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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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a year ago I threw most of it away it didn’t make much sense any more she said over the phone that it was a delicate sort of problem I imagined that she was vanishing little by little everyday become more and more transparent you could pass hand through parts of her without resistance I had been waiting for this for years she said I was crazy and that hearing speak the words convinced her hanging jagged there is no change in me a short climb into the mountains the vast emptiness we marvel the past is nibbling at our toes we marvel some more September apples spots before my eyes no matter I stand alone the tiny room with the gaucho lamp reading a biography of Picasso the murmur through the trees the pursuit of nothing when I had nothing to give you nothing remains so vital in our exchange you wanted so much more from me but I only gave you nothing then you walked away once you realized that you would never get from me what you wanted I told you that I would love you forever but that wasn’t enough you wanted something else hammering away at your nail that used to hang your picture on the wall now all I have of you is this nail I threw all your pictures in the garbage I was trying to think differently to live differently to go beyond the normal boundaries of my life picking up a souvenir a t-shirt that says someone was here seeking oz the world had lost all sense of reality I had stepped into the unreal world again living in my private cloud this illogical dream the god of uncertainty snap click I have learned to depend on the liquid and impermanent swallowed overcast sky building a hospital in the Philippines what a nice guy almost like candy apple red a hot dusty wind with a gloomy diatribe gnarled trees beside the road I’m not sure tomorrow I will get it together like fragile animals a pile for the wood stove thinking about insanity how do I know a gentle smile played on the edge of town the truck broke down thoughts about my tattoo gigantic letters on a white wall taunting it is hard to say how I might react speaking of disclosure the words don’t came out I am watching a video on how not to blow myself up thinking about the king the dark side prophet hundreds of people passing through toast and coffee a modern revival opening their wallets and emptying their contents sick from drink and attitude dreams of my past life she was all smiles and I was grateful bringing me the dark words they were wrapped up in old newspapers to keep them fresh a strange witch doctor face  a hater of everything the planes the cars the telegraph the moving picture shows the boys with their red stars all of the penguins in the zoo there is no reason to get all hung up about typologies the witch doctor is trying to hypnotize me he is convincing me that I can do anything I asked him where I should bury betty’s bones he said in Calcutta the best place to bury a body is in Calcutta a nude drawing of betty was hanging on my wall I took that with me to bury with her body I used to get into her every other night and twice on Sundays it was a religion that required practice and repetition paying off my debts one stroke at a time burning the flesh sinking the nails between the bones holding the body up the splendid body standing on my head all my keys fell out I took my shirt off and hugged a passing stranger she asked me if I knew god I told her yes that he drove a green GTO and liked to smoke clove cigarettes I told her that she could probably find him down at the liquor

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of my ice there was a time I would have given my limbs for you anything for you anything to make you happy to see you smile if it took money then so be it I did not need money the money is from this world I am from another world one with death and slaughter we lived on the blood of our victims beginning to feel the heat from the lake of fire they built it out on interstate 35 next to the state university they would throw the dead cows in it to incinerate the evidence no wants to see mutilated cows something to do with genetic research there is only one race of aliens not five the monkeys have all grown brains that are too big for their environment so they invented things that are not real to occupy their minds first they invented god a great big god of the monkeys then they invented monsters lastly they invented aliens they capture the cattle and perform experiments on them if there really were aliens do you think they would be anthropomorphic let us be real for once as I rattled the ice in my glass a fucking blast this was a fucking blast the lake of fire was something to see families from the east would pack up the kids in the family car and take a trip to see the lake of fire I was a real family man myself and took the little lady and our pigtailed daughter to see the lake of fire several times it is so heartwarming to stand there and watch the lost souls burning every now and then I could make out one of the lost souls burning in the lake of fire feeding on the moist lips of the righteous defined by a relationship to cause and effect that they never had an understanding it doesn’t matter if you understand the terms of your contract the conditions of that contract are still in effect a deal is a deal and if you signed on the dotted line then everything is set and established and working in their proper functioning order first things first and last things last f things didn’t work like that then the whole world would stop turning and we would be swallowed up by the nothing into various states of disturbance some of you are known to be able to handle more of the chaos than others thus the need to establish a chaos threshold or more appropriately a chaos scale the systems of cause and effect are moving and operating regardless of your ability to comprehend them what is will be what is these worlds were written on the Roswell spaceship we traded them their technology for a case of mountain dew just like I said cause and effect I cannot be certain that my words are my own the curvature if the earth could be an illusion there could be much more spirals than we first imagined trying to shove each other down the hill into the street and the heavy traffic two words and so many pages the angels are upstairs playing poker and smoking cigars they are discussing the woe that is me dancing for the holiday in France we danced with the muted moon we never break the connection they are being out back together little by little with nuts and bolts a little glue here and there maybe some bailing string songs of the Congo I sit and stare at her for a while and then I will come up with a title a label to place her within the context of chaos all sorts of obscene images come to mind pushing me to another place a village festival the girls dance around the pole offering to the slippery all those breasts pointed to the sun listening to highway 61 I got a tombstone woman clinging for no special reason a thin transparent veil a barrier between us and the world a Jim Beam and diet seven up while I type up my notes from

