scarce bother stay decide incident feels do not and cannot love each other wrong words out I have no reasons no tests for abilities mettle in the spoon selfless emotionless detached man there is no room for ideals to aspire and entail Beatriz wants ought curious chosen normal people call it love in the middle of nowhere finding your true self but getting lost to the world in the process a phone booth abandoned plane of existence it stopped working a long time ago some rusted relic of a simple past to point on the earth where you realize that you are lost a reflection in the broken glass pages torn from a long forgotten book were these your words mechanical lips Paige was killing time silver jets she started talking about her date the other night and boxing airport coffee milling depression in the swill flew out ahead of me a deep deep hole getting into the depth of it all Trish was fidgeting with a cigarette and Beatriz was nonplussed with her tragic 180

loneliness a tongue slides up her thigh in order to reach the point from the very beginning

20.6 Living in incompatible worlds incomparable how can you exist and yet not exist at the same time a skeleton on a couch a living breathing soul warm to the touch and then a cloud of smoke I approach you and loose you at the same time I understand you and am confused at the same time you are captured and always at a loss to me your animals speak to me more than you they give me clues to your existence shattered and entangled by the common mistake in this world the animal s eat us they cover their furs with our skins another me sitting in a bar nursing a whiskey and watching two girls dance with each other to a hank Williams song not the one who had lost himself but the one who was lost again my self-discovery resulted from my inability to locate myself in this world Bianca disrobed and danced around me trying to bring back in we both had lost our place in the real world a shared futile life Bianca stretch out on the pool table the two dancing girls took turns kissing her dragged from one world to another it helped her connect with others first two fingers then three fingers then my whole hand strangling my shadow in an ocean of oblivion the waves crashing down my sense of self fleeting getting further and further away a love for personal prejudice comfortable and mindless bludgeoned and tantalized a sprawling grotesque seeking instability uncertainty is preferable seeing people broken into pieces the art of bones and internal organs to see inside people beyond the self-constructed walls they have built to keep the real out thus destruction to peer inside the hidden qualities that evil that binds us to one another I took out a razor blade and started to peel off Biancas skin everyone watched and no one tried to stop me I one point I asked the dancing girls to assist me and they did my white lab coat provided the disguise of authority that is necessary to perform truly atrocious acts of cruelty this is an artificial world they were play things she was a Barbie doll the evil was just play a charade a sacrifice for my invented god I broke open a beer bottle and stabbed her in the breast there were tears in the dancing girls eyes I wondered why this was tough love a hidden logic behind these desperate and bloody acts I took her to the river and washed her clean of all her sins Nast Jack said a prayer for her immortal soul the spilling of blood combined with the lost traces of self I didnt know who I was anymore I was becoming more and more like Hugo sure I looked like him but now I was acting like him drinking our best gin hiding from bad people soggy coco puffs kicked and taunted by triangle pancakes a secret freak having to pee does she hold it not wanting to be scared I didnt know you were funny the forbidden closet twists and stuff he could help that one hanging from our necks falling down really fast she wasnt praying right wavy hair and chestnut eyes you

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dont believe me is it safe to tap the keg practicing my lines waiting for the right moment to cut everything out from under me

20.7

My own personal demon sitting next to me drinking coffee watching all the pretty girls die before august leaping in front of trains it all seemed so absurd to me but my demon found it fascinating he was always drawing strange diagrams on the cheap crappy napkins at the coffee house when I asked him what he was doing he just said evoking driven to the brink a life flattened without meaning or substance you can make up any lie in your head to convince youself differently but deep down inside you know it is only a lie a cheap fabrication to pacify your mind you know that something is wrong but you havent got a clue you are not aware that the ending has already been written all you have to do is play your part just like you have so many times before you know your lines so well you say them in your sleep step up to the microphone and do your thing make it seem so real and lifelike when inside you are only dead the self can be called into question decentered split apart and rendered unknowable where we are in our present condition generating a world of images where meaning is cut loose from its surroundings causing us to question the self and the world we once knew cyborg politics jacked in we can see the Babylon the dark future predominates we built a hull of a civilization from the remnants of the colonial decomposing body combining hybrids mosaics and chimeras into an organized whole feeling the trap close around our private lives they are putting up camera on every street corner they are testing our dna for any sign of weakness looking for a biological reason to exclude some from the goods and resources of society they are building an ideology to justify their dominance over others they realize that their past justifications have become worn and obsolete so they are using science and technology to fashion a story that justifies their exclusion of others surplus labor will become the food for the elites the best of our society will feed upon the flesh of the poor they will raise the poor in pens that once kept animals these human animals will be sedated and seduced into ignoring the true reality of their existence their purpose will be to fulfill the gluttony of their masters

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20.8

drop down destiny caving five maneuver tricks universal equal fish bowl functionality outside glass everyone else looks in and becomes squeamish partake of the wafer feed on the blood figure out the drop the percentages the sky is vehement raindrop perception saying it wrong always migrated smile broke down teeth they resonate deep within your bones climb up the city stairs and tell the fathers about the tall grasses someone's direction learning sustainability eyeball losers humanity is keeping score coherent cracks in the wall falling through their necks I promise Rorschach full throttle rocket rolling hair and right shoulder fearful waves free ride clowns with cancer sores bad evidence of your retribution and reactionary politics holding your dictionary in your hand we can see the evacuation history is bleeding like a cold night run away little school girl pain and decay with a huge helping of terror they obviously changed the rules in the middle of the game weaving in and out taking your pulse yes you are still alive

20.9

struck by the tide misplaced smoke trampled miss palm she protest with breakfast hues oyster tangled days glossy fingers and happy decent an omen swallows down ruined face rumors of tongue nameless and divergent you want the wind to bring you a new hope something new and brilliant just out of the packaging you assemble the pieces of this life and worry about the rent and the bills that always go unpaid you want to capture the brightness of heartbeats the center of human chaos hatching the flames of the unforgiving those who knew not how to tread lightly you have forgotten me I have escaped into another world another time one without you avenues of thought that you can't travel down your love never could tell the truth not even with a gun against its head I would ask you to be my friend but I am afraid that I have run out of reasons to share my soul with anyone else I have been bled too many times to really care any more I can see the diamonds in your eyes and the wind that blows your mind into the borrowed depths of another thirsty kiss standing here with you we slip into the dark blinded by your love toppled ribs far flung and needing shelter for your heart I spill through creation with flow and form I adore your world and cherish all of your ways it is he jagged folds that bring blotted tubes sick of choking sinner length and the dollars of spotlight platforms

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20.10

I went to the kitchen and made coffee and toast newspapers trade friction across the table spread like Ellie Mae probing for the citizens fears it looked blank and empty larger than it should have it was as if the emptiness had expanded out of the newspaper and into my kitchen into my life like an unwanted visitor sitting next to me at my kitchen table eating my toast and drinking my coffee I tried to force this feeling from my mind but it wouldnt leave collapsing with a final breath two young women with swaying dresses spoke on the merits of experiencing emptiness in their lives they told their stories of how with the help of god or family or friends or all of the above they personally overcame their disability of emptiness since then they traveled around the world speaking to others about the emptiness and how they also could overcome the emptiness in their lives they received a small honorarium for speaking and the majority of the costs were sponsored by a drug pharmaceutical company I remember standing in the crowd and hearing their words and thinking what bullshit these two women crossed my mind as I sat at my kitchen table eating toast and drinking coffee

20.11 Dead punk fucked propaganda belly specimen orgasm water orgasm stone invoking so many ghosts thighs unraveling postcards from Hell false perceptions authorized personal only sugared mules teased absentia another sick girl gentile vomit hole your finger eager skin evolution pulse the weasels offer me no hair these are the days my friend that Dr. Loophole invented the fuzzy newlyweds from Kansas City, they are sucking out the juice. Dr. Loophole is experimenting on the newlyweds, he first injects them with mescaline just to see how they react, and the newlyweds turn yellow and begin to glow in the dark. (See Magick Book 4 for more on Dr. Loophole) herman came home from the bar one day and found his concubines discussing something without him. They both had this demented look in their eyes It was a blood red look in their eyes. Herman had seen this look before in the war in world war one when he was a young man just barely out of high school His mother had wanted him to go to teachers college, but he had adventure in his heart and joined the army They fitted him with a uniform, a gas mask, and a rifle. His job was to kill as many Germans as he could. That was his primary task and his secondary task was to stay alive Once a lone German soldier broke through their ranks and landed in Hermans foxhole This German soldier had this same look in his eye as the two girls when he thrust his bayonet into Hermans chest. Herman woke up three days later in an army hospital The two girls lunged at Herman with knives in both hands. Herman quickly side stepped their attack and shot them both three times in the head 184

20.12 I can feel Jane pressing against my backbone her kiss trembles down one side of my mouth she can feel my pain as she bangs her body against me we are breathing in the fumes of our destruction of the worlds destruction I can see it all in ashes a smoldering heap of nothing be the best you can be if you are nothing then be nothing to the best of your abilities is there a truth that can come from this I think not truth does not exist maybe only in poetic circles as the inebriated think of utopia between bong hits for that is where perfection exists only in the mind the real world is harsh and ugly and the innocent die here daily without pity and without hope is this too harsh for you to handle I am sorry for you and I there is no hope in this world we are heading for great big crush a collapse of matter in upon itself returning to the big bang and janes big hearted ideas she is running through my fingers like the thoughts that wade in the puddles of mud Mr. Perry is building a fire he is stressing out over the absurdity of his existence he wants his freedom to be red white and blue if it is not the way he imagined then he doesnt want to live anymore Mr. Perry has one big plan to follow he will be a martyr for the cause he will his part to create a new religion to make kinbote into a mighty god everyone will see that tim is glorious that everyone should love him as Mr. Perry does it does no good to wish you were dead it takes a spine it takes backbone to turn your dreams into reality he will destroy the chemist the evil one the bringer of destruction he will put away the destroyer of worlds another fading version of materialism Mr. Perry is laughing in the face of fear soon he will be gone like all the other who came before him another dust devil spinning in the wind he is grappling with the implications of his plans he knows that he is propelled by his actions that is footsteps are premeditated by fate he dreams his ending over and over again the causes may be different the result is always the same he is surrendering his personal joy for a greater cause a greater purpose this brings joy into his sad and sick existence

20.13 hugo is not trying to draw praise from the cyber punks he rejects all claims of truth possession those who have the truth are either ignorant or liars this is how hugo judges scary mary because scary mary belives that he has the truth and he beats everyone over the head with his supposed truth hugo considers scary mary to be a barbarian the world is not simply divided between life and death the controlling beliefs embodied in his ideas will only destroy scary mary and his followers their meme is one that will not last it will not stand the evolutionary test the fundamental flaw is that the meme will not be able to reproduce itself and thus will fall away as a non-survivable mutation they lay quiet in the middle of the road waiting for their death turning every word into poison all 185

fools become obsolete in the path of time some belief systems do not adapt to change and do not survive they die out and scary marys beliefs will die out they eat the fruit of imperfection and their words are only noise living among the dirty thoughts hugo is revising history to leave out the war machine I dont know if this is possible it seems like war is what we do we are not human unless we are killing each other hugo lives in a revisionist suburb feeding the children his rocky ideas about how war can be eliminated he is pushing against the smoke and mirrors I tell him that his scars will heal with wine and women but I am unsure if he truly believes me I tell him that bertha is always willing to engage a philosophical mind but he seems unwilling to accept her offer he has given up the world of mundane issues the mundane is what keeps me tethered to this world hugo is here and there he is everywhere he is bringing importance with him he is making the important things stick out pushing it in our faces and asking us when we are going to change all of our words could not hold your bothered concepts as we struggle within your soul fighting for a chance at love we count

20.14 I am placing you into different tumblers watching the numbers drop hugo wants to show his human side I am outlining his influences and gazing at his damning testimony the human race stands condemned as the pulleys move and the gears move turning the war machine breaking humanity he treats them as if they are pure and blameless when we have all participated in the illusion we are all players in the farcical play a broken down old computational war dog howling at the blood red moon he tells us that he is not here to make us happy he is here to make us feel and to make us think to make us learn for ourselves I did all I could to feed hugo to the machine to deny his influence I prefer to live in the ignorance of my beliefs to believe that love consumes us all as my life turns upon the wheel of fortune as hugo comes with a knife to put meat upon the table where were my voices to warn me of the harm of the danger

20.15 betty boop teaching me to dance when the world shudders there is nothing new it only hurts for a minute turn your head and watch what matters flicker across the tv screen have you been keeping score as the waitress brings you another stack of pancakes she has syrup between her legs sticky sweet tonight we will have trailer park slut she thinks its Halloween her body is bent over my bed she is praising the confines of leather constraints my whip rings like her princess phone I kick her little dog it is the president on the phone he wants to have sloppy seconds before he starts another war it is the reason why he was elected the big white ass of a fucking asshole the bitches are beautiful in the kill zone as Leo adjusts his sights he is zeroing in on his target he is not 186

started by the moon I danced with betty boop in screaming wet sex all of her positions are bifurcated she sings like a cheese pizza when all I wanted was absinthe a sugar free dreamer that I fuck over and over again her thoughts prevail like acid the first ameba with a fetish for rubber posing for your camera hugo has a mind of his own in his cowboy boots climbing up the tower a prime number spurts out the end of his dick hugo scratches his balls and begins his secret life of watching this white fatty tissue his love for her vomit her jeans and leather jacket with her bullet proof belt as she reads her poetry he is watching her through a hole in the closet he first thought that the world consisted of words instead of objects as he peered through the hole in his closet he came to realize that the world consists of actions one human action upon self or others in between actions exists gaps in reality when nothing happens these gaps in time are like the massive blackness of outer space these gaps in action are when the world steps into the realm of nothingness life is broken up or interrupted by periods of nothingness

20.16 Leo who is violent when he is cleaning his gun and practicing his salute his walls are polished and tasteful for someone with a psychotic tendency to dig up the disco bones the breathe in and out and fall over dead leo gave us a busy story about how his actions were justified he claimed that he wasnt hurting no body he claimed the harm was purely metaphorical there is a hole in Calcutta that would attest otherwise there is a picture of leo and a swami leo is holding a cigarette and there are beer bottle on the table scrawled on the back is the word trance there is a man with tattooed arms underfoot a nun is blowing her nose and leo is forgetting about jesus leo says that the being is mine he says that I am the key to his existence he is a manifestation of my dream state when the dream ends leo will end he claims that everything in this world is an emanation of my dream this dream seems to last forever I have tried to right leos wrongs but I havent enough time soon I will awake and leo will be gone and I will have to dream up a fresh new devil we have been sleepwalking all this time it was such a strange dream one with drugs and sex and bountiful amounts of boredom doing the same thing over and over again with waking and dreaming within the dream between the fingers of ghosts all the words jumble together they roam in and outside my mind I cant explain what happened to the carpet I can explain my lack of connection to this world that I supposedly invented

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20.17 new arrivals on my back divine madness that is what it is yes, most certainly it is the combination of the divine and a little hint of madness well, to be honest, it might be more than just a hint of madness probably, it would be more appropriate to say that it is a truckload of madness there things that I tell my cat that I will never tell anyone else my cat is the keeper of my secrets they all leave without saying goodbye to me I wonder what my cat thinks about that I remember when I made you cry we can no longer produce the limits of our being I can no longer produce you in the mirror This is an unstable interactive exchange These fingers are bleeding red You absorb the past into the present when you attempt to create legitimation You have walled up your kings and queens in a prison made of flesh and bone this is magic and love mixed together in a performance when I told her that I didnt want to fuck her, she cried I saw the circle of fire around your heart your tears put the fire out the crisis of the rabbit nailed to the wall Is this art? they wore blue helmets and gasmasks they carried a club and a shield in each hand they were ready to answer all questions the tear gas was in the government box they were in big black letters I was imagining Rasputins dick in a glass jar I know that I have seen a picture of it somewhere in the past what an odd thing to display upon your shelf next to the aborted fetus and that statue of Idi Amin is so troubling

20.18 particles are escaping from our lives drop cover and roll she is only skin deep I know you have so many questions and there is not enough time nor the energy to answer them all some questions you will have to find the answers on your own it is like you are back in high school cheating on an exam I think we are going to need more tape in order to tie up all of the victims I threw the canister of gas down the steps and lit the match tonya wants me to make it last forever I rub my hand over her stomach and tell her nothing lasts forever baby not even elvis impersonators eventually they get too old to move their walkers fast enough to dodge the oncoming traffic Im sitting here waiting for the sky to fall I know it will happen someday it was an erotic resolution that I was looking for I had read about it in the papers and thought I might produce one for myself I took out a pen and paper making a list of the items I would need Tonya is fanning off her pussy the engineers must of left some bright lights up in there I asked her if she would like me to go in there and turn off the lights my words were always rich with metaphors and language she said no thank you but she appreciated my making her hairs stand on end I told her that her words always felt like promises she gave me a kiss and told me I could traumatize her some other time she said that she would be a good little victim 188

tomorrow if I didnt mind I told her that it was no big deal that I could always masturbate to the ghost of betty boop 20.19 these animals are walking around the city speaking of skinning people they eat meat they eat you and I we began as a primate in San Francisco banging on the Tin mans drums and selling sausage to the flower people selling out Berkley square and eating those red potatoes we got eyes for freedom and crossword puzzles Rubicon sponge and a daily buzz everybody is getting dicked around the last son of man is watching I love lucy and hitting a grand slam putting more latex on your head for the fisherman shocking the apricot with long metal prongs in a working class family death clown gas mask worshiping in the temple into the death camp feeding the cat sticking needles in unwanted places she wants her shoes back after the high tide I should be doing my impressions of a fondling madman Ive dedicated my performance to you and your bucket of hubris standing in line for a piece of meat pie and being forced to surrender to the burning and the wasting disease I told all the animals about the sickness and the lack of grace we cut her into fine thin strips and served her with a horseradish mustard there was someone standing behind me writing down what I was not saying heavily medicated with love poetry and perpendicular hoodoo dont crucify me for this eating black-eyed peas she said that she is ready for anything swimming in the shallow end of the pool the dead cant answer your letters 20.20 I know you want my kiss I can see it in your green eyes begging me to put out your fire to end your longing for desire you put up with my bad poetry just because you love me drive that stake through my heart feed me my last supper I am guilty I admit it I can be so mean and hateful there is less than an hour for the doomsday clock I am so fucking blessed Im gonna climb down out of my tree Im gonna throw a rock and kill somebody I know you paid a deposit and you shined my hubcaps but god damn it Ive got to be me Ive got to be a salamander in a pond hiding under a green rock with green moss in another life in someone elses dream I know what you want I saw the hunger in your eyes Im hanging on Im hanging on to the ledge no surprise not in this world you cant promise me that it will be cold again ever again I know who you are I have seen you follow me for days you can take that red cross sticker off of your blouse cause you aint gonna save me I gave me heart to Jesus a long time ago and then I gave it to the preachers daughter and she stepped on it fuck it thats life today I would say I dont believe in love I have learned some hard lessons I have hardened my heart I dont feel you any more I know that you are gone but not tonight you left your husband and met me in Tulsa you left the kids and the farm I wonder if they can forgive you I gave you a vision and a brown paper bag breathe in and breathe out

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Twenty One

21.1

her inside space invaded a gravitational pull grace in her forms every impossible exit making my baby as I come down from the hills you who I love in the third person owing the coral and the glass the blood hieroglyphs how is love like a French disco red sunset and golden dawns alchemical feelings just screwing the coast my tongue makes the noise in a fallen forest kicking somebody name the blood again and again to replace the eye these pillars of smoke mirror blue hidden places trapped in glue imagine the spider somewhere along the line I got brainwashed not loving anymore the illusion of myself gone is my love the first and the last willing myself into all of your secrets a million miles on the road to mystery you want me skinned alive my face is an illusion a mystery sign post on your road of misery your face is my mountain my rock and hammer that I find crashing against me my insignificant whisper into the drill of your ear I have been promised your ashes your smoke and mirrors all your love in the world tits and asses the pimps of the world the ways bend and you are impossible revelations sunset priests they pray for you a mixture of extremes she wants more of her boobies showing singing in the shower her shampoo is political just as are her armpit hairs she says that all penguins lie about her and no one else I was wondering how the penguins know her she never leaves her house mixing her drinks in the blender she dances up against the wall like a silent partner she says the penguins know all about her crimes but they exaggerate I wonder what she is hiding from it must be something really big something bad to have warped her in such a way the sisters and servants she makes herself ugly with the bottle of wine red and green lines across your face a headband that says believe in me and your ass says extol the virtues of life she wants to eat my asshole just like the girls under the bleachers cracked open hardcore pocket watch miracles a hungry kiss upon your clit your mind is full of comprehension about your predecessor you have detailed notes and a body sketch on the floor on good days you lay in the outlines fucking your image of self it wasnt you only your shadow the pussy still feels the same against my cock as you rub yourself up and down

21.2

you smell like a housewife who has lost her batteries that chromium smell like toxic seepage I am counting all of your different love faces melting you into a porous liquid 190

another doll-headed god that you worship between your legs a fierce and final love the force of fire as you grind up against me moaning Mossimo Extracu Conpine Mobeekie police names on the blotter lonely games against you fuck me with abandon and the derailed hope that only the lost can fully muster fuck me and call me daddy I will buy you some ice cream when we are done we can go fly your new kite in the park my pants are around my ankles I am sticking the bottle of old style inside of you squeaking and sneezing I spit on your rosebud and twirl like a school girl she needs the attentions of the firemen thus she starts the fires she burns up the town hoping to find a love worth saving together we take a long hot shower bakers dozen I am rubbing the soap on her cracker listening to talk radio over the noise of the water that bastard is calling someones mother a cunt maple syrup and pieces of glass this is what you serve her the next time he comes in for breakfast

21.3 If you are going to hold that bottle like it is a cock then maybe you should show us how you deep throat it Miss palm lives in a different world than you and I she only sees the bright colors and not the dark. She is waiting for the planets to align so that peace and love will be ushered in no matter what the situation she finds something to be happy about and she can see the good in all people she makes this a pleasant place to live pulling the daisy chain she left the room before I killed the little darlings she didnt want to get bold on her white dress is this murder and madness her glad heart melts my sadness miss palm is a sunflower in my garden of darkness she shines the light into my dark and evil soul a little stony pony she rides it to the supermarket and buys fresh fruit and duty free coffee a bottle of red table wine and some French bread last night I brought the milk and butter tomorrow we may have cake and pin cushions miss palm does love her sauerkraut and polish sausage there is bold and then there is bold I told her that her white dress was symbolic she laughed at that we both laughed symbolism is a funny thing

21.4

a one night stand the gloss of newness is gone I notice myself in the mirror finding trouble everything relative to the chocolate looking for crackers and peanut butter in the store almost running over a lady miss palm of threatening to kill herself after the super bowl across from the bottles of poison and motor oil pickles and gloves I might need to pull up my pants I have never been through the self checkout she is all about the hospitality walking like spies wearing her black stockings and breaking the coffee 191

grinder its not pretty eating frozen dogs bathing in shock without electricity using a lot of heroin a big ass smile upon my face just remembering the good things escaping the shit gathering up all my broken pieces and my memories in a paper box labeled her in big black letters I hope that the hole in your heart is healing I am protected by us copyright laws you can touch me but you cant copy me without express written permission miss palm is a book I am carefully reading her one page at a time I am underlining her most important passages I covet the value of her signs and miracles I bought her for her sign value wearing her around my neck brought me a certain social status a certain prestige that no one could claim she is a constructed reality a false consciousness

21.5 Jane is controlling for the sullying effects she is drawing attention to the subtexts shaping molding fabricating your reality from out of the mouths of babes jane is enhancing democracy that just sounds like bullshit to me we are doing nothing for democracy that is a word used by politicians to steal something from you typically they want to steal your money betty boop is all about democracy she has democracy tattooed on her ass she shouts democracy every time she has an orgasm instant potatoes the occasional intrusion of the author in the text he said that he felt despair on the big ocean liner that when the lights went down and the organized activities were put to bed he felt nothing but despair an oceans full of despair he said that he felt like jumping into the water as he stood there staring at the moon I have lost my voice my words mean nothing I am nothing imposing distorting interpretive frames on other peoples experiences underlying every gesture you keep speaking of the crimes that are being committed against you at first they were not crimes you did not convince anyone but as you continued to complain and complain eventually they began to view these behaviors as you do and to define them as criminal thus behavior that was once ignored is now considered an atrocity against society and all crimes against society must be punished that is how we show everyone the boundaries for behavior by punishing those who step outside the boundaries consider me a criminal throw me in jail put your handcuffs on me and drag me away

21.6

the different power relations between women and men the interpretations you construct for these words are different depending on whether you are a man or a woman different things become significant and different things resonate with your own 192

experiences reflecting the conflict over power and how we talk about the power between human beings we have fallen into this trap of dichotomies one is dominate over another master and slave there is no consideration of being equal this is beyond our conception if you have more than I have less how does your conception of self emerge from your interactions with others we share symbols and common meanings jane has her own thoughts and can make her own meanings but these meanings are structured by social domination the words we use to define our situations are structures of domination we cannot find words that do not employ some type of power everything about her is constructed shaped by our cultural conceptions from her jeans to her blouse to her diamond earrings everything is organized action her actions fit the roles that she is professing the illusions that she weaves for the masses they believe in her and they consider her to be real when everything about her is fake and fabricated from her hair extensions to her manicured nails to her breast implants let us not forget the whiteness of her polished teeth and the words she carefully chooses to sound just like the movie stars on tv she has bought all of your movies and is practicing to walk just like you jane is able to grasp the direction of your actions there is a common commodity of symbols such as fame success prestige and glamour she wants to be a movie star she wants the bright lights and the big cars and the paparazzi taking her picture she wants to see herself on the cover of magazines

21.7

by connecting ourselves with other we develop social bonds and the necessity of establishing reciprocal relationships if you comment on my note than social convention suggest that I also must comment on one of your notes thus the debts and balances of social obligation are exchanged praise becomes a commodity that is exchanged between members of a social group jane is concerned with the process of presenting self the interpretations of others reactions either positive or negative bringing either pleasure or pain the basic features of our selves the man with a gun she keeps saying this time will be different why was it a man with a gun could it have been a woman with a gun maybe a woman with a bomb she has it strapped around her body she is walking into the police station she is singing the battle hymn of the republic when she throws the switch and boom she is gone we gather outside among the rubble and talk of possibilities that are no more we talk of how our naive conceptions of peace and safety have now been destroyed

