Tuesday, December 6, 2011

page 32

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 don’t 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 doesn’t 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 I’m 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 I’m 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 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 won’t 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 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

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