19.8

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 don’t care if you publish this you probably have better things to focus on we really don’t know each other we have not established some reciprocal relationship I’m 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 Isn’t more what we don’t say than what we say there is so much I haven’t said yet sometimes I wonder about the time that is left probably no one will read this anyway since I’m 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

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

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 apart of something that is bigger than ourselves. I think this is just our spirit longing to rejoined with the big spirit. She 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 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 their 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.

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.

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 am 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 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. Just enough to make you bleed.

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 raising 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. 

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 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 this 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-center 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