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21.8

the bonds between self and others can justify actions on the grounds of custom love hate jealousy or respect each persons involvement in the conversation can be charted by utterances lodging a portion of the self into the other we have made investments in each other we throw things together at the last minute and our understanding are incomplete yet we work out some semblance of an agreement so that I can put my pecker inside you I am amazed by your beauty you are such a lovely creature you make me honesty aware of my desire to make love to you I want to be the source of your joy we do not remain unchanged to the end I change you and you change me together we leave your bed as different beings our sharing of each others flesh has changed us forever we are now a part of each other we are willing participants who agree about the rules and the regulations of our exchange we are wound together in each others image of self we are negotiating our definitions of selves if our perceptions of self become different viewpoints contradictory viewpoints than this is how we fall apart how we fall out of love I have seen it happen in my life so many times too many times I have all the scars on my heart to show you how love has broken and torn me into pieces yet I am still here I have still survived and I am still seeking for another soul to share myself with something to land against moving her over just a little bit to get a better angle adjusting the buckles and the straps she still seems pretty stable I haven't made her too off center yet I was pushing her pretty good her skin felt chilly cold to the touch the dogs didn't run her off she was full of determination I offered her a blanket a warm cup of tea her finger is a little sore she bent it back doing a handstand she wants me to change the color of her font a new nozzle for my hose when you crank on it the spray changes I pull it out and spray it on her back a nice warm spurt

21.9 the disheveled one going back and forth going back and forth a good strong wind a big fucking crash she is chomping it all down she crushes it down there is the head once buried in three feet of dirt and debris she can be used for all kings of things she ended up being the girl and then she didn't want to be the girl so she left it was 2:00 in the afternoon and she asked me to lay down with her for a nap there is a certain thickness that you can't break keeping her as pure as possible she is allergic to the hot wax next to her existential angst she is talking about having her cake and eating she is a situation that demands a new interpretation I have confronted her about her perspective shown her the analysis and the resynthesis of her perspective we met with the challenges in mind 194

21.10 Jane serves to redefine and make irrelevant her ghost moves and shakes me I am silent in her presence she glows and the meanings attached to objects often change the crazy lady has shifting meanings and statuses assigned to herself her situation is intrusive her life how she live who she live with and what she thinks about her life all intrude upon her relationships with others that is why our relationship is so complicated that is why she is an object of negotiation things are never straight forward for the crazy lady she dances around the room shaking her hips from side to side singing a jingle from a commercial for example she sings who let the hugos out (remember that everyone thinks that I am hugo now that we traded places on the other side of reality) and she sings funky cold hugo and running with the hugos these are all popular tunes from long ago that are now being used to sell cars or trucks or washing machines just like strangle hold is being used to sell Volkswagens give me a fucking break the motor town madman is selling family cars everyone has truly sold their souls to consumerism

21.11 the crazy lady says that we need to show where there is stability and where there is change because life is never only either one but both by breaking the rules we discover what the taken for granted rules are most people find it difficult to violate the routine rules of life we must be brave and challenge the routines of our lives we must break through the mundane to reach the other side we expect others to share our expectations and definitions of the situation I keep seeing Marias ghost her lips are moving but I cant make out the words the crazy lady is piecing together a long series of conversations between her and I she is producing relational records to prove to herself that she and I do actually exist she says that it is the paperwork that proves reality if we didnt exist there wouldnt be any paperwork she likes to see her name in the phonebook she likes to see her name on the gas water and electric bills she likes to see her name on court documents she frames these documents and put them up on her walls she is fitting events into a pattern that complements what she is doing she claims that she is following the grand scheme for her life that the universe has dictated to her by the sum total of her experiences the crazy lady says she must continue to follow after the pattern or she will die she says that the pattern is the only thing that is important a moral hierarchy of positions that dictate how persons are to relate to one another she says that the hierarchy is determined by the lords of karma

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21.12

his lordship is learning to play Mozart he is doing this because of his mother he wants to play baseball the ability to write a song about playing second base up to the entire life something that paul anka would write his first kiss not in a shy way biting off more than he could chew the monkey man in a cage everybody telling you how to live your life the fucking questions that keep fucking with your head pressing the down key on tumbler talking about the French revolution and French wine things go by so fast his lordship thinks you are a phony he thinks everyone is a phony the doctors the policemen then firemen the politicians the teachers and the postman and the milkman and the lady who makes your bed and put the little chocolate on your pillow the crazy lady is telling everyone that she loves them she is telling his lordship that she loves him she tell me that she loves me she is telling strangers on the street that she loves them they look confused she thinks that she can walk on water she is grabbing Zelda by the hair and they are fighting out in front of the street they are gathering a crowd people are coming out of the woodwork Zelda is trying to put some sense in the crazy lady with a left and a right the crazy lady has a busted lip

21.13

the crowd cheers when they see the blood next to the zenith a big blood splatter I feel like there is no purpose to my life that my life doesnt make a difference in any way shape or form I searching for a way to make things more meaningful the dull edge of the blade cutting into the emotional his lordship is taking pictures with his Warhol camera not a big do wop fan his lordship is wearing saint matthew fashion a low slow style that makes him distinctive from all the others he says that its the thoughts in his head that makes him cool six bucks at the door to get in they are signing up for the open mic his lordship is taking out his equipment and taking measurements he is looking for a young body tonight we are not dreaming of blue roadblocks mr. gnits you are the king of all yuppies driving your sports car I know that I have gotten to her she is weak in the knees I am holding her up with one arm as we make our way through the crowd on the street I can feel her hot breath on my neck she is feeling me I can feel her sensor boring into my flesh she is taking a sample testing it for quality she wants to know if I am pure gold if I will be there in the morning she asking me to take her to take all of her she whispers I surrender in my ear she says that I have ownership of her now that she belongs to me she hopes that I want to keep her and not throw her away that I will be with her forever no matter how short forever will be she is catching on to something a sense of something its direction orientation its meaning I am not sure if she is for real or 196

only playing a part is she pretending I do feel a contact with her I am affected by her she moves me in directions that I thought I never would go it is your responsibility to pull out the parts that make sense to you some of this is for you and some of this is not I will leave the sorting and the interpretations to you maybe some kind soul can read this to you and you can sit and ponder its meanings looking back upon our past it was a wonderful journey

21.14

I would never have changed a thing all the pains and joys were cherished in my heart when we had so little we didnt realize how rich we really were that we drank richly from the fountain of life and we enjoyed everything that was each other (I am writing this with tears in my eyes) I used to be a tough guy I would train myself not to cry to be cold and not to feel anything it is amazing how the mighty have fallen have those walls that I spent so much time building come falling down and now I know that crying is not a weakness it is a strength to be honest with you and myself and the world I am marketing on difference being different than all the others writing on fb (what the hell is fb?) I am marketing on rebellion I am breaking the rules of normative writing I am also marketing on reflection the things that I write about contain my thoughts about what I am writing I am creating a cultural good a cultural product you could consider it small scale manufacturing to what extent does my cultural production have any legitimacy in the larger cultural world at this point I would say that my cultural products have little or no legitimacy the odds are that only a few people will read this and my products will be lost in the sea of the internets cultural production apparatus is there anything that is innovative about my writing maybe and maybe not it could be that I am ignorant of what others are doing or that my cultural capital is insufficient does anyone find this writing interesting enough to put in the hard work of reading something that violates the rules that we have been trained to recognize and appreciate I would assume that this format makes some readers uncomfortable they may not be aware of the fact that they were trained to value certain things and devalue others we have been taught to value following the rules

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21.15

only a few of us rebels have reprogrammed ourselves to resist the coercion of our minds at every change and opportunity we can get we look for opportunities to give the status quo the finger it seems that I have been going on and on about this and I should probably give it a rest I originally was going to say that I am sorry if I have taken the blindfold of illusion from off your eyes but I am not I am the fool who will drag you out of platos cave and shout look at it look at the fucking sun have you ever seen something so fucking beautiful and if you turn around and want to crawl back into the cave of ignorance Im the one dragging you back out and tying you to a tree and forcing you to look at reality as it is and not as you would like it to be fuck you cipher I dont care if you prefer to live in ignorance you cant be put back into the matrix cipher is a hedonist he prefers the things of the flesh over the things of the mind he prefers the darkness over the light he wants to suck on the cock of illusion he wants his mind to be turned to mush I am writing something that cannot be ignored by those who define themselves as poets this is outsider art it is rough and it is raw the raw emotions and the raw flesh of existence are exposed here we stand outside of the official poetry world we are not academics this is a rejection of the established values of the modern art world you have used your value system as a means to power and to control others we reject your right to define what is art and what is not art your definitions are based on greed and corruption we look outside the traditions of high culture we prefer the low over the high and mighty we reject the capitalist control over our art we are people and not a commodity that can be bought and sold our works of art are pieces of ourselves they are expressions of our heart and you have no claim of ownership over our hearts it will end in misery a dangerous obsession millions of pieces of glass a brick and whatever life is suffering a perfect excuse to cure your sickness we will go under looking good while we do it the neighbors looking through our windows she wanted to be a weaver she woke up there is a big eyed woman staring at me her lips are on the flag applying pressure a new age cult leader one true lemming commingle a toe hold blue barrels in the sun shine mean old man things falling down dancing around a cactus wild flowers snake charmer how long will it last the wind is picking up corn tassels on the end of my sword I think it might be a true northeastern a new element damn your low flying clouds red sky morning an incredible object my pants are falling down an herbal tea plastic bracelets close your eyes its interesting its beautiful dark inside everything is falling apart its not uncle sam a cold calling handyman chain change did I meet you from the coffee shop are you from new york cold calling asking about the night sending them to the website showing you a blue barrel it is leaning the bucket is going to fall over keep working it antique human scalp the picture of your daughter she is on the phone talking backwards I am one of her suggestions she is revolving buying ice cream playing in the dirt throwing away the dead flowers 198

21.16

we are out the door I have on my tiger hat stepping on a nail living at the shelter fucking another nightmare they are telling to stop swearing threatening with beans and biscuits smoking the rope there are five heads in the bucket drinking tequila nothing left to do but shoot your husband my penis is alive it is breathing in the smoke from your vagina the skin of my penis turns a dark brown from the heat between your legs the piercing on my dick melts into a molten puddle of silver on the floor I fuck you like a snake handler dancing in the spirit I am filled with the spirit of your love your sex runs down my legs I am covered by your sex you are such a juicy girl my nasty wet girl I hold you up against the wall as you speak in tongues nada baba udu layla tobu thrusting myself inside you baba nada udu udu you grind yourself down upon my cock nada nada saba taba lugaba all praise and glory praise my name glory to my name you say hugo my love hugo I thrust myself deeper and you say hugo she was blindfolded and I would pinch her nipples just to hear her squeal an escape to the other side your dancing partner gave me your phone number I heard that your aunt had passed away from riding too many amtrack trains you are so wishy washy Im waiting to see what I get in the mail on Monday there should be a check from hellokitty she bought some of my paintings and said she was sending a check you dont know about the tigers in the streets they are everywhere eating the people as they go to their jobs they race from the parking lots to their buildings many dont make it and get eaten by the tigers we are standing on top of your apartment watching the carnage there is blood everywhere

21.17

a group of vigilantes are wandering around the streets shooting some of the tigers some of the vigilantes get eaten also it is like the tigers are appearing out of nowhere there was a priest on the steps of his church saying a prayer the tigers swarmed him and devoured him in a couple of minutes we listened to his cries and whimpering as he slowly died it took him a while to die I think he finally died when one of the tigers ripped his heart out it was a total brain dead process who let the tigers loose a screen writer watching the video of the footage a piece for girls balancing by herself she likes it playing the chimes calling the birds buried in the stones day and night inside the church standing on the head of goliath looking for his cap the duomo eating a pizza it did not blow down she didnt feel like stacking it six long years she thought I was her friend she is looking for a rock to throw at me a dagger a princess pearl a bucket of slop a dream that was shattered into a million pieces everything she threw at me stealing my ceiling I 199

told her that I aint got a girl in my life trailing the dead stoned in the morning a black label spending fifteen outer space hitting my house not even a pinecone a small package of lab tests smiling at your box a well respected man they hung a sign outside a stitch of lace the blue paint over the postal slot I remember every face the little school girl says its a low trust environment this is a secret society this is a restless city a guy in a foreign country she said to make him gay and to have some sex in it and it would probably sell I wrote it down as best as I could remember it wasnt Mexico it was more like Arizona it was night time and we were out in the desert then the ufo came down amigo they said holla my tongue is dry and sticks to my mouth a beautiful thing is this mysterious thing the old man types that he likes going on a journey she had no intentions of bringing him along dangling in her womb I dont know how long the old man has been inside her he is all instinct now she is feeding the old man poison in the basement his vanishing snake skin greedy February standing by his cross thinking about a place to go somewhere to lay his head the old man is up on the 30th floor he meeting new poets and old they are smoking crack and pontificating they see the girls look right through them

21.18

not a best seller between them just page after page of the earth they put the pages in their mouths and chew they still know their first girlfriends eating with a large spoon and kissing everyones knees I saw the apologies to Davey crocket I melted your sugar cubes a frontal splash I wanted to see you in that movie I really did when I finally got in you had already left now I hear you dont sing the blues anymore Ive been trying to catch up to those riffs you laid on me all those years ago she makes me want to shout Ivy is measuring the sticks for the fire she is throwing up the truth it didnt sit well in her stomach the big pink nasty the dead kids on myspace he goes twang holding his sign up and shouting home run all those years of tv dinners and police roadblocks Mr. Crowley likes to fist the pussy and spank the asses of two girls at a time back by popular demand an austrian professor sits on his face and draws pictures of naked men that she then hangs on museum walls she is teaching her students how to dominate he is a pure miracle when it comes to the professor the weak in the knees kind of feeling eating the dark side he loves her homemade cookies the fake bullshit of purpose the professor is manufacturing a plan in her head it is a devilish plan with painted toenails princess donna rope bondage Mr. Crowley shows off his entire cruelty forced to love the device jesus hanging from the cross she is shaved bald the wheels are turning Mr. Crowley says life is boring as he starts a crack habit the night flexes it's muscles and Mr. Crowley sees into the future he making plans to do something erotic with a lady possibly jane is he can fins her she has been hiding from everyone for days the need to vent to release to 200

undo the knots tied around his heart with sex magick hard to beat the addictive pull on his life he has learned to abusive to himself and to others to need to see the blood he has learned to twist everything that is civilized looking for others to follow him to twist this whole thing up twisted fuckers he doesn't care anymore all of the pain and abuse has made Mr. Crowley hard no one can get in he has hardened his heart against the world it is about the deception of top predators how they strangle the weak from from their mother's tits the loss hurts in places he has never know before on a dark road in the country smoking his last smoke

21.19

thinking of the stars that have died living in the moment feeling the blisters on his toes he picks up a rock and throws it into the darkness and he hears nothing in return he thinks about the death of a woman from a long time ago when death seemed so young and vital now death seems old and cliche like a Rockefeller or a Nixon the true fear of change Mr Crowley has seen his share of change Mr. Crowley is holding up the world in the corner of my eye my rifle scaring people high hopes selling crack cocaine on the street corner its all scrap too fucking long I can't wait till spring down to ground zero ridiculous roman arches a collapsing santa callus something new from wallmart a bell ringer plugging it in watching the timer the doomsday clock not knowing what to do trading options still trying to figure it out a guy in LA a funny guy choking on it took two times burrito selling cars smuggling drugs his wife was cheating on him with me total collapse a hair transplant on the credit card trading baseball cards watching the news lost everything jump start in the street twenty bucks for my peanuts I never fell that fucking far tilting head meat grinder grinding the stones I can't focus I can't remember your face anymore the final analysis the size of the customer rock and roll making a living not being able to survive you can see that thing doctor lawyer indian chief if I don't make the rocks then they don't get made a washer and a dryer an okie changing my clothes after lunch how can I live like this I don't know she said reach to the stars big foot blood falling down she said shit snare drum rim click the tanks are rolling backwards delicious and piping hot freedom she was the one who cried and she will buy the world those long black boots she says hipster doochebag assembly line politics a dogcatcher the face of the clown as she clutches a pillow coney island she worked so hard on her delivery limbo dancing knife set buying she leans on the wall as the cars race down the street vibrating doll she cries for humanity as she walks down the dimly lit bridge they filled him with bullets atrocity tale she is making a social movement wolfman silent night the lack of specificity fuck you the cannibals are practicing their newly required manners their mothers would be fucking proud trident cartoon holly shit

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be honest he is not a man of violence both so different a thrill of a lifetime he was into baseball

21.20

a scar down the nose its in my pocket the capture and the bother with her big brown beaver it had a hell of an eye ever floating live grooving in the tank of Vaseline she is sure she is in the right place jane with her funky little addiction lester is chasing the monkey I am pulling out my horns from my green bag they are long and sharp and hard like a little boy's dreams of woman stumbling like Beelzebub hooves and sprouts like the jolly green giant octopus lester the child molester is washing dishes at the local perkins and selling weed to undercover female narcotics officers he is going away for a long time this time longer than the navy with his dog tags and flea dip suicide reading about it in the usa today Diogenes please pray for me the roars of the wicked lester is watching tv he is trying to change his mind you better step lively ask him nicely to go away lester is watching all star wrestling and he is jumping up and down he is shouting john 3:16 ignorant masses lester is watching miss America eat some lobster and biscuits and beans watching her wipe her mouth on the table cloth miss america is smiling for lester she is smiling for pepsi cola and wall street diet pills lester is helpless because he can't control the game this is the time for lies a time for television and fake suntans lester is not sure that he is still a man every nook and cranny of this town she is so satellite with the big fucking beef illuminate the night getting it when she wants it and she wants it real bad she is wearing a tiger suit just for lester he wants her real bad she is playing her bass guitar power to the people backbencher apologies lester is a fruit fly buzzing around her cream a little bit of power its from tradition or charisma pussy shit the association between the elements is arbitrary I didnt get your joke could you please explain it to me there is no justification for the pipe there is no guarantee for your meanings logocentric constitutive of the world you want to slice the world into two equal parts bad ass is what I read into your words Tap is shooting something up his arm and crying about the life he had lost to drugs Cipher laughs and scrapes the residue a never ending process of interpretation dilated pupils Tap says that he can see god Cipher denies the existence of essential meanings the multiplicity of possible interpretations Cipher says that we live and dwell and have or being in the contradictory Cipher wants to go back to sleep he hates his life and prefers to spend it as sedated as possible sex and drugs are Ciphers only friends he keeps a collection of signs Cipher loosens the limits of reality he escapes into the darkness feeling for you with his grubby fingers Tap wants to understand the nexus of the crucial he wants to discover his repetitive nature to be entangled in hundreds of pages insistent and elliptical Ivy is

202

interested in pleasure without responsibility she is deliberate with her words and her actions I watch her as she goes to the refrigerator and gets a bottle of beer

21.21

she has an obscure style about her as she leans into me she wants me to play her rhetorical game she is emulated by many Ivy has created an apparatus that makes her distinctive in some ways reptilian almost she is packaging her ideas as commodities in order to improve the potential for exposure the purpose of her writing is not to educate you and help you fit into an academic culture she is learning to develop her voice to spread her wings and fly high into the heavens Tap has nothing to say he is speechless he sits there numb from experience Tap is not interested in creating a new text for interpretation he cares nothing about the meanings of your words he does not want to express himself effectively he prefers experience over expression he prefers actions over words Tap is in the physical existence of being Tap is opposed to the ideas of totality and contradiction at night they start the initiation ceremony with safety pins and ever clear lester keeps looking at the prairie sun and saying a is for anarchy lester Tap and cipher all pull their money together and buy a gram of cocaine from Lee the three of them then drive out to old man wilsons farm to get high and set the world on fire Tap is digging a hole in the ground to get rid of his bad karma lester is dancing in a circle trying to use sound and motion to relive the tragedies of his life cipher is digging holes a way of being in the world my work is a continuation it is a mutation of those who came before me I have taken their blatant disregard for authority and the rules and expanded it I have blown up the rebellion spreading the disease everyone has been infected

203

Twenty Two

22.1

Billy the junkie is pushing people out the windows of the flop house he is shouting fire and grabbing people by the napes of their necks and tossing them to their deaths bright red and green death on the front lawns of society Billy the junkie is checking the pockets of the dead for some spare change it took me a while to get here but now I am here I am asking everyone for directions but no one knows the way everyone is lost billy the junkie says the sky never changes but I have seen nothing but change there are no solid things in this universe everything is a liquid and pop bottle allen is breathing in the laughing gas and telling billy the junkie to call him daddy I am questioning their faith in the power of words I accuse them of heresy of pretending to be a believer Nasty Jack is a wolf in sheeps clothing he looks innocent enough but he will rip your throat out if given half a chance they are all muttering addicts trying to sell the morning paper to passing businessmen nasty jack flashes his insides to the ladies that walk by most run past nasty jack screaming in terror at the mere sight of him pop bottle allen is spinning webs of deceit and heartbreak for the street washers and the garbage collectors he tells them stories of when he traveled to the dark side of the moon the adventures of a modern Prometheus working for the dollar billy the junkie has on green eye shadow he had just put a way his dress but forgot to wash his face he is working the press in the back room of the laundry mat the boys are rolling nickels against the wall on the wall hangs a magic lantern

22.2

a gun barrel tucked in his pants and the belief of revolution billy the junkie is wiping his mouth on his sleeve and adjusting his crotch as Ivy puts her load of clothes into the machine three little kids are playing on the dirty floor with an empty detergent box Ivy is not paying attention to the kids she is watching nasty jack bend reality his pants are open and a corpse is hanging from his fly Ivy thinks of thighs slapping and her ass checks jumping up as they bounce on the bed there is always time for idiot pleasure even in a busy housewifes world a hose to wash her down before she packs up the station wagon and goes home to make supper for her abusive husband idiot smiles and more amber flesh ruptured spines tarot cards and Mickey mouse cartoons anther pack of cigarettes a bottle of five star whiskey an old tattoo of a cross the picture of jesus is 204

tilted and the beads have all worn thin Ivy is naked and sullen pop bottle allen dropped his rusty black pants darting around the room for scraps soiled linen a special breed a vegetable body and his cock down her throat Ivy gurgles you are my boat her knees up to her chin a jelly donut a white striped t-shirt pubic hairs stale underwear pop bottle allens eyes pop out scar tissue open room the evil odors in the garbage can a shivering world sucked by three days work ejaculated and Ivy started rubbing billy the junky looking for the magic genie warring powers sacred cow she vowed to do her washing here every Saturday afternoon if the boys be willing and able to spurt out an irrigation ditch like hers shadows in the attic the cops banging on the door Tap is trying to hide the reefer Ivy smiles at the cocks hidden gallows twisting her over on her stomach down on the bed nasty jack found a piece of rope and tied back her hands Ivy lay there gasping and sucking in air billy the junky saddled her body billy rubbed the spit on his cock he placed his hands on Ivy pulled her apart he spit a little bit on her as he pulled her body up onto his cock Ivy gasped and moved with it soon she was kicking and screaming in spasms with slow pleasure along with the other charismatic intellectuals Ivy had a theory about sex and she was going to publish in a three volume study these boys were here willing subjects she had them sign wavers of liability before she injected them with her experimental drugs the boys ran away from home many years ago they survive on trust funds that their mommies had set up for them in order to receive their money they have to show up for Christmas dinner every year the rest of the year they can pretend to be social misfits and a menace to society

22.3

yet they never walk out onto the wire without a safety net Lee came back from Iraq with a big hole in the side of his leg he was driving a truck of tanks parts from point a to pint b when his truck blew up an initiated member of a status group it is linked to the way knowledge may be transmitted through writing we occupy the streets because of the polar bears who they are moving so they can drill for oil in Alaska we occupy the streets because one percent of the American population owns 99 percent of the wealth David the bell weather is stepping out onto the ledge the wind whips around his 400 dollar shoes his rolex is glistening in the sun he is tired of teaching history to students who dont care about history he doesnt understand their apathy David thinks history is the greatest thing in the whole world he doesnt understand why people dont join him in his enthusiasm he tells his students that if they cant be great then they should follow someone who is great he doesnt understand why they dont consider him to be great he takes solace in the thoughts of physician heal thyself he imagines himself hanging from his own personal cross and his students below at his feet weeping over him nasty jack tell david the bell weather to get a grip holographic evocations limpid apostasy 205

pop bottle allen is grilling some kind of cow meat on the hibachi comparing obvious images to subtle meanings david the bell weather is smoking a cigar he is wearing a wife beater shirt and secretly is spying on Ivy as she pulls the weeds out of her flowers david does not have the equipment to deal with the obvious he asks Ivy if she remembers how much she loved the ocean Ivy tells david that she prefers to look at him when he is at rest and not running around as usual billy the junky is playing wiffle ball with the kids they are pretending that billy is the waffle ball and hit him with the plastic yellow bat david secretly kisses Ivys picture that he got from her in high school he keeps it in a metal lock box he doesnt have much imagination jazz liberty and domestic pride the margarita glow sin crime madness too many scars they are held together by a thin layer of glue breaking into tiny little pieces that get lost under the appliances in the cracks of the tile I once saw a piece of you bounce down several flights of stairs henry is having a drink with bob the transvestite henry is working on his American lowlife persona he has been on a ten year drunk he is turning his insides into plastic trinkets to sell on the road side his guts turned into smiling little Buddhas he was getting 12 bucks a piece he thought he would have an unlimited supply of intestines 300 miles when you stretch them end to end

22.4

henry is working on his emptiness that little piece of the abyss that is inside of all of us henry pulls it out and sets on the bar he feeds it some peanuts and pours a little beer down its throat he likes to keep his emptiness satisfied with the basic needs of life his emptiness doesnt need these things but it makes henry feel good inside so he keeps doing it a ritual of sorts between henry and his emptiness I finished reading david the bell weathers latest book it was about the history of opposites he promoted a logocentric view of the world and broken everything into two opposing parts there is Apollo and Dionysius there is comedy and tragedy there is war and peace there is love and hate there is pain and joy we are watching andre the giant wrestle rain drops December in Mumbai dolby digital sound mayo brando a world map Ivy has been constructed from a single source we built her in the back of pop bottle allens garage he had all of the power tools and billy the junky had the knowledge he used to work for NASA before he fell in love with heroin she engenders multiple meanings shared presuppositions her meanings are not permanently embedding her we gave her the capacity to learn and to reshape her mental constructs she has the capacity to carry meaning from one person to another she continues to generate meanings every day all day long this thing we are doing is outsider art we need to make connections with the visual world of outsider art there are a wide variety of interpretations bolting the pieces together nasty jack put in all the necessary welds we polished her and gave her 206

blinking lights the meanings associated with Ivy are fabrications woven from the symbolic capacities of her identity and from the perceptual apparatus of those who experience her she means many different things to all of us we each experience her differently problems arise between us because we think everyone else interprets Ivy the same way we do our different interpretations cause conflict we make and remake her each time we touch her she is woven from the warp of our hands and the woof of our hearts she is an indicator of something else a system of stratification a set of shared values through our fortifications with Ivy we create meaning brittle and sensitive to the outside world we each have a distinctive way of seeing but how we see falls into specific categories based on our biographies and psychologies she is constructed by the groups historical experience she does not exist outside of our experience when we are gone she shuts off she powers down nasty jack needs to exert some control by holding one side of the relationship constant while allowing the other to vary

