Friday, March 23, 2012

twenty one

Twenty One


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 wasn’t you only your shadow the pussy still feels the same against my cock as you rub yourself up and down


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 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 baker’s dozen I am rubbing the soap on her cracker listening to talk radio over the noise of the water that bastard is calling someone’s mother a cunt maple syrup and pieces of glass this is what you serve her the next time he comes in for breakfast

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 didn’t 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


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 grinder it’s 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 can’t 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

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 ocean’s 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 people’s 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


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 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


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 other’s 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


the bonds between self and others can justify actions on the grounds of custom love hate jealousy or respect each person’s 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 other’s 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 other’s 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

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

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 hugo’s 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

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 Maria’s ghost her lips are moving but I can’t 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 didn’t exist there wouldn’t 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


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


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 doesn’t 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 it’s 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 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


I would never have changed a thing all the pains and joys were cherished in my heart when we had so little we didn’t 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 internet’s 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


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 plato’s 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 I’m 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 don’t care if you prefer to live in ignorance you can’t 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 it’s 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

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 I’m 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 don’t 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 don’t make it and get eaten by the tigers we are standing on top of your apartment watching the carnage there is blood everywhere


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 didn’t 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 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 it’s 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 wasn’t 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 don’t 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


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 everyone’s 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 don’t sing the blues anymore I’ve 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 didn’t 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 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


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


a scar down the nose it’s 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 didn’t 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 Cipher’s 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 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


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 wilson’s 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

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