Wednesday, November 30, 2011

page 28

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 weren’t 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 push them into the vat one by one grinding up into hamburger we don’t care if your life was lived in a cage or a cave illusion is still illusion not 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 the worms of the senses tears for Lott’s 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 can’t 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 can’t 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

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