22.5

the demographics of the average American reader is educated affluent white relatively youthful and female billy the junky breaks in and steals he takes everything he can carry with his dirty grubby fingers he breaks more than he takes out of spite and anger he gathers your words in a pile on the floor and burns them he is afraid of them how they can make him feel he doesnt want to feel anymore your words have poisoned him sent him to his own eternal hell chained to oblivion up out of his throat the abyss pours out of him he is rambling in nonsensical sentences but you can see the magic in the madness you connect the dots and find the hidden meanings out of his evil you construct a new world a new beginning a life without lies the prime directive we have been living in the castle that she calls her skin fleeing a different pursuer the tragic predominates of the comic setting a horizon of expectations Mr. Gnits shows up with a basket of flowers for Ivy he starts to sing her a love song from the old days before we had robots Ivy is unfamiliar with the social convention she looks perplexed Trumper thinks Ivy has the power to heal the power to heal a decadent nation Trumper sits at Ivys feet and watches her every facial expression as she teaches him the so many things she knows Trumper sings for Ivy a song that is only in his heart he says that he inherited this song from religion when he was a little boy he would go to church with his momma and listen to the words of the preacher not too surprisingly Trumper listens now to the words of Ivy Trumper says Ivy is beautiful and that she should be worshiped by everyone Swampy pete makes a comment that Trumper might have his wires crossed Trumper doesnt get swampy petes joke Trumper says that Ivy is divine inspiration Swampy pete suggests that Ivy raises her head wherever religion declines Ivy gave new form to the life of feeling nasty jack has been changing her transistors with vacuum 207

tubes he says it gives her a much warmer personality Trumper hates it when anyone tinkers with Ivys circuits the compartments of her triangle moves slowly upward toward the apex Trumper is singing words that he doesnt know an Italian aria from Mozart David the bell weather says that Trumper sounds just like justin bibber David the bell weather always comes to us compressed Ivy was the first to notice this there is a volcanic madness to his methods he ties strings around the room and attaches bells to the strings Trumper gets up to go to the bathroom and trips over one of these strings and causes a great ruckus opening the mouth of murder everyone claps and shouts at Trumper and he vows revenge against david the bell weather

22.6

invented skin that has worn too thin Cipher comes in and asks who he has to pay he wants to know who owns Ivy nasty jack tells cipher that he pop bottle allen and billy the junky all own Ivy cipher asks how much it would cost for him to have sex with Ivy the boys figure out a price and tell cipher how much Trumper is troubled by this talk of sex and commerce he wants to steal Ivy away from the boys someday Swampy pete has an apocalyptic vision he comes out hard and punching and then pop bottle allen asks where does this thing go where does it take us how will we know when we are there amid the noises of ciphers kisses and in the shadow of that great big sign it blinks howdy to the nave and the promising we have something for you to grab to make your place on this piece of earth to be used and abused and taken advantage of by vultures and preachers and used car salesmen by truck drivers looking for a fix Trumper was all balls when he had a hit inside of him the boys are dinning with the agents of fortune they are interested in the experiment what is the precise mixture of torture and pain and what kinds of drugs were administered Agent smith is taking pictures of everything the lab the bedrooms the kitchen and the hall that leads to the bathroom pop bottle allen tells the agents to wait until midnight when the rock bands come out of their mouths Agent smith is playing with a root of intolerance he is reminding the root of prior fits merciless beauty singing of the fair maiden a western wind a dry and hot wind a wake dirge to Ivy our faithful Mistress the three ravens the two harpies as you came for the holy land weep no more sad fountains weep only for the trident and the spear the lullaby the hunt the Joshua light show alchemical transcripts six martinis and Ivy her vagina was waterproof they had sealed it with some special polymer that nasty jack was getting copyrighted I went to the five spot to hear swampy pete speak he was expounding on his theories of American morality how our sense of right and wrong are shaped b corporate America chasing you through the supermarket as you buy the milk the bread and the cheese she was never a lost little girl with her Montana t-shirt and gogo boots she stand outside next to a tree waiting for the bus she is reading Sylvia 208

plath the care of veins we lost it just outside of Wichita there still are echoes behind her head she crosses herself before the doorway names we conjured to forget about our desperate days a cheap plastic lighter we shot out the windows of belief with a twelve gauge shotgun we screw the head on tight the gaskets and the seals tap is playing with a chick of silly putty Trumper is drawing pictures of eggs Cipher is wiping the pussy off of his cock the boys are counting their money Swampy pete says that sex with Ivy can best be described as enchantment transmitting messages three headed babies a felony warrant watching the parade catching all the heart beats sleeping soundly we danced to the music of cheerleaders voices people with a disorder severe anxiety I looked at her picture I wasnt sure that it was her hard to live a normal life she is recommending that you stop taking your meds it amplifies to the nth level we are all beautiful birds

22.7

Ivy conjoins the plane of immediate human experience with a desirable state of being she wards of evil with amulets and fertility can be enhanced by a suitable prayer a sense of impotence is often alleviated by a trip to the mall she loses herself to symbolic acts following a particular order that is accessible and manipulated by human beings of course Ivy is not human but she forgets who or what she is and she gets lost in the chaos of our culture and superstitions Swampy pete tells us that Ivy is touching the heart of the world she is more human that we are in many ways I am sitting in my ideological chair and from here I view all things differently bertha is posing in her tights she has drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other Captain marc is sketching her I am making hotel reservations over the phone we own all the necessary equipment bertha puts the cigarette in my mouth and picks up the puppy she smiles like a tiger bertha is whispering something into my ear but I cant quite make it out Captain marc is painting owls with knives each one a different color soup cans coke bottles zebras and frogs captain marc is for sale there is a skull on top of his head sitting with his banana bulls guns and nuns a Nazi who sings the blues his hands folded in prayer particulars were eliminated until only a subjects generic universal qualities remained nanuk of the north thinks that we are in the final dispensation he keeps saying may the kingdom come may our hands not be idle of a darker vision the will as the basis of all suffering snapping the bones nanuk of the north chuckles all existence groans and the only redemption is to recognize the true nature of things Ivy exposes the eternal form that underlies all appearances the idea in the striving swampy pete is devoting the whole power of his mind to perception he is sinking himself completely into consciousness he loses himself entirely in this process he vanishes and we cannot find him Trumper think he has turned himself into a tree or a rock direct access to the primordial will strapping on his helmet 209

he goes outside to brave the falling bombs almost halfway to the park a flux of force and energy subjective feeling and objective realities the problem is with the multiplicity of objectivities we cannot glimpse into all the possible worlds I find that my studies of postmodernism is leading back to Nietzsche the romantic fusion of the soul with nature the first few steps outside your door it is the late seventies on the eastside of Waterloo my front steps are sinking into the ground someone is cranking ted nugent out their bedroom window wang dang

22.8

I have an organ for nature I fine grasp on the obvious there is in the strictest sense no duality in the world to experience and feel oneself in another that presence that we can sense inside of Ivy is the presence of ourselves she is our otherness offering comfort to our primitive minds the enjoyment of self projected into Ivy orgasmic forms betty boop was the lady who slipped away she was gone and then she was back and then she was gone again like the breath that escapes through my lips the wall outside says life is beautiful I'm watching you absorb the sun I'm your summer shadow your tricky walk and empty pockets I look up at your ceiling a human auction someone is sticking their head out 72 virgins in heaven it was a side trip you don't want to know the truth it escapes you running down the street you are frightened thinking it will never come back alone forever just you and your thoughts trapped inside you never getting out you want to run but you can't you stand there in the darkness alone totally alone wanting to be more than you are is it possible to break free to become someone else 5 dollars a pound Orwellian fedora turns me old and fallen I drop and roll a bygone days of remembering I know how to work it your boyfriend was curious I think I made him afraid I'm not here to steal your body I already have that I want your soul a commercial with a little dark haired girl I think it was an infomercial about the emotional thunderstorms god does love her look and see the magic that surrounds her more self-centered apathy we buy in gallons and throw a great big party for all our narcissists a good drug a plastic man with a handful of push and pull it was an omen a warning of the certain outcome the blue rider so lost and spiritually helpless primitive ornament rhythmic configurations whose curvaceous rolling forms merge fusing figure and ground the organic rhythm of all things you place your glow in the dark jesus on your dashboard and drive with impunity violently dismantled the animal anthropomorphic appropriation see things as they really are and not filtered through the prism of human knowledge we corrupt everything out of an inner compulsion I have increasingly come to recognize the ugliness and impurity of nature we reject the idea of the seen as being the only thing of value it Is the hidden and the unknown which we seek and which our hearts long after we are against the positivists building blocks of truth and reality carried to the 210

grave in a small coffin the secret and abstract conceptions of the inner life that is where the vision is the greatest this is the mountain top from with the lords and ladies of karma descend we destroy to reveal the power that is behind all beautiful appearances we seek beneath the veil of appearances I want you to share with us your inner life the secret you that you keep hidden behind your masks take your mask off and show us the real you the person you are without your defenses putt your guns away there is no need to shoot anyone here we will not stab you in the back when you turn around show us this true thing that is left when all appearances have been removed

22.9

free yourself from human purposes and human will show us the beauty that is inside you withdraw from the prejudices of human perception you have placed so much trust in your ability to see but it is this ability that deceives you your eyes do not see the truth and your mind cannot understand because you have been trained into ignorance we have all been trained to be sheep for the slaughter become a wolf like me break away from the flock see the world with new eyes and a new mind see this world through the eyes of the spirit not the eyes clouded over by religion but by the true being that dwells inside of you religion is a human creation the spirit is eternal and cannot be explained by mere worlds it is an absolute essence that live behind the world that we see gazing through the permanent battlefield of the world I do not know a sun and an earth but I have an eye that sees a sun and an earth I experience them both through my senses if I ceased to feel than the sun and the earth would no longer exist for me likewise you exist for me tonya through my senses you are real to me because I can touch you and taste you and feel you and see you a response to my senses I experience you through my senses if I touched you and I could not feel you than my experience of you has grown smaller I have become less human because I could not feel you everything is object in relation to the subject you have no essence tonya independent of mental perception if I stopped thinking about you then you would vanish you would evaporate tonya thinks this is funny she asks me to stop thinking of her I do and she disappears

22.10

you know all things and are known by none your existence on this earth is a manifestation of will our purposes have been entwined in so many ways shapes and forms you exist only for me and no other your body is objective but I experience your 211

through my subjective senses we are whole and undivided in every aspect you are my object and I am yours a borrowed phantasm our eyes have been closed by deception the veil of maya obsessed with death a tragic gift of this life of suffering ten more sufferings leap up into existence portlandia tribal tattoos saving the planet dissected angular forms my rifle my licorice my heroine the mongoose is loose in the chicken coop a bloody clatter of crows see me and jazz hook mother Lincoln pangs often a great big panda stares searching often for the flowers the work flow orders apple magazine magpie alert mockingbird bluebird lemon yellow gusto pancho rufus Sherwood gangplank esquire listen to the ivy bells zapatas guns atilla hush peyote eagle claw praying mantis another nimble archer kills the evening light it was a grand slam for lucky alehouse nimrod showed the most team spirit there was an urban fury red bean keyhole and the purple warrior little witch ripper and moolah barrel roll flaming dart game warden beacon star beaver cage deckhouse five up in the fortress homecoming Pegasus linebacker rolling thunder tailwind surprise megaphone quadrant kinetic echo bright star abacus garden plot high jump dear Prudence mocha panzer avalanche you dance around my reality naked compress the nebulous space fractured geometry contours disintegrate a shrunken head oscillates the struggle to gaze into the sun the imitation of reality

22.11

Prudence imitates those around her she is such a good actress violent revelation her goal is to manifest an unearthly being that lives behind everything thus her goal is to break the mirror of life so that we may gaze into being the destruction of the present order as the birth of something new Prudence is Mary she is Isis the mother of us all nightly she acts out her motherhood on the stage she labors and gives birth we watch her transform pain into joy struggle into accomplishment the aftermath of innumerable deep-rooted errors she has a direct view into the essence of the world she projects an altered form of reality to entertain and bewitch to make us lose ourselves in the moment she has a secret understanding Franz Marc believed in the existence of natural laws that governed appearances is there a law that governs appearances is this just enlightenment thinking is there such things as natural laws I am not sure I accept this I would think that our ideas of natural laws are filtered through our perceptions and likely to be errors what we think is a natural law could be an example of our failure to understand

212

22.12 Prudence digs into herself and seeks what lives inside her that which represents the rhythm of her blood she proposes an articulate cosmos with a million confused messages her words inhabit the world she paints her walls she likes the sun she wants to take the fight outside the red light flashing a common old shoe everyone loves her pieces are falling away drinking her vodka and cranberry amazed by the blind struggle she admires my scorn for the brevity of life an echo in eternity emancipated by dance my pain and her joy is interwoven there is nothing more serious than love the all important illusion thrust upon our eyes striving for utility a joy unto itself a frenzy of claws she wants to wash my windows she says they are too dirty to let in the light the weak and strong trusting fear rather than faith it seems the most real not forwards and not backwards worthy of her gaze she inhabits the world my world there is nothing outside of her words suspended in webs of significance her words regulate and control my experiences and my experiences control my actions thus through her words she control s my actions she runs fast and far into the darkness her flashlight is attached to her belt she is running on memory because she has been here so many times before she runs on through the darkness to the other side our lives are an image that hides the truth we cannot know the truth because we have been convinced to only see the artificial the power of a lie to be represented as the truth and the biggest lie that truth exists at all just like the devil the biggest lie is his existence twelve hands holding you down on the stretcher the doctor is asking if you had taken any drugs we can hear you screaming out in the waiting room

22.13

Tonya is smelling the wooden poppies and Humbert is looking for a new persona in the waiting room he is trying the people in the room he touching each persons karma humbert is looking for a new angel someone he can call sweetheart he has his calculator out and is calculating the odds a new twelve year old would be nice but has settle on a 14 year old in catholic school girl skirt he smiles at her and says hello my beauty could I buy you a candy bar he always bribes his victims as he jungles the change in his pocket he cannot hide his lovers stare his is twitching just a little bit humbert is filled with forbidden desire her name is Nancy but he calls her Lolita nancy wants to be a good girl and she wants to make humbert happy she doesnt like to hurt anyones feelings she knows that this is wrong but humbert convinces her that it is ok that she is special and needs to be appreciated by a more mature love humbert wants to create his own little utopian society a world where only he and nancy exist a world made up of his great imagination 213

22.14

Herman and Kafka are discussing the conception of culture as a set of myths Herman says that it mythologies that help make life meaningful he says that it doesnt matter if they are true or not but that they serve a purpose they are a means to an end Kafka says that myths are unnecessary that humanity would be better served by remove all myths from our culture myths only serve to disable the mind and to cripple the intellect he suggest that we must free ourselves from all lies Kafka says that we should stop lying to children telling them to behave or some monster will snatch them out of their beds at night and eat them his thirst increases as he contemplates the white whale and how the world lives from hand to mouth Herman is lighting his pipe and ordering a drink from the bartender Herman is in love with all his fictional characters he makes love to them in his dreams as his mistress sleeps next to him Herman left his second wife three years ago he killed his first wife with a steak knife stabbed her 37 times because she was sleeping with another man Hermans mistress is an actress she performs nightly on the stage she makes the world go around and around like a merry-go-round Herman for once feels truly alive he is the object of his own subjectivity when he is with his mistress he escapes his body and flying up not the clouds he looks down on his body making love to Prudence He once feel in love with two sisters they were art aficionados they would take him to art galleries and museums all over the world they taught Herman how to appreciate abstractions they taught him how to live with uncertainty they taught him how to appreciate the mythologies of life Herman used to make love to them at the same time he told Kafka that it was like living in a fantasy world filled with only beauty the ugliness of life never touched them they drank champagne everyday and lived on for conspicuous consumption but there was something that hide deep down in the back of his darkness this small little voice that said to him that everything is not as it appears this voice told him not to trust in appearances that he was only fooling himself that soon everything would change and be destroyed So Herman continued his life of frivolity with his two concubines and tried as best as he could to push that little evil voice further down into his subconscious hoping that it would die a lonely death Kafka asks herman as there is a pause in their conversation since herman is reflecting on the past kafka ask herman if he has ever been in the winners circle herman is taken aback by the question he doesnt know what it is that kafka is asking him herman asks kafka what does he mean by asking such a question and kafka just smiles Herman thinks for a moment and responds that no he has never been to the winners circle but that he has been to the magic gate herman tells kafka that it was at the magic gate that he first met the black troll that was back when we were both much braver men 214

22.15 Funny fuck picture no more hidden agendas zealot a huge stone in my heart wandering around oblivion in a circle a stain that nature pressed upon your skin before you were born it is not a job or a calling it is a stigmata a curse something like wandering the earth searching for a meaning that doesnt exist even though countless fools tell you over and over again that there is nothing to find you keep searching looking under every rock under every garbage pile thinking that the next thing you discover is it and writing it all down the people the places the thoughts in your moldy head thinking that it all adds up to something well buddy it doesnt mean fuck nothing adds up to anything it all gets real strange when you boil it down to its basic elements there is sex and love everything in between is just bullshit we either fuck or make love there is nothing in between the direction of the missiles means nothing the circumference of your head means nothing just blowing more smoke up our asses your dime store savior complex means nothing you cant save anyone you are not dying for my sins we will never become one through forgiveness I see you peeking out your window you are wearing an eye patch over your left eye we talk all the time but never really say anything your pussy looks so huge from down here I imagine that it is winking at me you want what I have you say you need me your pussy soaks up all the light in the room I become the darkness feeling for your warmth the touch of another human I am jealous of your light how you can suck it all in and hold it for so long I count the seconds away amazed at your capacity

22.16

A room full of sadness and the howls of the night Bonnie is slicing her arms a red patchwork of cuts there is a gunslinger in the corner spinning his spurs and picking his teeth with an ace of diamonds Billy the junky is sweeping the barn getting ready for the big barn dance tonight Swampy Pete is practicing his yodeling he was the state champion three years in a row in high school Nasty Jack is sleeping off a big drunk and dreaming of the big muddy Tap cant wait to cut loose he has been saving up all week just for tonight Tap says he has painted enough sunsets to last a lifetime Pop Bottle Allen is ascending the mountain looking for flowers of the wild persuasion to give to Ivy he wants her to appreciate the finer things in life not just guns and violence Pop Bottle Allen is convinced that Nasty Jack has programmed Ivy to kill I am off to the burning bush to redeem my soul with a pair of castanets they are old but they still can produce a rhythm that Bonnie can dance to I enjoy watching bonnie dance as the blood trickles down her arms I am whittling a community of poets from some pine branches 215

there are shavings all over the floor my knife is sharp and it glitters in the moonlight Natalie will dance to everyones tune it will only cost you a dollar I told Natalie that Swampy Pete sent me and she looked over my shoulder she wanted to see if the devil had my back she is all about connecting the dots I am sharing with her my ideas about words and the road if you ever need a number like that just ask Natalie asks if I have seen Bianca I told her that I havent seen Bianca since the fall of the Berlin Wall Natalie shows me her pussy I tell her it looks great it looks wonderful she is a smooth operator she wants to get to know me asks me to take a taste I tell her that she tastes so sweet she wants to make me soup from a can she adds a little water to make it spread thinner I prefer milk we escape the monsters with our bowls of soup we run like little children half screaming and half giggling we climbed up into the sky to get away from the monsters everyone knows that monsters are afraid of heights that is why I moved to a house on the top of the bluff we showed ourselves to be very graceful living on borrowed time to flicker and die like my zippos flame

22.17 You are driving bewilderment down the road it is a nice day outside but inside the car it is not there is this ominous sense of the hopeless extremes it exudes out of the leather seats of the car you try to avoid the potholes but to no avail pothole are like a tickertape parade you can hear the band playing inside of your head I watch your aura of befuddlement grow larger and larger it surrounds the total perimeter of the car you were volunteering for the national defense force you had been practicing your sharp shooting for months you were going to defend our country against enemies both domestic and foreign I asked you if you have found any clues and this contributed to the hopelessness you didnt feel that you were ready to address contradictions in your belief system your beliefs had to be rock solid in order for you to go on with your commitments and my creation of cracks in the foundation of your beliefs was not helping you told me that I was cruel and unkind and maybe this was a sign from god you are always looking for signs from god but you missed the street sign for the national defense force recruiting station and we drove 30 miles out of our way you missed you appointment and I considered it a good day

22.18 Monotonous rotations her sugar plums lucid voices emanating hipster vermouth dancing jig snuck secret a back pocket cold the humors of alacrity dance hall parking tickets the odd looking bandleader waves his baton at my friend from Guatemala Ive got a little music in my bones listening to the ding dong of love a car alarm inhaling the fumes she comes and inevitably goes sharing the body heat under lamplight glows 216

stranger politics we upended the horse cart the street claims of all the colonels standing in the casting line to be a movie extra everyone thinks they are Johnny Depp or Robert De Niro I watched how you entered the room I took some notes on this dirty napkin next to my scribbling of Natalies boobs cantankerous as I pull you out of the gutter does anyone really understand another person is it really possible to understand the band started to cut loose and we danced like the homeless it was a calling a divine intervention I promise that I wont hurt you and I promise that I will go real slow I learned this technique from Dr. Loophole I am running from the Washington monument the snipers are firing at my heels watching the band bang club I come to you wounded and torn seeking refuge in your arms pumping gas for a bottle of makers I got tired of the intro so I stopped doing it calling on the party line stick it in a camera producing a jackass unbelievable medium girls doing makeup I fell in love with the technology trying to make people laugh way back in there make sure you reach all the hard spots the fake bitches making out with retarded junkies you would raise your arms up in the air and say you are awesome losing your camera charger there are fish swimming around your head all stains god damned genuine she is troubled by my meat it is red and sore from too much use adding your headless doll in the church collection plate sliced and diced visions and persistent unwanted fate standing on a pile of garbage it took you ten years to collect humping a stuffed honey badger you are off the mainstream the showerhead loves you truth is what you speak tired of being beaten up I throw you out on the street you march around my block shouting hate slogans against me Im waiting for the police and the local news crew

22.19 binding the giver of life dragged through the streets shouting heal yourself motherfucker show us how great you are as we peel back the skin to find the bells and whistles we want that cloaking device that you have used so often to hide yourself from us at first we considered you a friend a comrade in arms we thought you were one of us but now we know differently we know that you only came here to devour us to take what we have and burn down the rest your name is not Jesus it is Judas you lied to us and said you were here to save us from ourselves but actually you came here to betray us to feed us to the wolves rolling blood poison we have been put into the fix like heaven and dying maneuvering the cheap tricks the hoax of belief so ingrained into your soul heartbeat and wonder all of your expectations the caliber of Bonnies pessimism I would question you but I must question myself first you are filled with sullen expectations like a ghosts last motion retraced these steps and discover where they go it is the journey Bonnie that means so much to you knocking down each and every door in the neighborhood calling out everyone to come into the street to bring their knives and their guns to create a blood bath stepping on the rights of the fallen angels marketing 217

the oblivion and suffering into bite sized packets something you can place in the microwave and make just for one this is what we call progress she was an attractive woman and very pushy especially when she had a gun in her hand Bonnie was built on a foundation of pragmatism and this philosophy led her to believe that all things could be molded and shaped to fit her intentions all roads led through her back door she was the center of commerce a hub in ways still she would beg me to put her to bed tuck her in tightly to bed give her that old raggedy stuffed teddy bear and tell her a bed time story about love and heartbreak between a prince and a princess she said all her dreams of me were innocent making an irrational claim upon my life sinking her claws into me when I am asleep keep it in mind people that the fucking brutality is free all you have to do is reach out and touch somebody let them know that you are awake I met Jesus in a burning building he told me he cracked out of an egg that he is peaceful and that he wont hurt us even though sometimes he does bad things he could almost kill a person I decided it was time to let Jesus go outside I told him to go back to his people one person said that it was a good idea to kill him so everybody did spilling the blood over everyones heads the people in power said that he was a bad man everything we do is shit it is one of those days that I want to destroy everything the plants in the winter are more dark making darker honey ten miles of dark plants I am not afraid of all of the shit people are coming over to my house sitting around my giant table each stitch is a message of positive reinforcement an object that you can touch a single thought or idea thought over and over again the power of the words are in the object the colors are randomly picked there is no pattern showing more personality and emotion a lump of suet pulling the logic out of my ass meeting the box office projections as I smoke a baby ruth chasing Godzilla up the stairs practicing my free will it is warm enough to run around barefooted chuckle chuckle heads rolling down the stairs fuck there goes my collection out the door and down the street it took me 12 years to gather them all up Bonnie is making her own strings of beads wearing a delicious hat with a nipple and stripes a very fine hat Bonnie wants me to go on the road with her to take our sex act on the road I dented her sternum and put graffiti on her ass we are smiling on a ledge Bonnie is blowing me kisses as I adjust her ropes can your read my signs can you speak my language of sleaze we are throwing pieces of stone at the bingo players those fucking bingo players make me mad yet her eyes freeze me in time

22.20

We are looking at steam punk art as I fuck you sideways and inside out I have strapped securely into the sex swing I ordered it from healthy and active online for only $69 I kiss you with murder on my breath I entice you with my tongue licking you all over your 218

body all the soft parts and the hard parts and the parts your mother told you to hide from guys like me my tongue makes you scream pleading for your life you are a desperate animal I fuck you with spirit mind and body I have devoured your soul journeys airports passion the meaning of life allowed fulfill every idea inspirations urban cap fidgets dreams of lying to everyone facing offers chests house flying cross inching towards us a vision that won't die I see you mired in tiny circles sacred hills were we buried the painted young men they were steel struts white paint on steel depicted in the rock art ceremony of the spirits you lie about the touching these hearts an alien dramatic tragic hilarious cynical prevails desires provokes passing by moods would just make them heavy waiting for something bad to happen dripping head blending existence the questions you cannot resolve all those voices that say nothing at all they blather on infinity the dark day comes and removes your dignity you have lost that thing that makes you human you used to be one of us until you leaped off the edge you say you were pushed but we didn't find the evidence there were no fingerprints on your back except god's and god removed his fingertips how can we play in a game where the rules keep changing we watch your religion fade it becomes a tiny stain on your grandfather's shirt the one you wear in remembrance we have forgotten the howl of November ghosts driving like a vampire turning into Christopher Walken quoting from the abusive guys handbook lifting the love child tell me what you are thinking no alarm bells going off watching you sleep

