1 Mar 2007

Willy Nilly

consumer fraud is getting as sophisticated as purveyor fraud? that's why i won't start a business. no patron gods for me. they killed each other on mt. olympus.

overzealous gag reflex won't retire, remaining obstinate in extra innings, bringing every cough to the point of retch. a toxic mix of coffee, goldenseal, and greasy fries. the incidents of hanging out. i'll do a cost benefit analysis later. or never. shred the files, or lose them in a mound of paper, or plain information.

the day jerks on. i see sparks of life in people, like perversely animate electronic humanoid toys. sorry to lay my diseased trip on you, it's just that this is what happens when your cachet runs out and you didn't realize it was prescription, a finite script, and no refills, and the search for life becomes a gutter dive, maybe that show tonight could contrive some situation i've been craving, something to fill the void.

biting my finger fills the void, it feels good, just a comfy bite, a friendly bite, separating myself into parts to be bitten. let's say this is spare decadence, presided over by a queasy reflex system warning me if i go too far with the self-regarding sickness, i will get a taste of the real wretched thing. pointless blunt first person fabrege interior smells like pharmasave, reasonable grace, how sweet the sound, how ambling the ambiance, rods and cones still detecting some movement. island in the aisles, i'm tempted to fake a seizure, i think it would trigger a real one, get some attention, i'd wake up in a hospital bed on a drip, and there would begin a bedridden adventure.

trapped house boy, lineage of gaulish wastrels completed by middling limey scholars, i'd like to mix it up with a guilt-drunk heartland pseudo-slut, sociology slur, looking around the room, stinking with ocular residue, puddles of ionized photons, a syrupy churn obscuring millions of options, listening to speakers at new age events talk about personal transformation, what a great idea. we must be purpose-less-ness-less.

yeah, i came back to waste away, it is okay to say? made sufficient overtures and efforts to arrive back, slack, let the spine curve, slump in discouraged non serviam because they don't want me, they'd rather have honest crooks stock the shelves, no one can see or define but i'm carrying around the curse i magnify in dawning awareness, it sinks in, the apollo-singed skin, while schizo plays playboy unknowingly, i scowl at the bearing of a better life than me, it's so obvious how everyone's above me in every category, envy corrodes possibility.

mashing up the air with my teeth, clenching, was paranoid enough to get a hair cut, foolish sellout fucker, now no job and no hair, funny, i guess i've got some sort of roman look now, i should find a brave centurion to squire, put me on the right humble path.

it's been more than a month since you've seen me, this patchwork of love and apathy, i've said shameful disloyal things but i usually feel little, even though i put my ring back on, like a talisman, apathy as retaliation, maybe a lull in co-dependency, funny, a lopside shifts the relationship, ballast and bombast pumps needy in me, still sloshing around, can't bail it out, don't want to bail out.

she learned a thousand new words for melancholy, apparently that is the swell in my malaisey vocabulary, but it feels good to ride on rhymes, a jaunty flaunt of virtuosity, too bad my hands will always be too clumsy, manual dexterity a skill i could apply if you would give me a crack at your pussy, they said it's not for me, but i demand to differ, sometimes i love to please at the other end of the charcoal filter, i'm a slave 4 u, slave with a six figure salary, indentured victor of the new economy, a spoiled spoil of the class war, discovered by a talent agency, appropriately appropriated to the southern front, with a catheter on my dingle dangle, willy nilly, vital signs stable, would be uncouth to freak out, i know, i know, it's like a guiding principle, a foundation of the new republic, i would never betray the marble ethos of deus excrementus, even if it meant keeping the war going, it's just another adorable epileptic fit after twenty stab wounds, in minute seven of the three hour death scene, most of which was redundant and unregarded.

jesus, this is getting gross and weird. well sorry, i'm just bored, oh good lord am i bored, and energetic, channeling petty devils, penned up in a picket fence perimeter for the entertainment of the earl of cul-de-sac. maybe this foolishness has shamed me into praying to the body temple, that's purpose, getting on the exercise bike, trying to defy the gravity of atrophy, just remember the dynamics of the pain/gain ratio, another tailspin, duck tales, chicken-fried goat scrotum for the young master, chest cavity filled with elf-paste, enchanted shoes, nutty bunnies, cloven-hoofed outlaw polish, wanted on seven star systems, i'll be careful. okay. sufficient. really. i can go now. now. slipstream 5000, a cgi slider.

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