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loose and squeaky now there is a rattle to your walk now still I cannot forget who you were even if you are a different person now in love with the repulsive linked to the flesh thrown back into the box the rotten decay withstanding the exclusion worse than a serial killer praying to the aliens a dark and evil spirit talking about the slaughter we are cooked meats sold in a box with cheese and crackers check your expiration date the butcher and his knife they are fulfilled by my flesh recording the distinctive between bone and bone beyond the scope of the prospective you invest in gold and the overwhelming loathing a twelve pound sledge hammer breaking the ribs devastating all with my war club I am the attack a harvest of death  the walls collapse promises put on hold the band plays on but no one is dancing there is a cost to be paid you become dislocated the connection severed split in two by your secret fears rewarded by your tongue the death watch crawls in sets out to destroy threatens to devour framed within the abandonment knowing the gone clouds and rain the sky makes love to the earth I am driven on by oblivion your serve my purpose practicing our old pagan games she played the flute while I swung the blade brittle and tangible we tangle our lives like old weeds you hide the sunshine from me watching you undress in the darkness I unzip my fly we fuck life beasts exploding my wad inside you soaking each other up two sponges soaking up the desire we empty ourselves into each other I fell into you catching me you are exposed to the madness slowly we become one being one mad trapped animal just call me AC and stop breathing on me your breath smells like burnt toast light up another joint and sit down and watch the big bang theory nervous said something over the phone a long string of vowels salted with a few choice swear words it is going to be death and destruction nervous is searching for a new way of life a life with lots of swag and that will pay out double at the end of one’s life  I am most certain  that such a life does not exist but nervous is willing to give it a try climbing the telephone pole in three times the speed his eyes are red as a tuner with a gastric bypass surgery some couples were dancing to elvis singing about life in the ghetto nervous asked a girl in green eye shadow to dance she was nursing a white Russian and watching the bills beat the jets on the tube she felt a bit childish sitting on her barstool looking for her initials that she dug into some guy’s heart the earth tilting on its axis a ring of moisture playing with the napkin a voice a disembodied voice one that floats up from the floor she wants to be in television a voice in the television she wants to have a mission something she can believe in something she can die for every night she is in the internet preaching about her religion trying to make a difference in the world trying to remove the suffering from all the mindless human beings you can pull out your credit card and make a donation right now it is good to give until it hurts make it bleed a little for a just cause I mean who would want to increase suffering certainly not a rational human being like you come on  Mr. Nervous get out your check book and write the little lady a big fat check it will make your conscience go away just like all the alcohol and drugs it goes away you don’t have to think how the choices you make in your everyday life increases the pain and suffering of so many millions of others chewing the whiskey out

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been there I have seen it all swaggered mambo jukebox blues dreadlock honey and king sized sadness bar rooms full of madness an hour sopping up the brew someday we will meet again with your just created ears so pretty that I had to blindfold the others her nipples showed through the shirt swelled up trousers pushing her down on the floor a zipper of creation god entered the room handcuffs and silk tie bondage to the bed rigid penis she noticed the slight upward curvature spreading her legs wide feeling her wetness a postmarked letter from Rome complex relationships of power anything that seems unfamiliar creative destruction disenchantment with the promise we have stopped playing the game there are no highlights to explain to you the way I feel multiple souls dwell inside me rapidly changing configurations I have passed the threshold using words to create my power to create my world the world is full of words the promise of being adequate simply adequate was that enough for you as you have been steeped in the traditions your radical behavior turns so quickly not conservatism the oppressed become the powerful and oppress others themselves they ignore the diversity of life to fall back upon the patterns of the oppressor you draw the blood from your victims and drink it without remorse you trample upon the working class this structure you have created is a myth to be free we must throw everything away your priests your politicians your bankers they all support your ideology of dominance turning them into glue it doesn’t play into the system a cheese burger for 99 cents we are the cheeseburgers my mind purged dumped into the alleyway the building walking into me a question I’m asking myself an ass hat this is what comes up against me it is ok to hate me people who should give the crap this is pitiful the truth is on the internet do a google search in absolute numbers the main meat and potatoes she starts licking my ear replacing your objective context they do not represent absolute data changeable abstraction spiritual biography claiming to possess authority existential irony vague in its strength investigating the surface through trial and error recycled through time not significant today fitting things that don’t fit objects for collection a white bird flying with a scarlet letter the world of respect at the mountains of madness go the humanity coming home for days she walks in and chokes me there are no points a little organized city bitten by the bugs you are still so sexy building her wall in the middle of the room she was so obvious I am watching her red fingernails she complains that she doesn’t have enough time a collection of loose scenes a theory from a book lays wildly on the floor it gathers all the serious parts uncovering the physical nature her nature starting at kindergarten the underpinning revealing to her the queen of nature she jumps right in with her new obsession she tries wailing women thinking the world is about to end the rooster crows and we fall back into another vision did you think this was real it took me 24 pages to tell you this was all make believe there is no truth to my story it is all made up this is not transgressive literature none of this is about me it’s all about you and your obsessions someone came and disassembled you laid you out bare on their workbench examining each part of you separately and then they put you back together in a hurry in a haphazard way I think they might have forgot some of your screws you seem more