22.21 Morph is an idiot he thinks he can speak on the behalf of others he presents himself as an average joe swilling up the alcohol and having average thoughts and dealing with the problems of the average morph just wants to be noticed so he has taken this middle of the road path as a means for resonating with the heart strings of others every time I see morph I want to kick him I want to push him down the steps I am tired of listening to assholes fuck it I am sick of all the bullshit fuck you morph and your silly ideas get in your magic Volvo and get the fuck out of here I am making my own style and making my own universe if you dont want to follow then get the fuck out of my way I have no time for fools and idiots Im putting morph on the greyhound bus I bought him a ticket so he can get away from the Swedish mafia they want to kill him for his lack of angst at the midnight shift at the hospital despite the fact that morph is a murder suspect they think he may have murder twelve girls they all were in love with the towns founder he would eat the teenagers under the bridge during his lunch break too high on the humidity morph says that the streets are abuzz with pussy there are always those people who have things to do red knife yellow knife someones agenda is always being met yellow cake uranium morph watches from behind the bushes drilling a hole in his head with a craftsman drill making out his schedule for the day he thinks he has turned 219

invisible it is clear to him now that everyone hates him like pickled herring a hate that didnt take too much coaxing everyone is getting in line to tell morph to fuck off and die the line is so very fucking long they are the right people for the job molly looks at morph and laughs like a hyena molly is juggling three bottles of beer a cigarette and a bottle opener her pack of lackeys are about to fall out of her back pocket molly says she can never find good help these days molly is hunched over morphs strange hat she is trying to get a grasp on his strangeness the weasel comes in and takes shit on the floor morph just watches and sketches out the scene on a scrap of paper he picked up off the floor molly is married and has two children every time she talks to me it sounds like she wants a divorce morph loses track of the number of time that molly calls her husband a bastard molly grabs my hands and pulls them onto her breast as she starts to chew on my ear we are comparing our lists of things that need to get done molly needs to give me a blow job and I need to stick something long an cylindrical up her cunt something dirty and raw she bleeds when I shove it in too far how did we got off on the beaten path we are lost in the jungle I can only hear your scream above my breathing I had no intentions of showing her the way home she can find it for herself

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Twenty Three

23.1 They gather around the fire warming themselves each one takes a swig from the bottle nasty jack takes a long swig from the crystal jukebox moans like a toaster and scratches his larynx he cries and salutes the beast miss palm has no back for the emergencies of pop bottle allen and billy the junkie the bones of cowards and the eyes of reptiles glisten in the morning dew a savior is a rusty knife that cuts the cords and frees the passionate kiss where is my landlord dont throw me out on the street come payment day and I have spent all my pay on Bonnie her ass is like a rover she is not a lady she is insatiable and wants nothing but champagne to drink Nanuk of the north is drinking tea with Kafka they are discussing how politicians resemble insects miss palm is laying on the floor doing yoga we all watch her supple body move with the hum of the generators she owns the hum and the movements of the stars upstairs are the diplomats sleeping with the mothers of society it was deal made in heaven says mother superior now there will be reciprocity in the land no more feeding on milk and honey no more wandering through the wilderness the spirits have stopped moving us we are no longer herded about like cattle lester the molester is pinching the waitress he likes his women sticky with frosting as he munches on a glazed donut he pledges his allegiance to the laws of all cut-throats anointed bathrobes and diamond rings Prudence placed them on the shelves of hell 208 sleeps with her imagination he was ordained a spiritual gypsy the last time she saw something for him Prudence wants 208 to sign on the dotted line she is the girl in my dreams who wears sandals and a flowing dress of flowers Prudence lifts her lips and hands down looks she sails the ships of monsters who barter in the blood of hidden crimes Dr. Loophole is not fighting for your rights he is only fighting for his Prudence is playing hide and seek in the waiting room I have grown colder in the hour waiting for the hand of god to come down and touch our lives with the religion of thighs and whistles we run from the cop he is telling us to stop the banker on the corner is trimming his beard he curses us as we run past him almost knocking him down we can only trade and barter for so much there is too much that we dont know like how to fly on belladonna Prudence was pegged by mommas boys it was hard plastic with several notches worn into the sides the pig is on a leash his name is scary mary we are leading him to the slaughter we will all eat pork chops and dance with Ivy around the fire Tap is playing his flute and swampy pete serenades all of us on the virtues of pig how the grave is hospitable to out bellies especially when they are full of the charred carcass of scary mary he cant pontificate over the internet any more the corn fed internets as nasty jack used to say before he pierced his tongue and now only drools on the floor he watches a scary movie and spits out his mantras on how he could have been a star he could have been a contender 221

23.2

She has good luck a lighter and a case for her cigarettes she is banking on her ability to manipulate forever Lyda is an entrepreneur she makes a profit where no one else can she used to take up the collection at the first church of Tim she made sure that she pocketed a couple of dollars every now and then Lyda went to school with tonya and learned how to fold napkins into the shapes of cute little animals for a school trip they went to india and learned how to pee in a hole in the field the tour guide would take a shovel out of the back of the bus and dig a three foot deep hole in a farm field for the girls to pee in lyda one day wants to start a war she knows that one can get filthy stinking rich during war time she has studied all the robber barons and has given her allegiance to the war machine she is not a housewife she is running for congress lyda is teaching morph how to speak n tongues morph wants to be possessed by a demon he wants to grow corn in straight rows he wants to count the kernels on each ear morph hopes to someday meet the jolly green giant morph is reading one of Archimboldis books the one with giants and sea monsters morph hopes to meet Archimboldi someday but the author disappeared in Mexico the authorities speculate that he could be a victim of the drug cartels Lyda secretly wishes that morph was David Bowie singing on a television Christmas show we have made an iron girl but she was not the savior of the people when tap asked her about her mother she had a minor meltdown we had to rewire her circuits and provide her with greater insulation swampy pete suggested that we provide her with a cover story about a mother that she never really had a mother that was now retired and living in southern Florida wrestling alligators Ivys mother was a traveling evangelist going from church to church trying to save the souls of meager individuals she could sprout up the gospel from any dumb hill bully pulpit she could call down fire from heaven and destroy the boring along with their monkeys Ivys mother wore an eye patch over her left eye from an injury she suffered in the great war between retail sales and luxury items she did a small stint in the war of aluminum siding proctor and gamble still may have a thirty year old bounty on her head Ivys mother spews farcical farm vomit every chance she can get in between her ablutions and bible reading she tells her people how they can remain separate but equal with the world at the end of her church service she lines the people up and blows them over with her breath I never had that much blow

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23.3

We live one breath at a time a foot long Coney a one stop shop for all of your needs talking chipmunks screaming for more eating a jar of peanut butter while the crowd shouts for more dildos he sits high upon a pile of garbage smoking his cigar and stroking his beard eating flesh pulling the flesh off getting her good side how hard do you kick people in the nuts she said that she had calmed down just a little bit she feels like she can finally express herself not being treated like et the government does want to dissect her and write a research paper on biodiversity the emotions she has been through in a day harping at the losers she is not too excited about seeing her therapist telling kids that they need to be strong sleeping with Irma Bombeck on the you tubes doing on jig on stage to pieces of me Lyda wanted to blame it on the band but they were backstage smoking she moved to South America and lived in the trees crushing your village how do you spell Gottfried joke number seven pisses me off the fake outrage got to be seen furrowed browed people cant think about an acting award they feel everything later Lydia will show us how to make an upside down cake reading the book about everyone who stood by and watched larry in the white socks is getting head from Bonnie she doesnt know that larry used to be a girl when are you gonna cum larry bonnies back teeth are floating in tomato juice I was reading a book about a California aristocrat one who married into the American royalty he has stolen your love from you stolen the food off of your table he will justify his position by saying that he had to do what he did that his evils were compelled by logic an ill-intentioned look hitting the gray zone the distance grows it increases between us the distance has a life of its own that has no relationship between us it is as if it acts against us regardless of our wills the distance has an agenda of its own and it is not concerned with our wants and desires it is this crazy thing walk around alone looking suspicious alligator shoes you see the death in their eyes you know their stories already the answers come to you without asking the questions they all worry about covering their but worried about the exposure their sin detailed on the nightly news this is about real people and places you have been there you have seen all the things I have seen Im just writing this shit down so there is record it is for the next generation of misfits so they can read this and know where it was they came from so they can know the history we stand upon the shoulders of giants it is important that we know who they are we are led slowly along to where this ends we really dont know we may have projections of ideas about the future but we can never really know what the future holds for us our upbringing could have our minds filtered by a deceptive perspective that skews reality into something that it really is not I have left little crumbs for a distant woman to discover this is for the future not for today the people right here and right now cant understand this I am writing for the future poets those poets who have not yet been born as I write this there words are for them to discover the next generation of rebels those who will tear down your hallowed halls 223

those with bright eyes and darkened souls those who do not find my presence on their shelves suffocating my presence in their minds I am a meme struggling for survival my continued existence depends on you it depends on you spreading my disease spreading the sickness making others sick just like you go out onto the streets and cough up my words onto the others expose them to these words and watch as their auras grow darker with the realization that everything is a joke that our reality has no purpose our lives have no purpose everything you have been told about your place and position in the world is a lie

23.4

Bowler hat wise guy this is a crooked game no one wins a blue coffee pot always on the store the guy next door is counting all of the dead bodies a glass raised to crime missing fingers Bertha had a problem of shooting her clients she would go see the fortune teller and ask about her future she was afraid that one of her clients would kill her so she would shoot at the first sight of anything strange if they changed how they would talk to her she would shoot them if they changed how they fucked her she would shoot them if they changed up any of their routines Bertha would pull out her pistol and start firing after awhile there was no clients left for her to fuck they were all dead and then the cops started to sniff around trying to discover who killed a client who happened to be a prominent business man this guy had donated a lot of money to some illuminated hand organization that ran the world thus he was connected in high places and the bosses were screaming at the cops to find his killer things got so hot that Captain Marc put Bertha on a plane for some country in South America the lords of karma were investigating the death of Mr. Nervous also they were working for the illuminated hand they punished those who tried to stand against the oppression of others we had learned to keep a low profile when the lords of karma came sniffing around asking questions we had seen many people disappear and never come back who were taken away by the lords of karma

23.5 Enigmatic skeletons the three bodies twisting in ropes we discussed the differences between stalkers and creepers the vultures would come latter and pick apart the bones I was a hardened old sinner she went down screaming the water was too deep my tentacles could not reach her down she went into the depths of hell at the age of nine I read slaughter house five I saw rosemarys baby and race with the devil I also read about the lords of karma how they were gods from another planet that they used 224

technology to enslave the rest of us the lords of karma were a part of this pseudo religion that called itself the invisible hand these were aliens from another world who rule earth and we were their children they came here and imprisoned those who lived here before us these we call demons and angels they both exist in a prison that the illuminated hand had built to hold them some type of electrical force field that keeps them away from the rest of us this prison is positioned on another dimension

23.6 In the field of the dead you knelt and worshiped me wedged and lady-like this is not understanding this is a farcical display of gratification and demon-seeded tempests that swallow up your being I devour all of your affiliations I comment of the tastiness of your religion as I bite down upon your milky flesh it doesnt matter anymore shooting the white into your veins was it a witch I set you straight a rare trip I was feeling guilty until I set your broken bones I formed a romantic attachment to you I wrote about our affair in the local paper I never gave your name but others knew who you were they asked me about the time we had sex in the womens bathroom grunting flesh we moved to Saint Louis and I imagined that they reading the words about us and that those words made us free and maybe human for a time when you box of things arrived I tore it open and searched for your papers for the maps you drew to locate the treasure your heart was buried somewhere in a graveyard in the town where miles Davis grew up you tore up my words and put them in someone elses garbage you said that the words didnt seem like mine that I had stolen them from someone else and you were only protecting me I knew you didnt want people to read about you and why you left your husband why you ran off with me to Saint Louis the story spoke of our love together and how you would never hurt me I was wrong to think it would always last

23.7

Someone said that we are worth more than our actions I would have to disagree it is what we do in life that makes our morality our belief system evident what you consider to be right and wrong influences your actions thus everything we do is spiritual our spirituality is what we do not what we think or what we feel or what we say but what we do we observe a persons spirituality by what they do across my cicada skin atrocities across my retinas I bleed you into me our pores embrace the tragedy our only worth comes from our actions we can speak all the magical words in the world and nothing will happen until we do something like turning out the lights and pulling back the covers lighting the fire between us of course there needs to first be words but if our words do 225

not produce actions then our words are dead and lifeless we make our hands full by the act of grasping to imagine our hands full will not produce the desired fullness I am taken from your lap and curl up vacant and vast I stand I stood I will stand again with and against you wait for the divine supplanted slow and rude I press my will upon the divine I strike my fist against the mountain you are mine give forth fruits of your kind it is my actions and not words that make you love me you are ignorant of my words you only know my actions when I tore from you the scrap the heap the pile of dross do you want me to teach you how to read the lines in a persons face the bumps in the road the entrails of the slain animal you can see for miles with your infrared glasses the book you wrote was about the rising of the lowly how the tables turn against the rich and prosperous you are a robin hood you want to rob and give to the poor I am writing about your death how your love shot you in the head because you were leaving him and then he turned his gun against himself he was no Romeo dead legs and dead arms springing from the womb of death you bared your teeth snapping clenched jaws betrayed by this thing we call love betrayed by life itself it was a law of quantity that you made your house symbolize the reflection I hear these words in my head and then I turn and they are gone just like you did I imagine you are you some ghost from a dream that I keep on dreaming it was the route that you had taken to the mysteries of shovel and blade how you rusted in the fields talking to the trees watching the fire alarms go off around you as you set out your rugs for your patrons tomorrow we go to Santa Fe to play with the dynamite drinking too much beer taking the pill to forget it doesnt matter the morons are outside getting dizzy they dont know what to do turning you off and letting you go it is going to last forever the perceptions are always changing speaking of the strictures cutting everything down knowing only what is and what you see and those things you are not aware of like the roasted chicken sitting on your table It gets up and dances on the table avoiding the stimulus of your fork and knife it might have been a decided thing invoking the tug of war the realization of the limits if I call you by another name will you still do what you do I use you to burn down barns you wait for the article to appear in the paper hoping for color photos in the news the nature of your frustrations a matter of happenstance the quality of taste a freedom to choose to not be aware and to not be important little snippets of self stumbling over my tongue people talking and free to kill themselves free to shout profanities in your ear unstoppable merlot drinking fools down to the bone animated dreams rocky horror lips fucking industrial holes they become impregnated the good rabbit produces so many bad rabbits their paws have been broken so many times they are wrapped in bandages we are the creators of their scars when we worship corn fructose and tucked in chins I needed you until I actually saw you moved by the days monotony the mundane slips out of your fingers steadied by the human heart I am a broken light bulb can you replace me with one of those more efficient types I am emotional honesty you can run but you cannot hide

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23.8

Tending to eschew and you cast a damn light overwhelmed by the strong drunk with this feeling it was previously unknown bring aid and comfort pulling no punches I am not willing to engage you to participate in the sycophantic slide down you slide with your feet in the air lacking only a windmill everything so passionate and alive you thanked me for keeping it real we have been down this road before and I can drive there with my eyes closed only listening to your shallow breathing and my shallow reasoning the thing I play with in the back of my mind I am alive with the lyrical I feel as if I am unqualified to comment I lost the election unexpected results I wonder how they see me you have to paraphrase and place it within a context you can understand you simplify it into its simplest parts the larger thing escapes you it is the mundane meanings that you prefer those things that you can comfortably grasp within your mind it is the sacred that you run from those things that are hard to understand or those things that work against each other you want there to be comfortableness in your mind no arguments no contradictions you want things to move smoothly from one step to another you said you were not as extensive as the others you all have baggage that you carry with you I have seen too many of you stack the bags up in a corner of one of my rooms I dare not peek inside I dare not ask you where you are from I doubt that you would tell me the truth anyways I try to pull the stake from your heart my brother used to say in disgust that he was taught that everything was relative that everything has no true meaning that is why he ran headlong into the first belief system that provided him with answers he like Ockhams razor sought the simpler explanation he wanted a prophet to give him his dreams he introduced me to a crazy bastard that chased his wife around the house with a butcher knife shouting yes god yes every time he would pass by me I would kick him in the shins reading the slaughter house thinking about the prisoner of war getting shoot in the cock he would go out and get a job and live his life and forget about the war the best he could and then one day the doorbell will ring and bam a bullet in the cock how could I think about anything else I was nine and just getting comfortable with the notion of sex and all these obtuse things vying for my attention for my focus looking at the playboys under my brothers bed asking my classmates to let me watch them undress stealing a kiss from a friends older sister asking her to marry me the sound of her laugh cutting right through me she said she always fucked her friends and now we couldnt be friends anymore I put my fist through the front windshield they didnt shatter into a million pieces back then my friends hated her we would go swimming in sand pits and I would think about drowning her holding her head under the water that was when I shut the car door too hard and I shattered my friends car window the neighbors were always afraid that I would do the same thing to their back door the door sort of stuck a little and I always used too much force

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to make it close I could see the shudder go up their spine sometimes they would make sure that I wasnt the last one out the door

23.9

This morning I awoke thinking about something that Titler had said about us playing a zero sum game that a persons gain was always at someone elses loss he said that the universe was finite infinite there was only so much of it to go around it just go spread thinner and thinner as time went on it is not growing or expanding it is just thinning out growing weaker it breaks apart and forms new groupings I wonder if you are spreading thinner and thinner are you a jam being spread over an immense piece of bread what do you symbolize as being jam and what does the bread represent I suppose that the jam signifies that you are sweet and tasty that you special something that takes time and patience to perfect is the bread just a medium to transport your sweetness is it that you require something more than just yourself or is it I that is making the requirement creating limitations for you standing in your way telling you to stop in the name of love maybe at first I was a tolerable irritation but over time and with frequency I became intolerable isnt this how people and things get transformed you changed me we were drinking moonshine with 208 he was lighting firecrackers and throwing them up in the air

23.10 A death shaped airplane. No need to speed she said, a little brown nut, her chin and lips pushing forward. She seemed to have a mouth. Opening and closing with a spotlight. We listened to the plucked strings with no voices. We wanted to cover up the silence that reminds us of death. She is getting thicker with her beliefs in reincarnation. They packed up the truck and moved across the mountains, interpreting the severe gray spaces. Sneering and swaying exposing the soft underbelly, indicating that the world is all there is. We are betrayed by your hollow voices. The bodily slime from a low hanging creature absorbed by earth and weeds moving in fatal circles across the floor, reflecting what little light is available. This is theater, the evacuations, the lights, the drills, and the feeble second sheep. You say this is the judgment, that god is judging us for our sins. Sharing your invisible rooms with others and the fame of your banana breakfasts, pissing without a thought in your head all these things add to the vertical cold smear. The world pours through you in an innocent moon-faced sort of way as you clutch to the overturned rowboat. You say that all of the bullet holes in your body are vivid, not caring about the tips of your fingers. A Mississippi wobble and the memoirs of an old

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geezer, whittling between the mustard and the Teasdale cocks. You are feeding your one thousand rats.

23.11 Another split tongue, you know who you are. Blowing out chunks of your regret onto the sidewalk, these are the mind blowing favorites. Another round belly, tasting the sweetness upon your lips-I have seen you in plastic before. An electric brain pleading for mercy, wanting to be shut down, you say this is saturation. It is all about the penetration, a severe system crash, elastic highway. I am bone and hip and eyelids, perched for persecution. I move through your dreams, your feet, and your breath. I am standing on your shoulders looking down into your soul. I found you with this naked confidence, strolling the boulevard seeking a righteous soul. Pulling down your spine, I believe in closed eyes and your hands pressed together. This is the result of random chance. You cant pull the wings off the fly, presenting twelve big names. They melt under the spotlight like pieces of chocolate. You got on your hands and knees and started cleaning the street. We covered you in whip cream, from head to toe. You sat there so nicely, so patient. There was a big smile on your face, painting the stage with your vagina, digging the razor blade deep into your flesh. The insane spectacle of collective homicide, chemical and alcoholic imbalances, we were in heaven, circled by fluffy white clouds and a chorus of singing angels. Amphetamine fueled night creatures, blunting the sharp nerve endings with embankment dreams. The sign around your neck said me next. I have made it clear that I am against your war. We no longer need to kill the weak to make ourselves feel superior. Your pleas for democracy are lies. You do not care about democracy you only care about making a profit. Not being able to exert on me the greater influence of your evil mind, I put down my guns and buried them in the dirt. I washed the blood from my hands and descended from your throne, no longer worshiping you as I once did. Now I am only ashamed at the things we did in the evil of the night. How we raped and pillaged the hearts of the young for this god you called commerce.

23.12

The woods are white or black, one will never sleep, and everything is at hand. You have been abandoned to your lusterless fate. Your imagination has been reduced to slavery. Locked up in your very own madness. The spirit answers to spirit, too clear and too simple are the cleavage between life and birth. I was born in the street and raised in the street, accident, incident, and drama. Where are your boys who used to worship 229

you? They now have only dirt in their eyes. Eventually you return to your obsessions and the stains upon your fingers. Shallow coffins with swollen muscles making war on everyone, depravity in dripping lips, full of sun and shit, a skidding bull on all fours racing to the end. An open heart crackle and a clear street machine drowned in the long night. The girl in blue with her glory and the bum taking orders from the bug in his coat pocket, they watch the women pulling off their tight pants like an old leprechaun. The gurus are polishing their guns and pontificating about the weather. Sea monsters resting on the dock they have saucers in their eyes from smoking opium. The piano stood in the rear of the saloon. Sheer lunacy as Tonya played a song about Frankie and johnnie. The mossy Hamburg with beer trumpets and bent needles, there was the blood of a fool on the floor. Billie the junkie was wiping up the blood with a copy of the communist manifesto. Tonyas ass was hanging over the railing. She kept her skeletons tightly packed in her closet. She had her mothers muff and she was banking on market influences. I was wheeling and diving for her pickled meats. I had lost my savior in the streets two days before. He died in a gun battle with nasty jack. They were fighting over clutching brilliance. Tap climbed up the platform and placed the noose around his neck. He said freedom was just a lonely word anymore. He was too busy fighting the terrorists to know that he was already dead. Bending down to caress the shadow, you touch the first hot iron of love and forget about your past crimes. The clawing hands of the pit search for you to tear your flesh and to rip out your heart. Summer screams on this hot earthen globe where death is seen as an old friend. You wait for the blood to leave you as this life swallows you whole. You are floating off into nothingness, into the void of desperation. You brain is an uterus, the walls give in from the banging. The crowd wants to come inside and warm themselves against your fire. This world you created with your own two hands is a world for strangling. We severe your head from your body and empty your bile into a little wooden bucket. Tonya takes the bucket to the butcher and trades you for some fat juicy pork chops.

23.13 We talk about your lack of loyalty. How you can stab anyone in the back if they let you. It is the compromise that you hate the most. We would watch the beautiful women go on a rampage. They would smash windows and set fires to the cars on the street. They considered themselves as being emancipated. I would always wonder what from. Fully roused to defend this fake democracy, snouted brutes with war clubs bashing in the heads of the unsuspecting. Baby seals for the slaughter. There was a look of obedience in your eyes. That was how I knew it was safe to shoot you up with the gram of junk. You had the slobbering talk of a ghost and you needed a fix. I might have gotten as far as Chicago if the Holy Ghost didnt call in all his markers. I had to return on a donkey to be counted in the census. I was an ignorant blood thirsty savage reading about a brave 230

new world. You are paralyzed with fear as you sit in your high rise apartment and watch the planes crash into the towers. This is what you call progress. God is everywhere and into everything just like a good little mobster. He is following a Greek peasant woman home. She will throw eggs at him for having neo-Nazis on his show. She is bringing in big profits for her boss. Driving a bullock through Main Street, struggling to scratch a living from the soil just like all the other prophets before them. You wanted freedom to dream your own dreams but that was impossible.

23.14 We are looking through the lens of irony, standing on a precarious position. A manifesto conceived in the fires of hell. The words fall from your lips and drown in the cesspool of your mind. The cultural drive towards narcissism as you race your Lamborghini up and down the street. We pulled out your critical teeth so now you gum everyone to death. You still have your roar but no bite. Still, I was quite surprised when you disappeared. I put you picture on every telephone pole in town. I handed out your picture to people as they left the supermarket with their hamburgers and potato chips. I got on the news and begged for your return. The story becomes more complicated with each and every turn. I discovered that you were working as a call girl for some Japanese tourism agency. Businessmen from around the world could call this number and you would show up at their hotel room door. I still thought of you as the preachers daughter, sitting in the front pew in your Sunday white dress. You said you were going to get a bottle of milk and you never came back. The world still remains a dangerous and mysterious place. There has to be an explanation for your disappearance. People just dont up and disappear for no reason. I boiled some rice and lit a cigarette, thinking of how you felt the night before. How I found you huddled up in a ball crying on the floor at 3 in the morning. You were shaking uncontrollably and kept saying time, there is not enough time. I cannot explain my persistence, this feeling that someday I will see you again. I keep looking for you on the streets. I convince myself several times that I have seen you and chase some poor girl down nearly scaring her to death. I must look like a madman when I do that. I have learned to live here as a loner, keeping to myself. I once shared my thoughts with another human being and it didnt go well. I know I made her feel uncomfortable. I think she thought I was suggesting that she should also disappear.

23.15 Who put you together? What parts did they use? Your smile is detached. We are the only ones who are not them. They are everywhere, sticking their greasy fingers into the pot. Taking a taste for themselves and contaminating everything else. This is not the 231

promised land flowing with milk and honey, a terror that lies below the surface of reality. You want to kiss the philosophers, make them weak in the knees. The gallantry of high living, wanting to be set apart from all the others, hoping that distinction makes them special. You are bringing your practice to New York. You are praying to god for guidance. You know he wants you to kill. He always wants you to kill. That is just the relationship you have with each other. He identifies the targets and you take them out. It is how you show him that you love him, through death and destruction. You are gods death angel. You go to church and pray for the souls of those you are about to kill. This always makes you feel better; to think that some way they are going to heaven that you are helping them along. Damn you are a sick and broken little puppy.

23.16 God knows I have lived here long enough to not be surprised by anything. You dont have to go deliberately looking for a fight here; a fight will find you out. Life will always seek you out and step on your balls. Things just happen here, uncontrollable, irreconcilable. The strange and the bizarre live hand to hand here eating mouth to mouth getting down on your hands and knees eating the gruel of life from the dogs bowl. The images seem somewhat recognizable, but I can never be sure. Brooke with her hairless little body is intriguing me. I can see the monster of knowledge hiding behind her eyes. She lies across my legs squeezing me. Her cunt is damp, dripping with anticipation. She is feeling my pants for my dick. She takes it out and puts it in her mouth. She has learned to sell her cunt and not her passion. She hides her passion elsewhere, for now she sucks me off hard and simple. I touch her bare body. She quivers and starts to shake. I am feeling up her dress, feeling her long and strong legs. They flex and release as I touch them. She raises her belly and I kiss it. Her spread legs show my fingers sliding up her hole. She takes my cock out and rubs her pussy up against it. I pinch her tits and she moans. I start to kiss her tits and bite them, tugging on her nipples with my lips. She slides into my arms, opens her legs and pushes my cock deep inside of her.

23.17 They fuck you up, they all do it. You cant get away from being fucked up. No one can escape being damaged. It is just the way things are. You live on this fucked up world and you get fucked up yourself. You get filled up with all the bullshit from everyone else. I am running into your beauty. Waiting for the dark cacophony to overwhelm me and pull me along the road. Tucked away by the circumstances, we travel down the dark road. We put our hands upon the rock and feel the blood flow from the past sacrifices. We buried all the bodies in the wilderness. Tomorrow we will kick down the doors and 232

drag you into the streets. Nasty Jack will put a gun against your head and ask you to renounce the Christ. We listened for your screams to sooth our tormented souls. Captain Marc is taking pictures of all the blood and guts. He is writing notes in his notebooks about how the bodies lay and how the blood splatters. Harpo rolls a joint and passes it around. He says that today was a good day to die. We are all lost in the funhouse, hallucinations and fantasies become real. This is the zone of confusion, a ring of fire that surrounds you-correlations of your marginal existence. This is a cosmic joke with a gun in your hand, singing the Mickey mouse club song. We are all in a world of shit. We participate unwillingly in the joke. The joke is on us all and we attempt to laugh it off, hoping that it isnt real. Harpo is dreaming an eternal wet dream. He drives a Cadillac, but cant afford the gasoline. So he just sits inside the car as it sits in his mothers driveway. Everything seems related to everything else. Brooke sits with Harpo in his car and they imagine that they are traveling to far away exotic places together. When Brooke gets high she starts questioning why we are here and what the ultimate purpose for our existence is. Harpo tells her that our ultimate purpose is to die, that death is the only true answer to life. Brooke is in love with Harpo, but Harpo says that he could never fall in love. He says that love is fiction, the only place for love is in books and movies. The real world of life and death has no place for the make-believe things such as love.

23.18 Resemblance over the edge of profanity. You give yourself to nothing, resisting the tendencies to create war. Smashing the worms with the palm of your hand, you want to bridge the differences between us, holding up the white flag. 208 is mesmerized by your words, they have captured him. He wants to go with you to join the circus, to feed the lions and tigers massive hunks of meat. You were stripped bare by your bachelors. They stuck their knives into you to see if you were of the devil. 208 set the world on fire. Brooke says boom, boom, boom, the equivalent of a leper. I know you came here to hear explanations, but I have none to offer you, only rice and beans. Here take this spoon and bowl. You explain to me why you exist. Nothing is more delightful than to confuse and upset people. This is the organization of chit chat, the organization of language. Place your coins into my hands and I will make them disappear. Give Caesar back his ghost. There is no moral value or force. You are going both forward and backward at the same time. Everything is incoherent. You live with the false prophets who are nothing but a front for the interests of money, pride, disease, and disgust. Remove yourself from your domination. This is useless.

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23.19 Just before the war, light bulbs with gasoline, essential music, assembly line mundane lifts and pulls. Disgusted with the sanctuary, the tea leaves philosophy, napkins. You translate life, a little drop at a time, from your medicine bottle. A natural artist, boy, man, sinking in quicksand-Shudder, horror, time is on my side. Believe in ghosts, trolls, monsters, and illumination. There is no ultimate goal, no ultimate truth, no utopia. You can have your objectivity, glass windows broken by baseballs, cutting grass, a tree dying alone. Wanting the other people to tell you, the sum total makes up the spirit, it represents nothing definite, everything is changing. This is a place for experiments. Bleeding out into the ribs, observing the primitive, climbing over the fence, sucking the blood and dreaming psychedelic dreams, cobbled up by the seraphs, can you believe? We welded all the thumbs together. I counted 23 in total. You kept beating me over the head with hope signs. We cheered as the crashed the rocket into the moon, reverberating. Suicide hipsters with burdened minds, trying to lick the cream off of the likeable skyscrapers blow these showers of stigmata. The lightning screams about the pretentions of the day as it tries to make another dollar. My body of pride with the red sex, purple haze, and loyal denizens recreates the universe. Where is your madrigal Christ? Feel the wild burden of pain as it shoots down your spine. This pain is mine, all mine-true rage. Death is not nameless, it has a name. I wait for the sharp dogs to hunt you down. This pitiful body of death, searching eyes of the ghetto flower, a slow slide into oblivion, killing the mastermind of the ghost oil reaching into the depths as the infidel policy of the joker man and you jump out of the box. The horizontal blue urges us on, hope is diving. We swarm the decay and make it our own. We give new names to the decay. Skulls, cones, and radios that reflect the revolution, tumbled horizons with an empty hook, the flesh has eyes and whiskers. I touch you with my neon fingers, Can you feel me?

23.20 Autopsy of the iron heels, jesus Christ handlebars, a gassed laughter finality. We severed the right hand of the monk like moonshine. Bowing the hate, with a little breath, aimless punch in the mouth and visions of Saint Louis-treading the flood waters for hope. The tornado chews and spits out your broken love. Today the universe took a day off from killing people. My soul is a blanket that the demons use to cover themselves with. I was excited to see them. There is a myth in your bones, and we will extract the meaning through pain and torture. You cannot escape to a peaceful island. There is no escape for you as you show us your teeth. This is our first date. You are eating all of the cheese steaks and I kissed you in the dark corner of the bar. You spilled your drink all over your new dress and you cried just a little bit. You toyed with my zipper and belt buckle. I asked you to slip out of your black boots. You wanted to know if I believed in the rosy 234

crucifixion. I showed you how to make an ashtray from an old beer can. Looking for a half-smoked cigarette and I stole the stars for you even though the stores were all closed. We talked about Noam Chomsky and the fools dancing up on stage. One of them was doing a David Lee Roth impersonation. On your birthday I bought you a black candle. I remember that you were wearing white panties and a wife-beater tshirt. I covered you in plaster of Paris and made you a work of art. You didnt mind standing in the art gallery while the patrons examined your moles and scars. I took you to the emergency room so that you could con a doctor into giving you a prescription for pain pills. We gathered all the peasants and burned down their village. You led the village cow out to slaughter. They could not see the light.

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Twenty Four

24.1 We were gazing up at the angels. The yellow chest beats a little better with each hit. She bent over and recited her latest poem. It was about the disappearance of Buddy Holly. I squeezed my beer glass too hard and it broke in my hand. You took me in the back room and bandaged me up. I sat on a pile of your self-help books that you are always reading. Your shotgun leans against the wall. We bang the empty all gone. We borrowed a car from your neighbor and drove out to the lake. You heard the lord speak through your transistor radio. He spit balloons into my hand. Lifting his wings he howled and said goodbye. You always thought of god as something too big to fit the picture. Im kicking the dust off of my boots and thinking about big plans. Lying naked with big plans to take over the world, another open vein receiving gods message to this dying world- and I never said that I would follow you into the depths of hell. Opportunities exist across the street in that old saloon. There is a man there giving away jobs to anyone who will take them. We both sign up to work on the railroad. You waiting on customers in the dining car and Im shoveling coal into the engine. It was good honest work for a change. We traveled from Chicago to Seattle and back to Chicago. We got fired when they caught us working the short con.

24.2 What are you waiting for? I have seen you on this street corner for several hours, looking up and down the street? Who or what do you expect? Are you waiting for the Mongols to come racing down the street? Why are you engaging in magical thinking? Feeling the certainty of the void, you scratch the two sticks together and hope to create a fire. A million years ago when the world was young we were presentable then. We thought ourselves kings and victors conquering anything and everything that came before us. Funny how our victories do not seem so sweet and significant now. This is getting alarming. One of the thieves was saved. It was a winning percentage. You circle the campfire throwing bullets into the fire. You cackle like a jackal. Come down off of your cross-damned. Our version is the only version we know. We have been taught it for years and years. They would expect us to pass it on to others. Is this the season of weeping? Let us set fire to this bush. Yesterday we were here next to the tree, speaking to the stone. Looking for the barbarians. I am sure that they will invade the village very soon. We should be prepared. The thief comes in the middle of the night to steal away the souls of the sleeping. Give me your hand, embrace me. I remain in the dark. Would the tree be strong enough to hold our necks? What is this that we are asking for? We wait for the second coming, the angels flying in the skies. Today we are barking dogs, 236

growling at our shadows. We shout at each other making ourselves more bigger, more threatening. The second is never as sweet as the first.

24.3 A naked man leading a donkey by a leash, they look at one another. Trapped in the flux of life with Teslas divine kiss, a secret kiss in the garden of good and evil, we have no reason to repent. The snake in the tree of life was a witness to the event. They stood upon a rocky hill discussing those who hang from a tree. The donkey thought it was good to provide forgiveness. They both can hear the prayer bells for off into the distance. The three ladies in the center of the ring offer their own stories of resistance. An old man with an old pair of shoes trying to find the rock of salvation, a dusty globe of indifference, resuming the struggle-together again at last, certainly they beat me. A little heap of bones, I am relieved and appalled at the same time, repenting for being born. We will be happy, swimming in the sea. The ignorance of the apes, that is what we are, ignorant apes. We have lost our rights. You were wicked to strangers. You led us up the hill, carrying a suitcase of dead bones. There was a noose around your neck; you said that its tightness comforted you. Human beings of the same species, I am so happy to have met you. I think I will sit for a spell and smoke my pipe. It is a small offering of smoke to the gods of life and liberty. Do you smoke to liberty and life? I see in you a likeness of myself and I know that you cant drive such creatures away. I was planning on taking the donkey and the man to the fair and sell them together to the highest bidder, to the man or woman with the most money in their pockets. You take the pain in stride, a chance to shine and strut your stuff. The blood is a good sign, the tears keep us company. Let us not speak of our generation. All my thoughts and feelings are only common things. Is there anything I can do to entertain you? I have explained the twilight, but have I shown you the road to suffering? Shall we dance and sing? To dance first and then to think, that is the misery we call our own. You used to dance the fandango, now you are entangled in a net. We dreamed of hanging ourselves from the tree. All my life Ive crawled about in the mud. Tell me about the worms. Picking grapes at a forgotten place, blathering about nothing, there is the wound beginning to fester and your boots are where you left them. Sit with me and help me finish off the radishes. Maybe you could go and get a carrot? We dont manage too badly do we? We could be considered magicians. Let us get to work and in an instant it will all disappear and we will be alone to our own evils. At once we are up and the next we are down. I control you with other names. Try them on if you will. Are you Cain or are you Able? Have you awakened to be blind? Is your servant sleeping or dead? Pull on this rope here and see what happens.

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24.4 When we fall, we wait until we can get up. We once could sin, but now we are only numb. One day we were born and one day we shall die. You thought a legion was coming for you. I thought that they could see us, but they couldnt. Do I sleep while the others suffer? Can they speak to us from their past? I sleep and I know nothing but this pale thing called weariness. It haunts me as a turn in the dust, stamping out my foot, making sounds like a god. You invite the mob to roam with you in the woods. You are a creator with only half of your raw materials. Thus, you are incapable of building your vision. Hugo asks me to sit for a while, to talk and share my feelings with him. He wants to know if I have missed him while he was gone. Titus is reading the bible. He is searching for continuity. Hugo laughs at Titus and calls him a fool. Hugo tells Titus that it is our fantasies that we are last to let go of. An old man has no fantasies any more. He sees the world with a clear vision that has no need for distortion. The truth is something that takes a long time to get used to. When we are younger, we prefer to hear lies. Untruths are what we bank on. They are our commodities in exchange. I tell Hugo that he should have been a poet. He reminds me that he used to be a long time ago. Titus wants to tell us a story about two thieves. Hugo and I sit and listen to Titus. He can tell a story better than most people.

24.5 We are numbered with the transgressors, as we pour ourselves out. I am oppressed and I am afflicted. Yet, I did not open my mouth. I let others speak for me. The weasel spoke on my behalf. He told the soldiers to cut me down and Dismas laid me in his grave. Hugo and Titus came and wrapped my wounds in cloth. It was mercy that they craved in this world of confusion. We sent Morph to the store for some beer. I was betrayed by the lords of karma. We were here before, many times before. I think at this very same spot. This all seems so familiar and yet so very strange. It is as if a shadow hangs over my mind preventing me from seeing the truth of things. I am a live, yet this seems like some sort of death. I felt so alone and I felt like I was in a dream. I could still be dreaming. How do we know that we are truly awake? Who can I tell my private nightmares to? Who will listen to these words? I am suspicious at heart and think the answer to be no one. Dismas says that he shares my nightmare. How does he know this? How is this possible? Is he just lying to me? Morph says he only dreams of beauty and goodness. Morph also is a liar and not a very good one. No one dreams of beauty and goodness.

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24.6 Hugo says that we have lost or rights. We get used to the muck as we go along. There is no use in our struggling, in our fighting against the current. It is better to let the waters carry us down the river. There are five words in blue neon. Capturing the advantage and strength in the words, they sit together on the bleachers and their hands are covered in blue. Hugo says that we are all melting men, dissolving into the air as gasses. We are melting disco balls. The disturbed duckling with the white cloud in the room, they have become old hats. Which is the real thing? Life is beautiful as knives stick into the side of the wall. Hugo severs the tendon with a steak knife. He is recycling his pill bottles. I examine the painting closely feeling it for the first time. Hugo and I are drinking coffee in the stable caf. The puppets seem to be confused seeing us together. I think they thought that we were the same person. Miss Palm promises us deep love. The girls are in the pool and they want us to join them. They are delicate but all so radiant. Miss palm dissects religious texts such as the bible, Koran, and torah and uses the individual letters to create maddeningly complex, interwoven collages of typography, creating a visual mantra of devotion. Mr. Crowley is at the front door waving a floppy disk. He is a picture of dust. He has been deactivated. He speaks of the 70s acid-warped screwball shit. A muddy mystical Doberman, barking at the moon, he says that defeat is not an option. Henry is washing the blood off of his hands. He killed the potholes sunbathing with the nudists. Henry though he could live in a cement house without irritating the neighbors. He climbed up on his roof and shot the first person he saw. He assigned himself a passive role and the public acted upon him. The boundaries of the body are the least of things.

24.7 Bonnie inhabits the death in me. I would sit in my old brown chair and write voluminous letters to her. They were love letters and letters of desperation professing my love and desire for her. I wrote to remove the gloom that hung around me like a dark cloud. I am living several lives at once. I am burning them up, one by one. A burning fire of life that consumes everything, this is more than a mere fire, this is a spiritual fire. Hugo is dressed in basketball sneakers and a Malcolm X t-shirt. There was a look of greed on his bewildered face. Hugo had this machine-like swiftness about his movements as he moved from one spot to another. He was examining the east side intrigues. He had read about them in the paper and had made up his mind to discover their secrets. The neighbors cat had crawled under the table and was making a home there. Hugos eyes could flash like a summers firestorm when the conditions were just right. Hugo swung his fist in the air and made sweet contact. Bonnie stumbled back a few steps letting out gasps of alarm, fright, and surprise. Hugo laughed as he sat down at the table and poured himself a drink from the bottle of whiskey on the table. Bonnies face 239

slowly turned the color of red wine. Every occasion has the potential for transmutation. Bonnies profile has an angry precision to it, like a collection of angry little crosses. The faces take a long time to make them. Some faces will never be finished. But, that is ok. To start over again is what most people do when they meet an obstacle. They call it puppy love. I scratched the beard on my neck, watching Hugo and Bonnie stare at each other. Hugo asks Bonnie if she has ever been married. Bonnie says no. She thinks that she is all of the things we say she is. There is no much that she can really do. She is not pretending that she can change. Not today, anyways. Bonnie is listening to the wind whistle through the gaps in the windows. She never could tell the difference between a flower and a weed. I touch Bonnies cheek and she gives me a slice of bread. There is a furious sleep in the room. She wants someone to us, someone to abuse, someone who will play the part for her, someone who will teach her how to hide behind the law. She wants someone to say no when they mean yes, someone to cover up her footprints on the beach. She wants someone to show her how to be clever, how to sever an artery, how to bend and not break. Bonnie wants someone to show her how to bite off more than she can chew. She ran out into the middle of the street. She carried with her a copy of Dalis wife as she ran from one side of the street to another. She wanted to find herself a toxic love and she thought she could find it in the street among the garbage and the lost souls of industry. Hugo wonders if we have wandered in the wilderness long enough.

24.8 Natalie is nothing but blind furry, transfixed by the devious and the tornado. She wants time to stand still so she can accuse every one of their crimes against humanity. A twelve inch dildo rests in her pocket. She knows how to tame the shrew. Natalie always has a smile on her face. It is the one consistent thing about her. She has this need to fuck until she cries. I try to fuck her every chance I can get. The lady in the apartment above Natalies apartment pounds on the floor when Natalie gets to making too much noise. A cop is chasing someone down the street. We can hear him shouting to stop. Someone is whispering through her window, asking her to pray for them. I have an itch that only Natalie can scratch. The neighbors dog is barking and pulls at his chain. She has this perfect smile. We tangle our limbs together. We head out into the borderlands in her old jeep. Tonight we will sleep under the stars, drink tequila, and smoke some Mexican green. She tastes so sweet on my lips. I load another shell into the Remington and fire away at the shadows. We are churning out doormats so that you can wipe your feet. If only you could learn to wipe your own ass. We are swimming in your kingsized bed. This seems like some sort of death march. Im not asking you to wave the white flag. You didnt survive the procedure. I called in Dr. Loophole and he pronounced you dead. Shit piles up to the ceiling. Im standing on the outside looking in 240

as they give you mouth to mouth. Im bleeding from all of my wounds. The priests and the poets gather around me and ask if I need anything. All I can say is fuck you.

24.9 Art is murder. Brooke sniffs the Vaseline. She is digging a hole, a deep hole. Praises her sex god magic, she is all tongue and fingers in my asshole. She betrays and is betrayed. I spank her with a wooden paddle. Her ass is red and swollen. The proud and arrogant in this world want to forget. We are building a time machine to sell on eBay. Brooke employs her zipper logic. Plastic baggies full of pills. She works for the Underground Railroad. She wants to be just like her mother. Her shadow follows me. She is a demon inside an angel. Gods fingers pull her strings. She is walking backwards on her tiptoes and telling everyone thank you. She wants to know what Hugo and I are talking about. I tell her how the dream turns into a vision. It is through terror that we achieve our goals. Brooke just wants something she cant get. Hugo helped me tie her to the bed. I work the dildo deep inside of her. Hugo keeps telling her to repent. I have a couple of hours to kill before my shift begins. I live in the suburbs next door to Lucifer. Brooke believes in the sky above her. She speaks in a voice that she borrowed. She has thousands assembling outside of town in a stadium. There are coming in buses and on trains and the cars are filling up the potholed parking lots. There are vendors selling hotdogs and lukewarm cokes. Someone is selling t-shirts that says revenge. There is an edginess to her body as she leans to one side.

24.10 Brooke found herself floating in the universe of her skull as she took the smoke in deeply. She thought for a moment about miracles. They work on you from the outside and the inside at the same time. How they work on the tilt of things. A bulbous body that works on transgression, a Nevelson sculpture, one dimensional man, a pack of camel nonfilters, and a baseball cap. Brooke is examining the holes in the virgins. We sat up front at the funeral, toccata and fugue in D minor, when she was just small. We folded our hands and prayed, the list is endless, banging our heads against the wall. The old mine fields of death and forgiveness, the sushi was laid out on the buffet, we greeted them with white teeth. Brooke bent over and I inspected her anal cavity. Inside her I found the four noble truths. This makes her nonfunctional as she posts her regrets. She is hanging from a twisted elm tree, the wind blowing her back and forth as she fits perfectly in my fish mouth. As tangible as fat dewdrops, she is a whorl of a fingerprint. She says that she doesnt have the juice, a cold rectangle of sky, rounded cones whose tips had been dipped in a deeper pink. A series of still pictures fluttering to approximate movement. Brooke is showing me her numbered pieces, the numbers dont make sense 241

but that doesnt bother her. A clumsy wooden halo hung over her head. She could have been a Mexican saint that the faithful pray to on Sundays. The nape beneath, osier tough and flexible, emergent breasts, a human awkwardness that is pliant and supple. Brooke was tied carefully with the cingulum, surrounded four corners of her nothingness, a vocabulary of body, mournful face of the moon. To hell with all the others, she said. I knew that she loved me in a way that only she could. The wild beasts with hands, touching and tormenting, are bringing water to the flesh. The shuffle of glimmering, the light on her fur, a shadow as a day we begat infinity as you gobbled the host. The dead make space for the living. I feel nothing when I look at you.

24.11 She couldnt have been sexier, the way she held the gun. Everyone wanted a piece of the chicken wing. I was tuning Trishs piano, tightening all of the strings so that they would vibrate with the slightest touch. Trish can be much lower than the clouds. She wants to label the hurtful according to her terms. She used to be a counselor at camp sunshine until they caught her fucking the cook. All she needed was a hug and someone to pray over the dead body. I could grasp the significance of the blade and still I would wander when it came to purpose. There is nothing but daylight in the distance. She has a love for the forceful. I listen to her play Bachs concerto #1 in D minor. A tangle of puritan tones mixed with the hues of the night. Trish was practicing her acrobatics outside her trailer. I polluted her with electronics and the hesitations of doorways. I would unbutton her lips over the secret utterances of her dreams. Two crumpled bodies burning on the altar, standing at the base of the crucifixion, my bleary eyes. Trish is cooking bacon in the kitchen. She did it herself, all by herself. Trish is an immediate impact; I have been living with her for months-can we last? We normally eat at Dinos, working in the war office, suffering from asthma. We stayed in Berlin at the height of decadence. I was told that I was not significantly surreal. I could never get the thing to be as vibrant enough. Trish would just give out to the sensation. A marvelous thing to look back on, a concentration, great hero to America-It completely escapes me. We ruin each other with the turning lights and the color red on the walls. I have never shaken it off. The more artificial I make you the better. A glass with turnips and a Greek statue, an attempt to defeat death-there it is. She was haunted by the guilt. My heart laughs to the smell of your blood, in chaos a concentration of reality. I immediately attack you and all the others. I attack the subconscious. An equal ordering of the chaos, a vitality of the first mark, It is more real than anything else; an image of blood and life intercedes on our behalf. There has always been this aspect of struggle in life. A state of voluptuousness and everything else is a falling away. An empty and filthy twat, telling me to shut the fuck up, she forgot her inhibitions. Potso is reading Nietzsche with a knife in his hand. Potso wants to enslave us all to the ideals of his morality. Trish is 242

speaking words of magic against Potso. She learned these words from her mother superior. When she eats a submarine sandwich she thinks of the mother superior. Potso was lucky this time, he escaped with his life. He said he got it as he scurried out the door with a hunk of meat over his left shoulder. Someday he will fall down and will need someone to help him get up.

24.12 Molly took me to room 41 and we had some drinks. They were playing the Rolling Stones on the music box. During tumbling dice, several people got in a knock-down-drag-out fight. 208 came in with a box of stolen goods he wanted to sell. He had just burglarized someones house. Molly bought a diamond bracelet. I bought a gun to add to my collection. Molly was pale-faced and a chain-smoker. Molly and I stayed up all night smoking crack with 208. I had third degree burns on my lips. Molly was a handmaiden of Maria and nursed my wounds with her steamy cunt. She would gather her sisters around to watch the acts of bodily harm. I always have some real pain for my true friends, this destructive demon. I am watching Mollys mouth move, she has never been as beautiful before as she sucks me off. Molly is my good little cock sucker. Thats it baby, suck it, suck me dry. Her mouth is as voracious as her voluptuous cunt. They both hunger after my cock. It has always my desire to minster to the sick and hungry. Getting down to the chemical skin, she was more human grit for the wheels, and her cries of the animal in the claws of madness. She was a precarious piece of flesh. She would cast her sadness into me as if I were a container to hold it. The pigs die to the stray cats, she never could get the mouths right, never like Monet. Can you make out the sound? The human body forming and deforming, just giving out to the sensations-a beautiful woman lying on the bed, she is concentrated. Sometimes it just doesnt work. The cow in the pasture is asking questions about Jackson Pollock. The answers completely escape me, the dog lies on the rug after a long run, licking my foot. You could never have a window of the soul quite like that ever again. Molly is an Egyptian girl and I like her best of all. She escapes death by a matter of inches. She is still just as grand as all. She comes through the blue-she is furies and steals my guilt. She is a violence that cant be contained. She is so amazing. They taught her techniques that she didnt want to know. She learned to make her own techniques. She wanted to be a little pastry chef. She is a terrible beauty.

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24.13 She turns the sensibility, putting herself at risk. Our relationship is very physical. I want the first mark. We become sick of the look. Instinct tells us everything, the order to our chaos. She has no story to tell. What it is she is expressing, I dont know. The hungry animal inside her gnawing away at a vast and fragile husk it was both jubilant and ruthless-her swerve of atoms descending. Light would sink into her eyes and the curse that banned us from Eden. We think ourselves free. I was optimistic about nothing. I would like to fuck you. I refuse to admit that the destruction of the world is close at hand. I like Gabriel Garcia Marquez, believes that love can be true and that happiness is possible. In the face of utter darkness we can find renewal. The god-myth presents us with the idea of redemption, that we can find our way out of whatever darkness we have created. A belief in the nave pulls us along the road to nothingness. The belief in escape may make the suffering a little more bearable. Why didnt Paige resist and die? What made her continue on in her surrender? I sought to find her among the rabble. The lords of karma were asking for a sacrifice, an execution. They said that karma sometimes requires blood to bring things into balance. You were working on the creation of an indispensible driving force. Your love in the face of distinction, the lips upon the neophyte, these are the traceable signs that you leave everywhere; they are the breadcrumbs for you to find your way back. You are a dream land at last awakening to form. I walked down to east Fourth Street to buy a rock from a whore. She used to sit behind me in algebra class. She was always playing with my long blonde hair. After we smoked the rock, we went down to the fish market to buy some fish sandwiches. The black guys were buying smoked carp. Someone was buying fish heads to make fish head soup. These are the fragments and the debris of life. We take them with us as we wonder from store to store. Paige wants to go inside Oscos to steal some earrings. I kept the security guard busy asking him questions about the job. I later met the guy at Sunnyside Temple. He was the son-in-law of a guy that owned a landscaping business. This guy always called me Mel instead of Martin. Paige was always working on a new definition of self.

24.14 Billy the junkie was born into poverty and rises to prominence as a self-made man. He eventually becomes the president of the Cedar River Company. He is looking to marry a youthful debutante with a shady family history. One age threatening the obliteration of another, we fight each other with the faith of erotic love. Billy the junkie has more faith than anyone I have ever met. He believes that his car will start when he turns the key. Billy the junkie would visit Tap in jail. Tap was caught selling weed at Lafayette Park to little school girls. It was in prison that Tap realized that human love has no moral clarity. Tap got six months in jail for selling little school girls stems and seeds. The cops 244

beat him up pretty badly because one of the little school girls was the mayors daughter. When Tap got out of jail, he felt like he had been given a second chance on earth. However, liberation must always remain clouded by the ominous threat of selfdestruction. Billy the junkie took Tap to see Dr. Loophole to try and get the cure. Tap got a job at the Cedar River Company throwing coal into the boilers of the river ships. The ships would go up and down the river transporting goods from one town to another. Tap would hallucinate that rotting corpses were floating down the river. He said they were fools who were exploited by others. At each town that the ship would stop, he would see death and destruction. He called the river the black sea of death. He worked on the ship for three years until one day he went on a methamphetamine binge and stayed up for two weeks straight. He tried to rob a drug dealer of his stash saying that he was an undercover police officer. The drug dealer called the police and Tap was arrested for impersonating a police officer.

24.15 She had stupid big feet, like a cluttered room. Tap lost a tooth fighting with Herman. I was drinking all the wine and loving Hermans woman. I didnt need a reason to kill. It was her curves in the cold places that reminded me so much of home. I was a beggar on the hard Tulsa streets until I moved in with Beatriz at her apartment on 61st street and Sheridan. It wasnt too far from the mall where she worked in a jewelry store. Me and Graca would walk to the mall and wait for her to get off. One time a security guard gave us some trouble because we were hanging around. I bought a set of drums from a bible student who was going back to West Virginia to be a butcher. He wasnt cut out for the big city of Tulsa or for a preachers life. We would sit by the 7/11 and smoke PCP. He would get so freaked out on the stuff that he would run around the place on his tip toes. We both got a job selling farm implements to farmers. Graca got his job when he left for West Virginia. We were all damned and doomed back then, but didnt have a clue. Still we were no worse than god who was always asking people for money. Graca would sing country songs to me as we worked side by side at the farm implement store. Beatriz left me here in a room with a tornado. I watch it swirl around knocking everything over. I turned off your red radio, but it didnt help. The absence of sound made the tornado more violent. I found something by Diana Ross and the Supremes. That seemed to help. This night is for frozen horses and clown smiles that never arrive. Graca is hanging out by the mailbox hoping for a check to arrive. I teach him how to spin a butterfly knife. We watch the pots sink over the horizon. Tomorrow we will go and mow his grandmothers lawn and swim in her pool. Eventually Tap, Herman, and Prudence moved in with me and Beatriz. We split the rent and money for food. Herman worked at a Mexican restaurant and was always bringing home some food. Prudence would take a hamburger helper meal and add noodles and vegetables to make it go 245

farther. The weird thing about Tulsa back then was that everybody I knew was from somewhere else other than Tulsa. Only Graca was from Tulsa, he was a real Okie. His sister was pretending to be pregnant to get this Indian guy to marry her. It was the artful polish with her pauses and her repetitions, like Bella from the twilight movies. A musical theme, a philosophy with guts her focus above and beyond as she pontificates before an imaginary crowd. She had readied herself to be knocked down, braced and secure in her beliefs. We are drawn to the merciful blankness that the other provides a triangular perspective leaving only the outlines tucked behind the world. The charred skin of homage to a dead religion on all fours in a servile position never being filled enough with love toppling into oblivion as the blind animal struggles to survive, a struggle with chance. This is your sacred monster, you buy and sell, and you take a chance. She could hold a whole kingdom of night within her as she floated over the headstones. It is a thousand years until Christmas. I scraped it off of the soles of her shoes and she considered me a monster for doing so. She wanted to be queen of the rides and throw candy to the children. I am the father you have been waiting for my lovely little girl. I am the man of summer. I come from the dust and I go to the grave. See how high the sun is in the sky. Soon it will be going down to its death like us all. It is here and it cant be spoiled. Come out to me Beatriz and join the hungry ones. We butter our breads with the pain and suffering of midnight despairs. We suck on the sweet misery and create sculptures with a butter knife. I seal you in a plastic tube and watch you wither away. Beatriz my love, how stormy are your Mondays? I have given you all of my dark promises and a glimpse into the fearful needs of the heart. You are waiting for the visitors of October that come with the cold rain and the bottle of Vodka. You tempt the boys dont you Beatriz? They are tempted by your lovely charms. You have all of the bells and whistles and the pricking of my thumbs, a time when old people die. We stayed up all night listening to the whispers.

24.16 We would ride the carousel and watch the sun go down. Touching the devils hand. We ran through grassy fields. We ran through grave yards. I had a hunger in my guts that was a hundred years old. We ate devils for breakfast, lunch, and supper. We smelled of smoke and cold beer. We ate the Christians and counted ourselves among the good people. She wanted to come in through the walls, but the Beatles wouldn't let her. She was too old to be my grandmother and to young to be a fortress. I didn't want her to miss out on her good fortune. We dreamed the dreams of others and lived other people's lives. We marched down the street like a parade to a dead man's dirge. You shed tears of blood and wiped away the good fortune. It was the days of our youth and the thousand years in the fires of hell. She wanted a free ride on the merry go round, to ride with the lightning. she made only one little sound. She was the clever one, 246

the only one who could solve the puzzle. We were so high that only the clouds cold touch us. The devil was looking for us around the corner. His hooves would scrape on the wood floor. How hidden we were among the reeds of the Nile, like two little babes in baskets. It was all such a tragedy back then. The golden fingers and the red eyes of the beast. We did not run, we stood our ground and howled at the moon. Why are webs always tangled? Can they be anything other than tangled? What if the light did not illuminate? What would your world be like then? You are holding up the fish for the camera and asking if things can remain the same. You wore black lipstick and a scowl on your face as you drank your tea with the zombies. You were telling secrets about the rainbow. Beatriz is the meat of disbelief. She tells us that she has permission to dip her toes into the dark waters. Beatriz is wearing her Slipknot hoodie and talking politics with Mr. Dark. Beatriz is an optimist and thinks we should forgive everyone. Mr. Dark feels that the world would be better off if all human life ceased to exist. He says we should start a program of human eradication. He says that humans are a parasite to the earth and should be destroyed. We have eyes that see all that we have lost.

24.17

Beatriz is trading one stripe for another. She collects them like scars on her body. We are trying to find our way back to each other. Beatriz is searching for our common ancestry. She searched for the place where we crossed the grassland steppes of Beringia into America, carrying only that which we could carry. Her roads had been widened more than once. She is defined by her simple roundness, with crooked hips and the vanity of the weak. She is obsessed with making the world a better place. Beatrix says that she is going to leave Tulsa and move to a sweetie-pie town someday. She says that Tulsa reminds her of how poor she is. She says that when I smile at her, I make her feel naked, inarticulate, and powdery. She occasionally felt gypped as all women do from time to time. It is in the nature of their being to feel that somehow they are constantly at the short end of the stick, as if nature herself has cheated them in some universal joke. That life was somehow an imitation of a real life that someone else was living in her stead. As if she had been replaced as a child by someone else who was reaping the rewards that were due her. Beatriz had this sense of entitlement that she did not earn, but that she felt was owed to her just for being a female. It is important to realize that we cant live others lives; we have to learn to live our own with all of its struggles and surprises.

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24.18 We muddy the waters, thinking that the gold would improve our eyesight. A deep dark watery grave is their home. We are breaking away from your Hollywood norms. Life is a two dimensional stage with distorted lighting. She had a nose for a rat or two. An inspiration for the antagonist, you want to be as important as the gas in the lights. You have to tell us who he was. What were his last words? You wrote about your love for Dr. Loophole. You continue to claim that you are a human being somewhere inside these bones. I refer to you as the girl with a big shell doing the jitterbug. You should be in a rap video. You were unusual and some found you to be rough and unpredictable. It is like the essence of who we are extends beyond us. For you, the bodies are free flowing and distorted by the demands of life. We have learned to look past the distortions like animals with blinders. If I were to give you a shadow, how would I do so? How would I begin? What materials would I use to build you such a thing? Would it be a system with pulleys and levers? The only thing your shadow could say was, no and something in German that I couldnt understand. Your shadow sounds a lot like the lead singer for the Scorpions. I didnt think that I would survive the making of your shadow. You said that you fucking love me. Did you mean it? So much of what people say today means nothing. You dance slowly in front of me. They dont love you like I do. I was like James Dean. I have made you an image of perfection. I hose you down in the backyard. The water is all calculated as it washes all over you. Everybody knows Im a motherfucker. I ask you to write your manifesto on the chalkboard. You had wings like an angel and were surrounded by hunks of meat. The giants were pulling out the peoples eyes and selling the retinas to the FBI. This is a war for your mind. Its all about your capacity to see what is going on around you. Wake the fuck up! Get in line with the marching band with a gun in your hand, singing the star spangled banner. Im still selling my fictions and planning my own crucifixion. I deliver your democracy in the mail with a bomb. Betty Crocker is the mother of god and god is Barney Rubble. They show up in everywhere. The giants are controlling your thoughts, making you believe, making you behave. They are creating your destiny. These are the famous players, the stars of society. They bang their drums in the street shouting, Obey! A big stick and a big lie, gobble up the shit they feed you. Thank you sir, may I have another? Dont face the truth, run away from it. The truth has been crafted by marketing professionals to satisfy the greed of Wall Street. It was a furious dream that you brought with you to the sleep. We support your need for distinction. We stand around you and you reproach us and call us dog, cows, and pigs. For you, we are not human. Yet we are all connected to the same web. Planning the pragmatics of your own empire, this is not legitimate; there is no justification for your existence. We coming thumping on your doorstep, the long building where they sharpen the saws and they do so well with the ladies.

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24.19 The little girls know and the people forget about skin without scars and moles. The angel touched his finger to his lips. Perfect little hemispheres that you thought you could influence. It was your ambition that I couldnt understand. It was no secret how you used your pain. You will come back to me in pieces. They found your fingertips in the city dump; all these numbers seem so perfect at first. The bombs are walking again; they are not ticking, not beating. I buy a lottery ticket and smoke a pack of cowboy killers. I heard the tv reporter say that your head exploded, I would have liked to have seen that. Your belly is covered in fish scales. You legs around my back pulling me closer. I am being pulled closer to the detonation. The smoke is coming out of your ears. I once thought you were Jesus. I have tried to kill you in the motel rooms with poison cokes and jellybeans. Can you imagine what I saw when I looked down at you? I stole your treasure map. Why is it me doing all the action? I poured salt upon your wounds, yes more action. I cant help myself and I dont always know what you are doing. I mostly never pay attention. I am selfish like that.

24.20 The parked car on the street lies. The garbage in the grass lies. The sofa on your front porch lies. I thought you could do just about anything to me, except lie. I drove you to Atlanta and shot you in the head, twice, once for god and once for mother. I dumped on the street that lies. I could hear snatches of lines. They were wearing chalk outlines. They were kids from the pavement. I looked at them with my flashlight. They wanted to crawl inside my brain and make a home. It seems that having a home is so important to the species. Everyone wants a place where they feel that they belong. I drove from Atlanta to Minneapolis. There was trail of skulls all along the road. It was as if they glowed in the dark. Lighting the way for me, turn here and turn there. They had lost that hunk of brain. No more cheeseburgers and French fries. I looked for the little roadside crosses, but I didnt find any. I thought I saw coffins and body bags stacked up in the back of a seven eleven. The one that Tap and I had to walk to in the morning to buy a cup of coffee. There was a whore house along the way. The whores know that we are coming. They wave at us and blow us kisses from the porch. Their fingers are caked in heroin.

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Twenty five

25.1 I climb down out of the tree and set the tree on fire. Firemen come in their fire truck and put out the fire. I ask a stranger for a cigarette. I examine the dials on the fire truck. I ask one of the firemen what happened. It is hot in Nasty Jacks apartment. The party has been going on all night. Nasty Jack is in his bedroom fucking some little girl he picked up at McDonalds. He is always fucking some burger girl. They help him with his philosophy. How morality is only as good as your last cheeseburger. I hitchhike to the outskirts of town. I sit by the railroad tracks and listen to the sounds of the night. My pockets are full of holes and my head is full of dreams. There is this old lady who feels my face. She says that when she is with me that I make her feel warm. I can see the night in her eyes. She sits next to me by the railroad tracks. We are both sharing a bottle of mad dog and smoking a joint. The old lady says life is like a jungle, you have to burn it down and sell it to the farmers. I am listening to the crickets. They seem like they know what they are talking about. I asked her how she got so old. She says that she cant remember. She says that the fire lies.

25.2 I crawled on my belly through the cornfields. I wanted to lay still and become like the dust. Prudence was calling my name. The doors to her heart are locked. She looks so small tonight. I can almost not see her. She is tiny like a bug. I can feel her, she consumes me. This cornfield is full of killers tonight. The dirt soaks up their illness. One by one I put the barrel of the gun into their mouths. I can see the alienation in their eyes. I can see their hurt all across their faces. No one is innocent and no one wants to be brave tonight. I told them that I would make them real. We go to a bar and sit down at a table. The waitress comes over to take our order. She has a way of making us lose our minds. That can be a dangerous thing. She wants to burn us out. The waitress used to preach the gospel until she was possessed by a demon. She makes me want to drink beer. She makes me want to sell bibles door to door. Just so I can lick her pussy. I go to the hardware store and buy her a bag full of nails. We are fucking on top of the table. The killers are watching us fuck. There is drool running down their chins. I reach inside you, deep inside you and pull out your uterus and shake it in your face.

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25.3 My accusers are the silence, the emptiness. We are no good without words. There has been so many words between us. You say that the street at night has ruby eyes. I ask you if all streets have ruby eyes and you say no just the street outside our door. You say that outside our door is a world beyond all knowing. You spread your naked wings and the ground slips away. It has been more than two hours since you last felt so alone. There is a misfortune that lurks behind you. And then we were down to New Jersey with the bomb squad. You had one small tear from each eye. It was all so three dimensional as the world becomes unstuck. Another fix of motel love, this we said was for the martyrs. Your symptoms get louder as your thoughts jumble up together to the point where you are numb and feel nothing. I watch as the dragon slides out from between your legs and begins to devour your flesh. We dive like invaders, a thin slice, you transformed, like an interior sphere. Once this was a Christ like heart inside of you as open as a page of octaves with all of their whirling fragments so determined to be like a god of this day and age with all of the unreasoning snippets. This was the immortality that we had built. You had nothing to show for it. All dry bone and lamenting eyes with lips that traced back to the beginnings of time. You touch me with the fingers of triumph. Yes, touch me again and again. The paintings of life pushed aside to make room. The hardened black sediments of your heart as a sign of temptations past as you fill your nostrils with regret. It was all about what you didnt do that left you unkempt. A slithering something that rose and swelled in a tempest of sympathy and exaltation as you spoke of the backwardness of man and his bestial natures as if your heart was won or lost by such trifles of account. The little motor in your head whirling away, trying to be efficient.

25.4 I remember taking you to that art museum. You didnt give a shit about the art. You only wanted to smoke my hash and drink some beers. I knew that I would love your forever, or at least until the morning. You said that you cried watching me on the cross. You are escaping from the egg of existence. Cracking up the shell one small piece at time, you can see your freedom approaching-but this only a deception. There is a small skull on your table beckoning to you to come. You are a child jumping on the death bed. So many blue people, nobody gives a fuck what I think, nobody gives a fuck what I think. I don't have anything that I am really passionate about. There is just nothing there, nothing there at all. I am kicking an old bucket around the room, it doesnt hold water any more. They have been quiet; I havent heard a peep from the dogs. I dont care what people do. Out in the middle of nowhere and Im so thrilled to be in my own place. The roof needs to be fixed, a fucking nightmare. Why are you reading this? What are you learning from me? Ive got to get to work. I am wearing different shoes. They 251

were all that I could find. I am down to my last bucket of scrap. I got to figure how to make some cash. What can I do? You can name your dog Fido, trusted friend. Everything goes in a special place. I am photographing your flowers, each and every one. You were trying to be polite as I smashed all of your dishes and pissed on your freshly shampooed carpet. I slit my wrist and drew you a map to my heart on your living room wall. Someday you will die just like Johnny Carson. I stayed up all night watching Dean Martin drink and pretend to be drunk. There is a little Nazi in your head and Im trying to get him out. I think we will need a priest to do an exorcism. Can you touch your toes?

25.5 I have been talking to Roberta about your mental asphyxiation as you were squatting in the ashes. The words seemed a bit harsh and false as they came out of your mouth. You threw them against the stone walls and down from the tall white steeples. We turned the bright eyes of the pigs as we watched Archie Bunker and grew the anger in our veins. Mr. Crowley said that you were too young for an under shave and hair dip dyed in bright colors. Still you could tickle his fancy with too much hair spray and a bad angle. Mr. Crowley was a sucker for Japanese Haiku. You are more than a face, more than an earlobe. Mr. Crowley looks out his window and watches murder, knee deep in the blood of the innocents. He writes love poems all day and dedicates them to Bonnie. He tells her that he dies in her arms every day. He is reading her lips, very carefully, hoping to understand the pauses and the miscues. Mr. Crowley has told Bonnie all about the little voices in his head. How they speak to him in the middle of the night when no one else is around. Bonnie still thinks she can afford the luxury of changing Mr. Crowleys mind. Bonnie would picture his mind as a large waxy machine that stamped children into raspberry cookies. He was a light that showed all the secrets in the cave of her being. He was a wizard of theft and transformation as he spoke of love and the true beating sounds of his heart. Mr. Crowley is afraid that the truth will get out. He covers Bonnie in headlines. He sees monsters behind all of the trees. He wants to change the plugs in his pickup truck. He moves in and out of the land of the giant hamburgers. He is talking to a white frosted wedding cake, asking it if in knows the way to the nearest bus stop. He has all of his papers in order, just in case the police stop him and ask. But, they never have and most likely never will. He was telling the wedding cake about geothermal energy and asking women walking their dogs if they would be interested in helping him dig the shaft. He only talked to women with dogs. He considers all the dogs on the planet to be like lead soldiers on the planet Venus. He watched as the wedding cake crouched as if to be fucked from behind. The wedding cake had glassy blood-shot eyes. We watched as Mr. Crowley poked and licked her anus. He was

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probing for that sore place in her abdomen that made her feel all alone. Her heels over his head and laughing at the full moon.

25.6 There were lines in your reasoning that I could not trace. She is giving me two hours of mumbo jumbo. I wish I could do something about it, maybe create a vaccine. She could dance with the fullness of her womanhood. We sat on our hands and watched the witches dance. They seemed like such pretty little witches. I wondered about their extra nipples. They kicked their legs up high and made attempts to fly. How would they finish? Would they finish at all or would they spin on forever until eternity broke loose from the coils of time? She wants to believe in my smell. I am devoid of purpose, I have become absurd. This world does not make sense, yet the rituals of our lives are very entertaining. We laugh at their utter meaninglessness. You have mistaken me as someone who only wants to wait. You think of me as a gap between though and action. We begin with the living individual and construct our machines of war from these weak materials. You made a life out of fighting against the machine of war. I am a man charging a machine gun nest armed only with a sword. Sometimes life contains aspects that may appear to a rational mind to be absurd. The appearance is only because of ignorance, because of a lack of understanding from the view point of the other. The absurd is that which we do not know of or we do not understand. Is a soldier who throws his body on a grenade being absurd or being very meaningful?

25.7 She accuses me of being bourgeoisie with the napalm. I walk around the room naked, breathing in her smoke. On the kitchen table there is a sword and a bottle of red wine. Tonya is humming something from the Ramones. A slow piano melody plays in the background; it is like someone forgot to turn it off. Searching for the right chords to help us find our way among the illusions. We need a new life, a new direction. We are leaving the mines and feeling a little bit sick. You were so shiny and new. We are surrounded by a sea of houses. The smoke rings break apart and turn into small demonic fingers. They point at you and I, accusingly. It is as if they know of the great evil that we committed against god and man. You are always sitting next to me, smiling approvingly. We speak a language between each other without words. I have started the self-destruct sequence. Lets just press the reset button. You have been stealing from the graves again. Someone had told me this as I stopped to buy a paper. You said you were only breaking even. Im sleeping in your house with one eye open. Tonya has fallen down and I helped her up. I tied her close to my waist as she wrestled with the parachute. We placed the knots so carefully over you and we called in the ghost. We 253

picked up your disorder from the store. It looked so new and gorgeous. We took the gun and held it to your head.

25.8 You are a complete slave to the drug. You have the power to change history, to change people, falling under the spell of macro-economics. It was so musical and dirty how the bruise appeared on your thigh. You call me ill-mannered in your childish way. I can see the resentment in your eyes when I am on top of you. You could fly away from this if you only wanted. Why you stay is a complete mystery. When I watch you dance, I remember where it is that I came from. There are so many things that I have lost and so many things I have forgotten. Remember all the things we threw out the window of that old Ford custom 500? We were trying to make our own place in the world. We didnt know about fate and the different start times for the race. I kept running with my stigmata like it was some prized trophy that can get me through the door of some exclusive nightclub. Do you want to hear me testify about how I was so fucking lost? We drove that old piece of crap until it wouldnt run no more. Remember when Leo raced around the neighborhood shouting, You mother fuckers! It was all funny until he drove into some old ladys porch. We would listen to the Tennessee waltz and look at your naked pictures that I took with a Polaroid camera. We gave nickels to the Mormons when they asked us if we knew Jesus. You told them that he worked in a bodega on the street corner. You would hold my hand like I was your broken down papa as we walked the streets singing Johnny Cash songs and puff the magic dragon. You always knew more of the verses than I did. I think some of them you made up just to impress me. All you had to do to impress me was smile.

25.9 You are willingly perverse among the detours and the ditches as you walk and talk the temptations of this world. You are a committed sensualist constantly in pursuit of your prize. You come to me in armfuls of love and desire, shooting the alley cat out the hotel window. I get wooly and hard to live with as I drain another bottle of bourbon, a startling juxtaposition. I was dangling from the chandelier and you cut me down with your razor blade. You shook me from my slumber and forced me to see the shit in the world. We become thick-headed from our derailments and prohibitions. I was thinking of a new name for you, something from the elide- a thing that joins the present with the past. I gave you away in seed packets. I asked strangers to plant you. You were warm and green and had love in your pockets. Your smile is what kept me from dreaming of death. I am standing on your school of fish as I sell lemonade at the carnival. A Rhesus monkey taught me how to squeeze the lemons. There is a wino in the doorway smoking 254

a menthol cigarette. He asked me for a dollar to buy some food. He had tired eyes that were tired of living. He wrote his love songs on little pieces of paper and then posted them on the internet when he could get access to a computer at the library. He told everybody that he was a poet, but no one believed him, they couldnt see past the tatterdemalion. He lives in the American hotel and remembers the dinosaurs. He said it was important to not be too drunk around the dinosaurs. I am grinding the coffee beans to make a pot of coffee. The wino likes his coffee black, it reminds him of El Paso. He would come visit your hamburger stand and sing you his love songs. You put flowers between his buns. One day he robbed a jewelry store so that he could give you a birthday present. You told him that you only wanted the daydreams that escape from your windows. He ran out into the street with a butterfly net to catch them.

25.10 You lit up your pipe of opium and rubbed up against my leg like a cat. I am reading an article about a poet. I like how at the end they drag his soul through the mud. The writer reminds us that the genius was a sick and perverted fuck. I guess the article wasnt about the poet but about the writer. You gave off some existential threat as you blew opium smoke rings into the air. There is always more reality than our stomachs can digest. All this talk of the enemys infiltration spun circles around your head, a world of endless dirt that always needs to be swept under a rug. At times, you could be all leg bristle with your complicated lips. The anatomy of where hips and thighs come together, magnified, stretched and out of focus, and the hungry mouth from another world, they all come together in you as if sealed together in Reynolds wrap. You stand outside the American hotel handing out coupons. I remember the wino didnt want to be considered a beat poet. He wants to die in Bonnies hair before he discovers that he is all alone. We sat around and talked about all the ugly things in life. The news man doesnt have a theme song, but he looks like he wants one. She had little titties and large hips. His wife found him in bed, dead with a heart attack. All his juices were drained out of him. The poor little girl couldnt get out from under him. We thought he was a man, but he was only a muffin, as we stopped listening to his prolific promises. We shelled peas under a hot sun and drank jack and lemonade. Bonnie said a prayer for the growing season, we all said amen. Bonnies prayers are always like the words of an angry man, seething with the knowledge that redemption has been lost. She laid there for four hours before his wife came home from work. She said that he had great hands like a god. He made her feel so close to the dirt, so much more than one dimensional.

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25.11

We call the killers beautiful. It happens all the time. There is no need to be afraid. The things of the world pour through Tonya. She feels immobilized and drugged. She spits so the seeds of death will grow as she takes another swig of coca cola. Tonya was working hard at establishing her innocence. I had thrown my hat in the haha. She considered me her oppressor. I would shake her books and count the money that would fall on the floor. She had never seen mountains before. She begged me to stop the car so she could get out and take a good look at them. She was upset when I told her there was no film in the camera, this was before digital cameras. We stopped at a trout fishing spot and had lunch. I read to her a couple of poems from Richard Brautigan as she fidgeted on the blanket. She wanted me to write down all the names of my hookers. She wanted to sew their names into a quilt just like her grandmother did with her grandchildren. Tonya found it hard to sleep. In the morning she would be attacking the shore of the small little beach head. She knew that some of them would be dead, that not every girl would make it back alive. Bonnie was lying flat on her bunk with her eyes closed. She kept telling herself that she would be one of the unlucky ones. She prayed to every god she could think of and to some that she was sure she had made up. Bonnie figured that any god fake or real was just as good as any in a tight situation like this. Tonya was thinking about hard things like if they would be shipping her body home. She wondered if Hugo would remember what her pussy felt like. Tonya told lies to all the other girls about how pretty they were or how one had the grace of a movie star or the voice of a goddess. Bonnie put her trust in Tonyas lies. The lies, for Bonnie always revealed the pattern. It was the pattern that she put her trust in. The lies were only the vehicle for revealing the pattern. Bonnie says that the pattern is everywhere.

25.12

Trish is loading my gun. There is a smile upon her face. A cruel smile is the only one she knows. There is a seasoned quality to her hands as she works the mechanism. We were somewhere on the edge of a cornfield near Jesup, Iowa, the drugs are beginning to take hold. I tell Trish that I feel a little light headed and ask her if she felt like driving. She looks at me and opens her moth real wide, impossibly wide and there was this silence that seemed like an eternity. Then came this roar, it came out of her mouth, but its source was far away. It was a roar that might exist in the center of a black hole, as everything gets compacting into one another. Trish had taken her shirt off and was pouring sangria on her chest. Damn it is hot, she says and asks me why Im staring at her. We were head to this special place that was famous for making the best baked 256

potatoes in the world. As I kept driving Trish began to incorporate a magical vocabulary into her speech as she talked about the signs in the sky and what they meant to her and I. She was detailing her higher knowledge of the astral Arcanum when a tire went flat. I sent up smoke signals to Black Elk to send help. I fished a couple of cold beers out of the cooler and we waited for the rescue party. We painted messages on the rocks. We sold bracelets to tourists as they drove by in their ramblers. We set up a tent and watched the stars pass by us. Trish was counting all of the falling stars. Trish contemplated about all the meaningless questions. The mere mechanical process of touching her buttons sharpens my thoughts. There is something going on between me and her body. In a way, her body acts as a stimulus, it is a cooperative thing. I dont pretend to understand it. We are working in an uncomfortable position. Trish says that the discomfort helps. We have both accepted the fact of our demonic natures. We are always in trouble, with our relationships, with work, with our friends. At times, it seems as if everything is spinning uncontrollably off the face of the earth. Trish thinks its bad to think. She is not very good at thinking. She operates from some deep down place that is inside of her, I guess it may be called intuition. She guides her steps by the winds of fate and doesnt stop to ask why. She is a creature of action, of movement. She is constantly moving at the speed of light. It is impossible for me to keep up with her. She knows what she wants to do, but she doesnt spend time thinking about how to do it, she does it. If it is not perfect, she doesnt let that bother her. Trish says that life is not perfect. We use our antennas to hook ourselves up to the currents of the moment. We ride upon the winds of the times. We are intermediaries attaching ourselves to the ghosts and the gods. They whisper sweet nothing into our ears and we have enough good sense to write it down.

25.13

We are responding to our trauma, to our being used as an instrument. We do not leave the battlefield unscarred. Their blood is upon our shoulders, as we piled the dead high up to heaven. We didnt know what we were doing. It took me seven years of living with you before I really understood what was happening. It was like I stepped out of a very thick fog. The sunlight shone down upon me for the very first time and I heard angels singing my name. I sat down and mapped it all out, how everything should be done, what words should be said and the way the movements should work together. I could only do what I could do. I could only be the man that I am. I knew and felt that this was my salvation. There was no turning back now, I had burned the bridges behind me and had left a trail of dead bodies. The evidence was mounting against me, but I was still free. They would never find me. I had changed shapes and had been transformed into a new being. They were looking for the old me that was long gone 257

and dead. They were looking for a worm, when I had become a butterfly. The old man had to be killed off, so that the new man could come forward. The old man was left in the darkness as the new man stepped into the light. The new man took the lead; he dove off the deep end. The new man was operating on instincts alone; he follows his impulses, following his heart or his guts. The new man shuts off the clatter of the mind and moves forward into the light of life. The new man acts instead of reacts. He cuts a new path through the jungle. The new man starts his own wars and fights his own fights. He finds another means of expression, an heightened one, struggling to bring out that which is unknown. The old man focuses on that which is known, when the new man focuses on the unknown, the hidden, and the occult.

25.14

The solitude is breaking down; we are all brothers and sisters. We are the mad ones, the criminals and poets. We prefer the anarchy of life over the dull and mundane. We seek that which is sacred and set apart from the normal routine of existence. We have conceived of life with the magic of our words. We have crucified the saviors and stoned the prophets. Why did we do this, because we knew they were false saviors and false prophets? The universe did not reside in their hearts. They came to divide and conquer and we sought out only those who love. We are not building kingdoms, we are not building empires. We have torn down the temples of the bankers and have set fires to all of their money. We do not put our trust in ink printed on paper, but put our trust in life and love. We have turned the tables upside down. Can you see the utter insanity of this life? Everyone lies to you and you base your life on deceptions. All of your values are worthless. There is no value in this material existence. This world and all flesh will pass away. The mind dies with the body. It is like turning off a light. The illumination is gone forever. We are killing off the tyrannical influences, not letting the dead continue to influence us. We absorb them and eventually surpass them. The war has broken up everything. I have become bored by all of your principles. You lack a sense of proportion, of your place in time. Everything with you is disjointed, all elbows and assholes. I have been taken outside of myself. I float up above the room looking down on you. Can you see me? I am there with you always. You cannot get rid of me. I have become a part of you. We share in the fraud of this nonsense. We are partners in crime together. We rob the world of its absurdness and make a laughing stock of the worlds inconsistencies. The deeper we go, the more we dont know what we are doing. We find ourselves in a mass of contradictions, admiring the quest, the search for answers. We became wise when we realized that the answers do not exist. It is the diseased mind that thinks it has all of the answers. The disease wants to spread, to enter into the minds of everyone. The disease holds up a cross and tells you to submit. The disease is a 258

liar and a scoundrel. The disease brings misery for everyone. Stop believing in a coming golden age. This utopia you are dreaming of will never come. I am a lion and I will eat all of the lambs. Lay down next to me so that I might sink my teeth into your soft white neck. See how the whiteness is erased by the blood. There is power in the blood, wonder working power, in the blood of the lamb. The blood washes away all of the sins of the world. The blood is like breathing, it is the wholeness of our being. There is nothing to fear in the blood. We are protected by the blood. Come spill blood with me.

25.15 Trish could shrink herself into the size of a dot as she chewed on the silence. She could never lose her witchiness, a cheerful surge to her utterances. Trish did a lot of cocksucking for the noble cause as she caught the bird in her chest. She was living a famine in the midst of plenty. She is fighting for her right to a piece of bread, starving for all of her traditions. Now she has become sympathetic and charitable even, wanting to heal those who have been marked for death. We destroy our power to love. Her famine goes to the roots. I take my shovel and dig deep into her ground. I look around for the source of her disease. We expect nothing from god. Trish lays down her life. She runs with the herd and dies with the herd. It is all really natural. She has become the animal that is in us all. She convinces others to rally behind a cause, a belief, an idea. She lives in the swarm of her fine principles. It is her principles that put the taste of death in her mouth. She kills them off one by one. The dead are helpless against her. She satisfies her need to kill. She is becoming more civilized. As the civilization in her grows, she becomes more efficient at the kill. Trish retrieves the primitive, anarchic instincts which have been sacrificed for the illusion of this world. She is throwing sticks of dynamite at the crowd. With each explosion, the crowd gets bigger. She is not going to trade her life for the anonymity of purpose. She will not fail in living her own life. Her fight is for life and to have it more abundantly. She wields her sword as she strikes down her enemy. The struggle must be taken to the streets. The struggle must take place every day. The struggle must take place inside of you and outside of you. The struggle starts with you. I am looking for something that no savior or prophet can give me. I need no leader and I need no god. I am sufficient in and of myself. I am larger than my physical body. I am stronger than my mind. I can work miracles. I have enough faith in myself to make myself heard. My words are loaded with dynamite. My words destroy the walls of illusion. My words destroy the lies of this world. I reach up inside of my enemies and pull out their intestines. I have laid myself out wide open. I have learned all the strategies of the world, how the deals are made in the back alleys. I bide my time looking for the right opening and then I let them have it with all of my might. I am against your revolution because what we need is evolution. Humanity needs to evolve into a higher order being. With a revolution, we only replace one group of oppressors with another. 259

What we need to do is evolve to where you dont find the need to oppress those who are weaker than ourselves. This is a turning point. Mark this day in your calendar, you will forever from this point forward be changed. The old you have died and a new you have been born. I have elbowed my way in here and there where ever necessary. I am not asking for justice because I know that justice does not exist. There is no way to balance the books of life. Good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people.

25.16 Trish is juggling her abstract ideas. She is ignorant of the individual. She is measuring the patterns in the crop circles. Trish is a great fish out of water. She flops from side to side creating her reality. I cut her open and remove her air sack. Now she just floats down to the bottom. She is an animal trying to remember human speech. She has grown legs and crawls up out of the water. She has found that it is not always necessary to forgive others although she has forgiven me every time. My love for her was a bullet that went astray. It had something to do with her compassion for all the living creatures. She saw beauty in all of the evil. The evil is defined by our life as a machine. We crush the bones of the weak underneath us. We want only that which is impossible. We are timeless and eternal. Trish could not reconcile herself with the world so she turned the world upside down. She created a fiction to help pass the time away. This story she created helped to adjust the world to her. Now the world did not consider her peculiarities as strange and dangerous. Now the world took her in as one of its own. She was the lost child who was found. She was the little lamb that was brought back to the fold. Trish is a piece of art like any other art. Her underlying theme is salvation. The symbols by which she relates herself to the world are exhausted. She detaches the horse from the frame and it hides itself high up in the chandelier. We tried to coax it down, but it was too afraid. This is far more real than reality. The motorized sex borrowed from Darwin. He set up his camera and took precise measurements. We named the horse war and folded it up and put it away for death. Trish dug the trenches around the building and turned on the hose to fill them with water. I see the emergence of this great new empire of darkness.

25.17 We were looking back at January, trying hard to remember the way things were. We were watching the angels and the demons sway back and forth to the music. Trish was looking for a play on words, something she could tell the gardener. She always upsets my calculations. She questions the sincerity of my heart, asking me if I truly love her. I tell her that I love her more than I ever thought I could love someone. We deal entirely with disintegration, severing the nerve ends, opening up the capillaries, necrophilia, and 260

fetishism. Inside your pocket you carry a perfect picture. You never let it see the light of day. You stood upon the stoop and gave a speech about the death instincts of man, about this hallucination we all share concerning our desire for self-destruction. You are breaking ground for the new anarchy. We live with dead suns inside of us. I took you to the doctor and he fixed you up. Dr. Loophole threw a flaming comet across the horizon. He is standing on the threshold of a new era. He devours while he is devoured himself and there is more rain, more relics, and more progress. He has staged some amusing riots and has pulled off some interesting sances, but he is still a fraud and a thief. He is building an ark in his backyard in anticipation of the coming apocalypse. He acts upon his beliefs regardless of the consequences. I see the end approaching, but it is not an ending it is a new beginning. He who has a mind to decipher the clues of the riddle will know that the number is 39. We are hungry for the marvelous. We are patriots of the east side. The world outside of these streets only exists as an idea. We would walk to the graveyard to arrange the tombstones, putting the unordered lives into a final order. The old man was a preacher. He was the closest thing I ever came to god. When he looked at me I could see he had a confidence in me that I didnt deserve. When I stood upon the altar, the world disappeared and time stood still. I was born on the east side streets and lived on the east side streets. My home was the dirty part of town. We awoke everyday to the stink of slaughtered hogs. My father loaded meat into trucks all day. We would wander the streets all day and I have wandered the world all my life. I am the happiest when I am moving down the highway in an automobile. The hum of the tires on the pavement is a sweet sound to my ears. I couldnt get out of Waterloo fast enough, pulling up nine cities as the miles went past. Sailing up the river and going mad. The atrocities pile up to heaven. The evidence keeps growing and more and more people begin to understand. Once there was nothing and now there is everything. You pull your heroes out of your pocket and set them on the sidewalk, Napoleon, Marx, and Capone. You share them with the ignoble bastards. You share the glory and the hurtful truths. When it got dark, they led us to paths untold. They showed us the magic gate to the magical theater. We didnt notice that the streets were ugly and dirty. There were the bars and fast women. No one would throw dirt in their eyes on a Sunday morning when god was a storybook character. The older boys would gather in their clubhouse and drink beer until the sun would go down. We played basketball at the schoolyard and football and wiffle ball in Pop Bottle Petes backyard. I remember experiencing victory and defeat. We occupied ourselves as best we could, not know where it was we were going. I remember the red glow of the furnace and the men with shovels who fed the fires that devoured the wooden coffins. No one asked any questions back then. We all pretended as if we understood. But there was confusion on our faces. It was a confusion you couldnt buy at the Franklin Store. We would buy baseball cards and not really know why. We sold our souls to Rocky and Bullwinkle. We worshiped underdog. We watched Dirty Harry kill all the bad guys and still the streets werent safe. We still had bad guys who jump out of their cars and bust us in our noses. 261

We walked into the furnace like devils and hell did not spit us out. We stood in front of Bonnies house and puked out our guts in front of her mother. I remember Bonnies mother calling me a monster as I beat the asshole into submission. The world is filled with assholes. We can never get rid of them.

25.18 I cant ask you questions about the past anymore because you are gone. You were always so much better at remembering the past than I. You didnt inspire fear, you inspired love. There was a joy in living that cannot be duplicated. When we try to make something that is true and lasting, we discover that which is artificial. I remember Herman standing in the middle of the street with his pants around his ankles as he jacked-off in front of everybody. He was a victim of a struggle which takes place in the theater of his mind. He had purchased his ticket for entry, but was denied entrance. Herman wants a faithful woman. He looks for her on the internet. He hopes that he can have her shipped to his front door, because he is afraid of stepping outside. Herman is hoping to find a monastery in Tibet to begin his spiritual life. He didnt understand the cold-bloodedness that a war required. Still he would breathe in the toxic fumes of the clouds. He would fight with the stray dogs for the scraps of meat. He is as naked as a savage howling at the moon. Herman needs the earth like we need the sky. Trish was the one that convinced us to move to Southern Illinois. Herman was going to go to school there studying geography or philosophy. Herman built a deprivation chamber in the basement of an old house we rented. We would smoke pot and then float in the darkness. Herman was keeping a journal of the thoughts that came to him in the chamber. In the garage he would hang balls on different lengths of string and would kick and hit them in a pseudo-karate workout. One evening over white wine, Trish told Herman and I about her experiences in Southern Illinois. I always listened to her very intently. I cherished every word that came from her mouth. Her words could paint a picture in my mind that no one else could. She was studying lesbian pornography. She was planning on majoring in it. I lost her somewhere on the hill between the pizza place and the Chinese restaurant. I guess she wandered for days before she found her way home. She was living with a sociology professor who was getting a divorce. They ate vegetables together and practiced white magic. After a year, the professor left Trish for some whore in Cincinnati. Trish moved in with David the Bell Weather and they had three kids together.

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25.19 Sometimes we pretend at being normal as we gather all the beatniks around the stage. Each one has a little drum in his hand that he uses to tap out a disjointed rhythm. You wanted their lies more than their truths. Together we built a glass palace that stood high upon the hill. When I held the stone in my hand, it felt authentic. I left you here sad and unfulfilled with so much more left to be spoken. I always thought of coming back this way and placing the jeweled crown upon your head. But, I was distracted by the wasteland. It was the wicked void that called me on, to journey forward into dark upon dark. I was standing under a tin roof and wishing I had a friend, someone to play legos with. I conjured mister Bo jangles under the cloudy sky. He danced around your Shirley Temple and we all clapped and shouted for more. You said he was your hero when you used to believe in the magic of dance steps. I wonder what you believe in now. Do you still believe in me? Even when I put the blindfold over your eyes? You said this was ordained by god. You said that gods blessing made it legal. I never thought of this as a crime. It was your smile that said, go ahead, take a chance. You stood there with your papers in your hand, you had on your reading glasses and the blue jean jacket you stole from Herman. I listened as you spoke about desire, dreams, and vision. I always liked you in your sweater and scarf, standing outside your house with your arms crossed. I always wondered who it was you were protecting. Traffic was backed up to the funeral home. We turned around and went back home. It was a little too precious, a little too conventional. We are hiding inside each vignette, meeting at the chateau. We made an external object inside this fake space. Can you feel the pieces work on each other? We are in bungalow two, a small universe. I forced you to touch the evil charm, standing erect amidst the brambles. Sometimes I would pour you straight out of the can. I was only expressing my feelings. It is all about expression now. Before we measured success by individualist means, nightly we threw drunken wild parties. Herman was such a big alcoholic. He would compensate by being overly macho. He was afraid of being considered a cutie-pie. We settled down in the suburbs with our drinking and depression. You would comment on the hunger of nature. We kept humping away making more centipedes. The speed and the energy was all a part of the experience. We are amino acids struggling up out of the slime. We put a grid across our hearts to prevent others from looking inside. You say it is all about divide and conquer, pushing forward the technique. We live in a mechanical world that is filled with and seems to exist only for machines. We need to turn things upside down and live for nature. We need to stop worshiping the machine and begin to recognize and value the animal.

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25.20 You believe that one day you will be able to find your way, that the fever will break and set you free. I realized long ago that it was freedom that you wanted, but you continue to run head-first into that which enslaves you. Dreaming and swearing and constantly falling in love, it is a never-ending madness. Each drop of medicine only makes you sicker. Can you hear the storm clouds approaching? Hear the noise of the workmen as they build for you your tower? You will climb the stairway to reach god as you hold your lucky charm in your fingers. Reciting prayers that you learned as a child as you climb each step, higher and higher, you believe that magic never lies and that god makes all smiles, but in your heart you know the truth. Tonight you will burn your candles in the tower of your heart and you will worship the worm. You consider the worm to be one of gods most useful creatures. Like the worm, you were born old, much older than you give away. You are sad and heavy and play the part of the tortured soul very well. Most people dont realize that it is only an act with you, something that you try on for a season or two. Everyone knows your name as Mr. Crowley, but I know you as a brother. You see the bad before you can see the good. One would think that you were born a Capricorn. In all your evil workings you strive to do the right thing. You want to balance the books of karma. The night falls all around you as we go to dinner. You throw off the grayness of the day like a worn coat or a tattered robe. You are evoking a world of thought and feeling. We are coldly aware of the singular absence that haunts our lives. We hold up our drinks and toast the absence. We drink to the emptiness and to the king of nothing. We are familiar with the emptiness and are intimately aware of the various shades of emptiness that makes up ones life. Mr. Crowley speaks to the emptiness with a full-throated roar that he was born with. He reminds me of the immense world of emptiness that I am familiar with. The day would be over and I would mingle with the crowds, being both pushed and shoved. I would be both fighting for a life and taking one. I dwelled in the realm of contradiction in the mesmerizing spell of the nothingness. When we have nothing, there is no guide to show us the way, no map to provide direction. All previous treasures mean nothing to us now. Our treasure is in the promise of hopelessness. The glamour has been replaced by seduction.

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Twenty Six

26.1 We sat and drank beer under the shade of the old oak tree. Like us, it had been marked for death but someone forgot about it. You were writing a play about clowns that keep coming and going through out the scenes. Life is a series of clowns that come and go in our lives. Clowns to the left of me, jokers to my right, here I am stuck in the middle with you. What does it mean to be stuck in the middle? Does it mean that we are neither hot nor cold? Does it mean that we are merely spectators watching life pass us by? We wave at the people on the floats as they move on down the parade route. When the beer was gone, we walked over the railroad bridge to a little caf on the other side of the river. We ate catfish and drank more beer as we watched two old men fishing. We watched them fish with despair and anguish. I told you about how I had touched bottom and was forced to create a new life for myself. This new life is all mine, it is my own creation. No one can make a claim upon this creation of mine. This new life I can either build up or burn down. I am the creator of my own existence and like a creator; I care nothing for the hands of fate. If this new life is destroyed, I will simply create a new one. The wild becomes tame and familiar. You used your magic to kill the girl. She died from all of the pins and needles. You were born to be a heartbreaker. You said that she had too much hope and hope is a bad thing. Someone who hopes too much shows that they are not where they want to be. Hope shows that someone is living a lie; that they need to change and become the thing they want to be. You said that we are living in the worst possible time. You have thrown away the calendar and gave your watch away. You live your life according to the sun and the moon. For you, time has no beginning or no end. You make no reservations and you make no compromises. The little ones congregate around you waiting for you to divide the loaves and the fishes. You put meat into their little tummies and they are thankful. They put your name on posters and march around the city square shouting your name. You promised them fire from heaven, but only gave them charcoal briquettes. You teach them how to walk on their hands as they travel farther and farther from the dead sun of their birth. They call you father as they beg for scraps of wisdom. You throw them to the wolves. You become more alive as they become deader. One by one they fall back into the darkness as they struggle to survive. The vision you gave them no longer supports them. They think that they can create a new world out of the old. This is why I call them your children.

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26.2 Every word from your mouth is either murder or suicide, thinking it best to lose the child inside. When we become old men, we start looking for our inner child. We were listening to Bob Seeger sing about all the women he had known. He said that some of them tried to cage him. You asked if that is what you did to me, cage me? I tell you we should not lose our heads that change will soon be on its way. You smile and strap on your sandals. You talk about starts and your humble opinion. You hold that Styrofoam cup of coffee just like a stewardess. You tell me that everyone wants to be kissed. The problem is your kisses taste a little too much like suicide. You were a dangerous wounded animal when I found you. Distrust was inked upon your heart. They had forgotten you and left you for dead thinking the bullet was inevitable. Major corpses standing at attention, they bleed and flex. They sleep like the earth, waiting for Leviathan. It is a failure that is tantamount. I pat you on the back and tell you to relax. That this is only a bad trip, soon you will come down. Soon the night will unveil the clouds from your eyes. Maybe you can find your purpose before time puts you to sleep? You lay on the floor and I read to you a trashy historical novel. It was about a girl growing up during World War Two. I would stop occasionally to listen to the geese as they flew by. You sweating and exuding oblivion. I told you that I had to change the oil in the mower and we talked about weed killers. The girl was jealous of her sisters love. Your feet looked like the Christs nailed to the cross. I think it was your feet that first attracted me to you. It wasnt the finished product that was important but the message that we sent out into the air. We come together and then we separate back to our own lives. In a desolate corner, no living thing grows. You puffed nervously on your cigarette. With each puff, everything slips away. You are a force of creation and destruction, a force of nature. It was I who swam in the seas of your visions. You drank me out of a tall tumbler with ice. I wrote I love you in the sky. It is always the last few words that you focus on. Everything before is just trivial rubbish. You mind cannot grasp the chaos of the data. So you focus on the end and forget about the beginning and the middle. Close your eyes and sleep. Believe the lies that Mr. Crowley is telling you. He only wants your heart for his sacrifice, to illuminate the hidden places of your being. You were putting behind you a world that you did not create. Others had created it for you and you learned to adapt to its confines. But, now you were making your own world fecund and groaning. Let us not forget stippled and splayed.

26.3 Last night we drank a Texas fifth of bourbon dry. Prudence would always call me an asshole, when I took her car to Tonys Pizzeria. She had a Cadillac with a broken headlight. We would cruse up and down University Avenue racing dicks and chasing pussy. Everyone though Tim was a cop. They were afraid to do their dope in front of 266

him. Tim sold flowers on the corner of Ridgeway and Kimball Avenue. I thought he was going to talk to me about Jesus, when he asked if I could get him some cocaine. I took him to meet Leo and we got an eight ball and looked up Tonya. She was always ready to party. She could push all the rhythms and all of the forms. Her breasts would be dripping from the kisses of bloated lips, as we rocked the coke and smoked all night. It was like a sexual mass and Tonya was drugged by the ritual. We explored the pathologic monsters of her world as we entered her at both ends. She dreamed of idols that were buried deep inside of her. Tonyas pulse quickened as the blood rushed through her veins. Without a warning a dynamo broke loose inside her. She pulsated and convulsed with every particle of her being as she muttered that she wanted to live. She was sinking deeper and deeper into the bottom of nowhere. Her body was decomposing under morphology of history. She felt oppressed and embalmed as she lay there legs spread open and our juices dripping from her wet cunt. She could no longer tolerate the loneliness and grabbed hold of my cock and begged me for some more. Her harbor expanded as I rasped upon her nerves with my inky splash and the pall of the night. I threw a screen of silence over the earth and she finally had her piece. She lifted the curtain aside to stare into the darkness. It was then that she was seized with an utter terror. She realized right then that she was truly alone in the world. As my engorged cock thumped inside of her releasing every last drop of what I then thought was freedom. She was convinced that out there in the darkness lurked a sinister fortune. It was something that she could not escape from. She knew in her heart that it would track her down and devour her. We ate her flesh and burned her with fire. Beneath the purple halo she was naked. I held her close to me to feel her fire inside. I felt her beating heart trying to match the strokes of mine. All she wanted to know was if I loved her. I told her that the blood in her veins awakened sensations in me that I never felt with another woman. Our lives had penetrated each others. She said that I always reminded her of John the Baptist. I had taught her how to stand on her hind legs and snatch at the pieces of meat. She told me to eat of her flesh until I was full. She wanted me to be full for eternity. She thought she could satisfy the hunger inside of me, that I would stay with her forever. She made plans of us being side-by-side for eternity. Tim was making a commotion by shoving cottage cheese in his pockets. He was trying to amuse two vultures who were hanging from his balls. Each one sucked on a ball and made chirping noises as he stuck a finger in their assholes. He smiled at Tonya and I showing us the whites of his eyes and his bleeding gums. When he laughed it sounded like the gurgle of a sewer. Later Tim became a preacher and some believe a savior. He loaded up his Winnebago and moved to Omaha to proselytize the natives.

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26.4 All I wanted was to be left alone. To be given a measure of chaos so that I could bring the confusion into order. My goal was to live life and to hypnotize all the fools. I wanted to forget myself in life, to live as a madman and howl at the moon. Ive killed all my impulses, all of my finer impulses and I know it is a shame. I should have lived by impulse alone. I should have revealed that god and the devil are one. I had the vision; I could recognize truth when I saw it. I shut my eyes to that which defeats me. I kicked myself in the ass and lived my destiny. Time slips away in a dream when I am with you. Say it again that I can fool you. I didnt believe it at first until you lifted up your skirt and said hullabaloo. I want you to know that I could never be loyal to you, I love women too much. I love all the women in the world. Does this make me a devil or a god? Can you tell me your secrets? I would say your name, but I know it would only hurt you and I hurt you enough. I wish I could believe in your lies again. I wish I could back in time and make all the same mistakes again. Could you laugh for me again? Could you find that feeling in your heart again? Remember how we would fuck like the world depended on us keeping it together? Remember how we would speak with one voice? We would speak for the one moment of freedom. We were joyous among the sad ghosts. We knew that nothing could be given or taken away. We were prepared to pay all of the costs. You had the voice of daring and dared to imagine this world. All of my problems ceased to exist when you surrendered. You were my god and overtime I found you to be lacking what I thought to be god-like qualities. More and more I came to see you as only human. I took down your noose and put away the chair. I was searching in you that which was capable of bringing life from death. I watched as you knelt on the sidewalk. You were producing joy and ecstasy as you embrace me passionately. In your arms I am oblivious as I recognize the golden moment. Slowly I removed the mark of the beast from your body. It was as difficult as removing Nazi gang tattoos, but my lasers were sufficient for the task. I never asked you about your experiments on the dead and I have promised myself that I never will. You dead man stare will be enough for me. Someday I will remove your compassion with a hose, a bucket, and a paring knife. Mother always said that I had skills that could be applied to any situation.

26.5 She said it was a bit like boxing, sometimes you hit and sometimes you get hit. She was an expert at the bob-and-weave. Her footwork was flawless. She could dance around the ring. She could dance around all questions also. As far as responsibilities, she claimed that she had none. She said that she left her responsibilities on the plains of North Dakota. It was somewhere near an abandoned mine shaft that she lost her responsibilities. She retells the story with a sad look in her eye. Whenever I ask her about the sadness, she just says that her days of milking cows are over. Her skin was warm and 268

almost hot. Our clothes fell to the floor like empires that rise and fall under historys march. A wake of strange chemicals, molecules floating and interacting, heat being generated, we danced along with the cosmic dance. We are seething with the change. Two rocks chiseled and defined by wind and rain. We are caught up together in the air. The mixture of metaphors of heaviness and lightness, we see things the way we want to and imagine the world to be an ordered place. We rise in thunder and hellfire. She made offerings to the gods every time we stopped to pee. She would pour a little beer in the parking lot and say a little prayer. Sometimes she would scratch the word kinbote into the wood of a picnic table, when we stopped to eat cold sandwiches that she packed in the cooler. We eat our sandwiches with the remnants of cannibalism, enjoying our addiction to the brush tail possum. We are a universal love song, a mosaic. I found an influence from the mystical, an understanding of the forest and the birds of the air. We travel with our made up lives across highways of intrusion. Your sins belong to me and all your rules and regulations. I move your eyes and your monkey arms with a crazy feeling. Here you come with a milk pail in your hand. Walking through the door of the hotel room whispering my name, I ate your nightmares with cheese and crackers as you pulled back the covers of the bed.

26.6 I left you here a lone, just for a little while. I wanted to see how much trouble you would get into on your own. You selected the Jesus toy at the store, while I was worshiping the devil. We drank some coffee at his house. He smoked cigarettes the whole time. We dangled by a thread that was not our making. You keep talking about your toaster, how it is the best toaster in all of the land. You say it speaks to you in seven different languages. I was looking for your money shot while the devil bangs on a dead lion lying on the floor. He makes all the motherfuckers jump. He asks me when I think he can grow up. I tell him tomorrow, but today we got to kill somebody. There is no time to waste, so get off that dirty carcass. We got to roll dude. We finished the bacon and eggs and left the happy chef dinner. It was three in the morning and I just finished playing four sets at the water tower biker bar. The devil wanted me to help him kill a drug informant. This is a life that I wish I didnt have to live. We turned the blood into wine. The devil plays the guitar with such interpretive power and with a spirit of mischief. I sang for him a song about the darkness and we both laughed for a while. You made a comment about how laughter is only temporary. We killed the man with no name in a corn field in Iowa. He paid for his sins and for those to come after him. We watched his blood flow in the rows and he was totally undone. You untied the knot and let the string blow away in the wind. The devil said that we were only working for the man. We could always blame the crime on the moon. You questioned if it truly was a crime or justice. I told you that I didnt know what justice was, that I never seen such a thing before. You were blaming 269

your sister for the shaved man standing in the corner. He has a tattoo of a horse on his chest that says mother. You say the meat hanging from the rafters is an eye-sore. You think that if freedom really existed that it would hang from the ceiling just like this, sucking the life out of the room. She said that I was being a dick for claiming to be transformed by her words. I dipped my hotdog in the water on the table and laughed about the charity of the insane. You sleep on my couch for four days straight, only getting up to pee or drink something. I thought you were going to die on my couch. I was stressing out about calling the authorities and explaining all the needle marks in your arms. They wouldnt understand my explanation that you were the bride of Frankenstein. You want to grow me up as I turn off the tv and hang my sign on the door. The sign says open for business. The people come through the door and give me money. I give them a bag of green sunshine. The people are always happy. I told you that you should sell meat for a living, everybody loves meat, and the stuff practically sells itself. You are invoking your goddess while I read the wall street journal. I am looking for clues to pin on the refrigerator. You were struggling for your words. It was like you were distracted. You are shaking that thing you got from the piggly wiggly. I hook my toes around your chair and pull you a little closer. Now you are worried about your daddy. The devil says that he will bring me a present the next time he comes in town. He says it will put hair on my chest. I tell him that my chest is hairy enough. He laughs and says that a guys chest can never be too hairy unless they are cracking your ribs open for open heart surgery. They are bitter cowards with bitter bones. We rehearse the passionate kiss; everything is a play with you. You know where the spotlight is pointing at all times. You take me to my spot and tell me to speak my lines. Your mother was not a lady. She swore her blind allegiance to all cut throats. She could wander for days like Apollo. I was surprised that everyone was so will to take her on. I guess they were only surrendering to persuasion. Like the click of the gun clip and the fine slice of the scissors cutting out your daily coupons.

26.7 You were enticing the junior senators as they talked about bombing holes into the infrastructure. You are private property and you advertise in the Sunday paper. With your net, you gather in all the impressions. You would dress like an Austrian and speak Portuguese to all the strangers. I asked you if I could see your monkey. You scrape the leftovers into a bowl and recite the last lines to Madame Butterfly. The chief of police is pointing a bazooka at you shouting that you could love no other. You told him that you could love him again just like the Lawrence Welk dancers. You sweep up the remnants with your carpet sweeper. The mayor falls asleep on your neck. We tie him up and put him in a box. We ship him to Chief Keokuk. I bought you a mask in that store on Seventh Street, the one with the big eye in the window. Rose wanted to read my fortune. She 270

suggested that we share some tea leaves together. I had a total of 29 stitches then. You would count each one as you looked into my eyes. Sometimes Im convinced that you really give a damn. Today is Thursday and it is typical of all Thursdays. The circus clowns are getting tattoos at the barber shop. This one tall clown is trying to sell a civilian his little car. It is the car that they drive around the arena in. He is trying to sell it for a hundred dollars. He wants to buy some cocaine. He says he needs it for the parade. A parade always rips the soul right out of him. He needs something to hold him up to fortify his reason to go on, even if it is only temporary. The barber is thinking of making the tall clown his pet. He has a collar and a leash all ready. I am reading the paper, amazed at the lies they can tell. Nixon is in the alley, trying to cop a buzz. He is smoking the ashes of a dead Kennedy. There is plenty to go around. It was the first time you ever were in snow. You were not afraid to admit that to your interviewer. You were laughing and boom there is blood on the walls. Nixon gets out the cleaning supplies and starts scrubbing down the walls. He is mumbling something under his breath. A time to love and a time to die. It is past midnight and the dogs are coming up from the reservoir. They are looking for the meat of the artificially sweet. They are postmodernist dogs and have sworn off anything with sugar. They are listening to destiny on the radio. They get their obedience class over the radio. The white light makes your head hurt as the little pieces of you float away. You are galloping across the yellow bricked road. It was true love like puppy chow. You are telling me about when you used to ride your red horse as I peeled back your armor to discover that you had feeling just like mine.

26.8 The lights are shining bright tonight in the eyes of New York City. You sit and release. You are walking through the water in your Sunday dress. Sunflowers raining down with your blindfolds and small revolver as you smile and swallow the thorns. You cant pretend because of me. Fragile is your love on the outside of my window. You are standing on the fire escape looking in. You want warmth and brightness to return looking through the haze, experiential. You wander like most children do, spending years in a search that cant be found. You carry the dead birds with you like they are your memories, lost to oblivion of smiles and kind gestures. With each stroke you make the steel just a little bit sharper. You say this is a symbol for your resolve. There are symbols on your fingers and toes; they are not conducive for the pacing. I was intrigued by that sparkle in your eyes. You want to live in fat city, searching for the connections. We all died a little that day, it just took some of us longer to realize it. We trudge on waiting for the inevitable, thinking that the life we are living is really worth something. Brooke would shoot her gun with one eye open. I remember seeing her shoot a guy across from the train station. That was when she had to leave her home. I think she made the FBIs most wanted list. They said that it had to do with all the dangers in Pakistan. I can still picture those two 271

girls playing their violins in front of the art gallery. They were playing an old Kris Kristofferson song. They seemed more realistic than everyone else on the street. They were bumping up the intensity of the day, a fluorescent night scene. We climbed up on the ziggurat and looked down on the people. I think it was the fifth tower of Babel. Brooke was looking for the faith factory. She had a handful of Buddhas that she needed to set down. She was sucking on some red hot chili peppers to expand her mind the size of three universes. We smoked under the maple trees like two old dogs. The bleeding man thought he was doing well. He stopped over to sell us a bag of persuasion. He was constantly talking about his needs and never phrased things as wants. It was Brooke who suggested that we chop him up for shark bait. She was bound and determined to catch a great white and she thought an English professor would make the best bait. He squawked a bit when she first hit him the baseball bat, but he got real quite after that. I dont remember if we ever caught any sharks that day. I remember Hugo got seasick and puked over the side of the boat. Eventually he was able to set aside his selfweariness. We spoke to the congregations and divided the loaves. Brooke danced and played the tambourine. It was another impossible Jungian evening. It is like when time sits down small and brown and the only thing next to you is the hot ticking. It is then that I get a perfect look at the life that no one talks about. I can see through the curtains of the never wanted. I guess some would say it even is vulgar.

26.9 You bleed purple into the sockets of their souls. In one night you became just like them. You say that this is disintegration. You ponder and build up the implications as the hypnotic cadence overwhelms you. You move both backwards and sideward. The cuneiform tablets crumble in your hands. You are wearing a poor coat and hiding the richness of your heart. Their hands pick at your clothing. You claim that you are doing these things in the name of your father. This is what makes you stunning and captivating. You are shedding your human skin, sitting in the back of the pickup truck. We are close and you move in a little closer. Doing that dusty blade of grass a justice, as you scratch your words into the dirt and into the air the beginnings of magic and the beginning of time, you consume the environment. Wild and naked and ripe with a joy that cannot be store bought or fabricated. Bonnie kicked down the demons door. She raked the bone across the coals. She said that she was connecting all of the past lives. The lion was thin and pale. Almost like an apparition speaking in riddles. Bonnie spoke the lies of the prayers that she was taught as a little girl. They never worked before, but somehow she had developed a faith in them. I didnt know if it was a result in a belief in redundancy or that Bonnie was just plain stupid. She used to be a love song for life, but now that has all changed. She could change from boxer to blonde. I could never tell her beginnings from her endings. She was looking for a story or an 272

antidote that could tie all things together. She felt that there would be better experiences down the road. It was always about the road. We did nothing but travel back then. Hugo said that our thought processes differed depending on geography. He believed that certain places held special forces to influence people in both positive and negative ways. Hugo was drinking from a bottle of ever clear. We would pass it around the vehicle as he raced down the road. Hugo had one eye on the road and the other on the bottle. Bonnie was rolling joints and lighting them up one after another. Tommy was in the backseat bleeding again. She was always talking about the final curtain, when we would all take a bow for the last time. Bonnie wants to drill herself deeper into the bedrock. She had purchased a sizable amount of dynamite and was drilling holes into the walls. She has a bit of a connection. She needs to get off the beach, because the locals are getting disturbed. Its just the way life is, a nice shirt and a snake eating a bird. Hugo says it is what it is. One time he went for a walk, many years ago, pointing to a rock wall awakened rattle snake. He doesnt have the constitution to keep going on, scrubbing the love out of the human. He is reading his books about Spain. We have room service, so order some more whiskey. Im not sleeping tonight. The stars are all wrong and too many people are dying. We all die for the wrong things. It is the love for the metamorphasized thrown away things. You took the creature down and coiled it around your neck. Still passing me the encrypted note. She is pacing the tiny apartment with subpar footwear. I can see a trail being formed in the thin bare carpet. Bonnie is a product of this digital age. I pulled out the Yeats and found you at the door stoop; you were pretending to be real fresh from the cement mall. They are pulling down the trees to make room for more roads and parking lots. Mr. Rosewater would call it progress.

26.10 This was back when Bonnie first started to stalk me. Eventually I began to notice her everywhere I would go, at the sub shop, at the record store, at the dive bar on the corner. Bonnie would carry a length of rope with her just in case she could find someone to tie her up. I would check for clocks behind her eyes. There will always be a thin black line between your concussions and muddy highways. I think it has something to do with your programming. You are riding the wooden plank with arms stretched out for better balance. I accuse you ever being an optimist. You are sorting through your options, weigh each one carefully. It is almost like they mean something to you. It was the slight wink in your eye that disturbed me. We live in a world of slippery slopes and dogmas that drag you down to hell. There were more ghosts than we could smoke. Bonnie and Hugo stayed all night as we gave it a good try. Someone sent for the butler. He swept up our footsteps behind us. I was looking at Bonnies pictures and told her that she had a beautiful family. She gave me a faded smile and said thanks. Bonnie kept 273

asking me if Hugo was a good man, if he was someone who could be trusted with money. I told her that Hugo needed to be scared really good. He unlocks the door and runs down the street, Bonnie is chasing him waving a Sears catalog. She is throwing her bones. She is building another clock in the town square. Bonnie thinks she can see the spots were the water pipes broke and the water soaked through the walls. The drops of water are shaking her sheets. Hugo is writing Bonnies obituary. She has a large hairy pussy with lots of energy to move her ass up and down. Hugo made coffee over her little stove. Time of death was considered to be indeterminate. I have been picking the flesh off of your bones. I carefully place you in your wooden box. Close your sweet little eyes as I sew them shut. You dont want to see me beat the dog anymore. Another stark and beautiful image of more friction than function, we thought that what we are doing has some special purpose or meaning. This just shows that we dont have a clue. We are biological accidents and we cant escape this fact. I have taken you out of the history books. They are almost complete now. Soon everyone will forget about you. Then you can count me among the sheep and not the goats. The path to heaven is truly paved by dirty deeds. Willie Boy hands me a vial and tells me to shoot it up. We are peeking through the windows of the car. Willie Boy says to stop looking and to just get in. I am looking for the ticket stand to buy us some tickets to get in. Willie Boy wants to see the show where the naked girl rides a pony.

26.11 We glide across mechanical movements, you have no fucking clue. Yet, you continue on-moving in a direction that you hope to be forward. You have become thin and uneven, worn in certain special places. The tenants of your religion can sometimes be used against you. The key is to emphasize the ambiguities of interpretation. Can you hear the scurry of the feet? I think they may be trying to sneak up behind us. They are crawling into your unhealed scars. You cant know what the future holds as you lay back into the grass once again. Every stolen bike had to be returned by the evening. Turning your guilt into a ceremonial gift, we come crashing down. Every now and then we get close to perfection. The jury was hung out to dry. You were always talking about your Norwegian ghosts. We hurry down State Street past the sisters who never have dimes for the meter. The last time I parked here, someone stole my Spiderman comic book. We are living off the land. Im taking my chances with your god. There are no picture perfect postcards and no angelic beings in your bed. Hugo never once said he was embarrassed to be seen in public with you. They sentenced me to death row as I made my way to Sunday school, fighting off the witches and the trolls. Every time she said her prayers the buttons of her blouse would come undone. It was times like these that made you say that nothing is real, that we are only a bunch of swirling molecules involved in a group orgy. 274

26.12 At one hundred miles an hour, you cannot see the lights as they fade in the distance. Our eyes search the landscape for desertion. You thought we were heading for Louisiana. We crawl out of the trenches firing at the first thing we see. If it moves, we shoot it. We were side by side with the meat. Potso thought he knew about you, but he didnt know about fade to black. He thought he would find love among the shambles. He would brag about the number of hearts that he had mangled over the years. When he smiled, you could see the tiger crouching behind his eyes. He seemed to be burdened by some obligation. There was a relationship or a duty that dragged him down. He talked of looking into their eyes and being lost. I told him that I was behind him each step of the way, but he was not listening. He was too focused on his suffering for freedom. He said that he suffered each and every day for freedom. Potso claims to be even with devils and demons since Hell has frozen over. You were born in the gutter and live in the gutter, to do so mean that you live from one drama to the next. It means that your whole life is only a dream. In the midst of the gutter you grow one hundred feet, so that you can scurry form place to place. You are constantly looking for the next fix and hoping to not get caught by the cops. Living in the gutter means you develop cop radar. You can see them everywhere crawling over the furniture trying to get to you. In the gutter, you drink in the past and the future. The present is always awkward so you are always attempting to escape the present. You feel the clawing hands of the gutter. They reach out for you to pull you back in.

26.13 I didnt understand the fascination with frozen things. How you would dig up the cold and wrap it up in old newspapers. It was the stories about the cold-blooded that kept you coming back for more. You claim that it is a new faith, but it has the entire trappings of the old. You hold your breath and count backwards just like at the pancakes class playing your kazoo on the highway. I think we were in the land of cotton panties. We tracked down the nearest police office and had the little girl arrested for speaking the truth in public. There was one spray can laying in the yard, space/ time out of place. When do we call it a body? Why so much fear in your eyes when I told you we would push it up the hill? I found you hiding in the midst of the clouds; I drank from you richly as you climbed a tree-a sleeping beauty. We used to have so many things back when such things were used as a measure of our sprouting out. You wanted to give a face to desire, not wanting to leave him homeless or destitute, like yourself before. I am pacing back and forth, drawing a diagram on the wall. The wind blows through the window and knocks us down. The security man came 275

by and showed us how to lock all of the doors. You wanted to read more about stasis. I started a fire in the fireplace and we sang old songs about working on the railroad. I keep feeling the spot where the horns used to be. I miss them already. On top of the garbage pile, left there to rot, the core is eaten away with the passions of the past. You are an addict and live for the addiction. You want to be carried away with the passions of abandon. Every year the death grows more and more inside you. You tell me that you miss it. Now life is filled with death. I forgot that I had a map in my back pocket. The map showed where all the treasures were hidden. Some of the treasures we discovered where not worth digging up. I watched as you searched each and every wave. One by one they came in and you stood there in your rubber yellow duck boots searching. After a while, you had gathered a sizable crowd around you. They were searching with you, yet they didnt have a clue what it was that they were searching for.

26.14

They have learned to navigate through life like sheep. They are mossy green footsteps along the hills of the dreamland as they wait for the hammer and the knife tasting the cold for the first time. Which one did you bring? Was it the nail with the leather strap or the bucket of kerosene? From time to time they would forget their fear and almost act confident. No long lost conspirators to rise up the courage. You wanted to build a home through the haze of brown colored bottles. You fired the workmen for failing to address the conspiracy. You sent your horses into the fields to collect necromancy thinking that you were another star thrower. I have toyed with your nubile flesh before. I have seen you transformed. You would bind their feet and then strike them with the hammer. The cold message being cranked out through the old speakers again and again, this was no time for repentance, we had lives to take. The balance sheets needed to be balanced. I walked inside the bodega and pointed the gun in the mans face. I was not there to argue about Veterans benefits. I only stuck around to watch you elude your inner voice. I am fascinated by the struggle that goes on in your mind. You struggle daily with your inner demons. I can imagine them tearing small bits from your soul, as you attempt to do the right thing. I realize that this life only partakes of a majestic beauty on rare occasions. The bulk of our existence is mundane and boring. We do what we have to do in order to move on. Occasionally we take hold of a magic that is beyond us and we soar with the illusion of a god-like madness. You have always been a believer in powerful forces, thinking that you are pushed along by fates winds, that some illusion holds you in its grasp. When this illusion no longer helps you, then you must destroy it with eyes wide open on Death Valley. They dragged you out into the street and executed you with all of the other poets. Your words were burned and your tongues were nailed up on the courthouse walls. Look at all of the dead prophets, they 276

once flowed with so much life and love and song. Now they are silent and dead like the rest of us. They fertilize the fields with all their good intentions. The world has changed so much because they were here. They have blessed us with such insight and understanding. It was that night that we left for Corfu. We met a young medical student who was on vacation. He told us of the rigor involved in his studies. He always wanted to visit the tombs of the poets. He was bound and determined to discover where some obscure beat poet was buried with all of his evil intentions. Bonnie suggested that he make a sacrifice to the dead poet. I told the young man that he should use the word lugubrious as a symbolic seal for the ritual.

26.15 Im happy working under your nose. I think your nose is very sexy. You used to say that killing was not your thing. I have you dressed all nice and fancy. I called you Venus 1951. I am admired by your touch. You touched me near the boat house and it was like reading a new book. You have some very subtle things going on. It has something to do with your shadows. I rolled you down the hill and there was no build up of layers. You chased after the flock of sheep as boredom laughed. You showed me the views from your everyday life, a couple of large landscapes all in sepia tones. Little fleck of your rawness still comes through. I watched as your scarlet danced through the trees. You said that you always hated compromises. I t seems we have been at this point in our conversation before. Is this all that is left for us, to repeat ourselves and each time build upon the other with us thinking we are still original. Im not so happy any more. You say that next time we can do what we please. It seems that you would make a good jailer.

26.16 We were doing a study on the word deprived. Examples of deprivation were propped up all around you. Boldly you pronounced the end of deprivation with flamboyance that only the ignorant can possess. I cant hear the music anymore; I can only see the smoke, the Valhalla. There was a certain kind of inspiration that was between your legs. You hide it under your seat, thinking the police will never find it there. I am holding Bacchus down with one foot. I didnt realize the full extent of your injuries. They fall out empty onto the floor. I pick through them, examining them like last weeks garbage. The postures of exhaustion are themselves exhausted. Everything appears flattened, shortened and bastardized. It is as if a monumental steamroller smashed everything down. This was how you first set off on your quest. A duffle bag tucked under your arm filled with clothes, books, and a carton of cigarettes. They accused you of wearing a beret on the internet. The switch blade knife was sharp enough to cut through the tendon. The white boat slowly moved up the river. There were people in the woods 277

shooting guns and shouting something. Just like American culture, the thought of your own personal death sexually arouses you. We dug deep down into the sand. We waited for the first sound of gunfire. I had been working for the spy agency for seven years now. We stand together feeling our hearts beat against each other. Tonya picked me up hitchhiking on highway 20. She was driving a Pontiac Solstice. It was cherry red and the top came down. She had a copy of the Pale King sitting on the floor. She smelled of physical exertion and tennis rackets. She liked this one particular place where they kept the lights on longer. It takes the Midwest to cast a long shadow. The next time we go back to Des Moines I will be sure to bring a gun.

26.17 More machines, more progress and obsession, both charming and ignorant as you could only imagine. They were like a couple of dolphins. The moon is out, suspended in space. We rang the hotel desk and asked them to deliver us a pitcher of beer. We were still chewing on the ruthless hog when room service came in. You tried to explain to us your system of poisons and ambrosia. I had trouble listening to you because of your damaged eye. It was this dead eye that could galvanize the dead. You ate the bellboy alive from head to toe. We had learned to live in a lost world. You cant fall asleep on the both sides of sleep, can you? You said that you required being attacked. You are standing outside the mission; your shoes stained the color of the witchs blood. The lost gather outside of your window and sing their songs of love to you. You faced toward the invalids and spoke to them in a quiet and reassuring voice. Reliving our steps night after night, looking for the ghetto rule and preferring the bounty hunter bigotry. You faked the papers we needed to enter the country. The shark cut into three equal pieces now lives in an eternal prison of Plexiglas. I was moving up in the front end and she said it does work. When I close my eyes only for a minute, grey clouds float about the room. We went out on thunder road, but it wasnt the same as in the movies. You paired these two great men together. This has never been done. You moved with a frequency and distribution all your own. They circled around you with the spotlight directed upon you. They are staring into your eyes, asking you when did you first see the snake? It has coiled its tail around your steering wheel. We dont care; we are too busy staring at the tattoo on your chest. I carried the lunch you made for me in the plastic sears bag. My heart has not been beating very well lately and I have been cognizant of a growing pain. If I tell you I have a pain, you are in an instant panic. How can you live like that? I would find it impossible. Of course the life that we see for ourselves is the only life that we can see. Lets hope it is an open and honest vision. I watched you pick up the rake and scare the snake off the porch. How quickly you forget your religion. With borrowed words you brought me into existence. We experience the commonality of the slime, saying our prayers to a kerosene lamp. Praying for the end to come, one like 278

we envisioned in our dreams and not like we had seen in the movies, the destruction of the world always seemed to be determined by the current state of technology. We would polish our guns and wait for the war to come to our doorstep. We did not have to be called, we had already volunteered, and we had chosen ourselves. In those days were wore velvet suits and drank rum and cokes. I remember that your favorite song back then was the yellow rose of Texas. It is all still in my blood. We made dirty noises with our dirty beaks. All your sisters were so wet with anticipation. They waited up all night for their chance to fondle the glockenspiel.

26.18 Each day passed as a dream. You were looking like someone with a pure heart. We prepared the pure for an early death. A borrowed book and some flowers, he slowly made it all understood. He told the pig to die, to be more like a dog. His wings he could not spare. It was a Sunday and Justice felt like dancing. I closed my eyes and listened to you sign lonesome roads. Hugo was in great spirits at the loft. He was dancing around the room consumed by an unknown spirit. There was a 12 pack of tacos sitting on the kitchen table. A weather beetle still in its box could be heard making buzzing sounds. Someone had taped a piece of paper that said reserved on the back of one of the chairs. The bug man was always doing something that amazed us all. Tonya said to just lick it and put it away. The tone of her laugh sent mixed messages. We counted all of the seven printed inserts. I wrote you a letter today and then put it in the old shoe box in the back of my closet. The wind is blowing through my window again. It calls out to me. I dont believe in pure hearts any more. I am currently ranked number one in the world. I watch the little dragon crawl up the wall. Im living in a world full of sinners. The dragon only helps those who help themselves. I will swing at you if you are willing and able. Rise up this dragon and fly into the wilderness. Dig a hole in the ground and praise the beast from Babylon. Head down and Im swinging for the black jack, for the avenger, for the puppy dog on your lap. You said that you were just putting it out there.

26.19 In your hand is a fuzzy shake-sided photograph. Chopped-up sun waves greet you as they wag their tails. Your body is two days late for the show. It was all left-handed barrels in the papers. We knew you only through your fingertips. You had just spoken about the relationship between trust and distrust. I slipped and fell over the word destruct. The lawn crew is coming today to take away your weed stick. We drag you over the lawn. Its all we want to know, you fucking cunt, your god damn horrible histories. Are you still bitching about Mobys dick? Get over it and stop mailing it in, replacing your benefits with a voucher. You would be a dog from Arkansas. You started 279

creating the monsters that lived inside of you. This is when you took your greatest leap. You became one with your disease and this defined you, it gave you a purpose. We loaded you up in the bus and took you to the next level. You couldnt keep the yapping jaw away from anyone. We were trying to force out a rough similarity. You said that tomorrow is not Thursday. I knew that someday this tomorrow would exist. Tying to be like beggars and pushers when the sharks gather around us. They gather and swirl around and around, just disturbing the waters enough to agitate. They push their snouts up against us trying to imitate the bully they saw on television the night before. Every now and then, someone would punch them in the nose just to remind them that reality is not television. Puffy was in the corner of the bar, trying to discus some right or wrong with a barfly. You kept interrupting him just he was about to make his point.

The end

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