fifteen

Fifteen

15.1

from his father who was a witchdoctor also she said that she took a walk and everything was just like this she said she had seen it all before she said that she thought she saw me on the other said and she ran towards me calling my name but I wouldn't turn around and when she caught up to me I changed I shape shifted into another man she said I changed into hugo and hugo brought her back to me she said that I should thank hugo the next time I see him she made me promise that I would thank him she wanted me to thank him proper I know about crucial I can see betty's nipples through her nightgown she hands me a twenty she says keep the change she puts my hand upon her crotch and she says give it to me I stood in the street thinking with my pecker she told me not to wait too long and I didn't I understood clearly where things were going back then back in the beginning when this all began sometime we change bodies sometime a person can take another's place betty boop was like that it seemed that she always wanted to be someplace else not where she was people pass through and give it shape brushing up against the secrets of this world and all the others betty boop like to brush up against things but she had no intentions of discovering the truth she was afraid of the truth because the truth could be dangerous too dangerous for a little girl from Iowa it was I who fucked her and not harpo he just watched he always watched sometimes from the window watching her do her cheers in her bra and panties she left the kid with her mother the brains were everywhere handing her things driving past the cornfields of Iowa she wasn't my wife I couldn't marry her betty boop said she didn't care about the things that were behind it I asked her who she loved what was the name of the guy she loved pass the bottle betty pass the bottle let me take a real big swig I was lucky once I told her boyfriend to get lost that betty boop and I had some business to attend to we had old times to catch up on the cops were knocking on the door asking me my name asking to see my identification it was room 603 I wanted a room with a double bed betty boop used the bathroom I called room service and told them to bring up a bottle of jim beam betty boop was wearing a tight black dress it was cut real short betty boop was pretending to not know me she said that I was thinking too much she lit a joint and took a big hit she is hitting it hard and holding it the room service came to the door and delivered the burbon I paid tribute to the fair maiden and then took out my sword who cares where betty boop was born she was born in Iowa it is all corn fields and hot during the summer she had died and hugo brought her back from the dead he went over there and brought her back she looked a little different but she was betty boop she was found dead in the bathroom she had slit her wrists horizontal like a lion tearing her apart at her most beautiful betty boop was a cheerleader in high school back in Iowa I asked her to do me a cheer she could have been a cheerleader at the university she gave me a cheer a great big cheer she stabbed him for times with a steak knife if she had a gun she would have shot him she wouldn't look at harpo twice don't worry honey everything is find harpo's mother was hot driving through Iowa she was always hot where ever she drove to and they were always driving from one place to another all over the fucking country harpo has been to almost every state in the fucking country harpo's mom at the wheel of the old rambler station wagon it was black with white panels on the side harpo was in the back of the station wagon as they drove all across the fucking country we are driving down a road it is a highway a deserted highway that no one has been down for maybe a hundred years I think everyone has probably forgot about this road this highway I remember my grandfather telling me stories about a road that no one traveled down a lost road that was for the lost a person who no longer knew their way in the world they go drive down this road and find somewhere else to go to a place that was not of this world but of another world a different world do you know of such a place it was on this road that I met an angry dog I was afraid at first I thought he was going to bite me but  didn't he wasn't angry because of me or because I was there he was angry at something else it was like we were both trapped in a room the same hotel room and he wanted out of the room more than I did a lot more than I did I have always been comfortable where ever I am but apparently the angry dog is not he is uncomfortable it is like he has an itch inside of him that he can't scratch have you ever been that way can relate to the angry dog's situation I bet you can I guess it's a 50 50 bet some will say yes and some will say no I really don't know the odds but what the fuck the angry dog had some reason to be angry and who am I to judge the validity of his claims he had a

15.2

reason and that reason was good enough for him so it was good enough for me the incapacity of our minds that is our dilemma we can only grasp so much at a time we have traveled between the spaces between worlds and times the answers to our questions are never perfectly clear there is always some form of ambiguity some factor of the unknown that is still left over sitting in the refrigerator getting moldy harpo pulls the container of moldy unanswered questions from the fridge and pinches a small portion off and puts in the bong he lights it up and smokes the moldy unanswered questions harpo says the moldier the better an attempt to align our language with the world an accidental pattern to the world piecing the world back together there are stops and breaks there is no noticeable logical order everything is haphazard fleeting slippery changeable you create these things that crumble in your hands they fall apart under pressure merely knowing the pattern does us no good we are still lost still confused still searching in the dark for the answers life makes no sense we are opposed to your logical assumptions people do not fit in the world everything is askew the truth should be avoided because the truth is a lie and ideology made to put your mind to sleep wake up and stop sleeping think for yourself venture out into the deserts of the world go to that space that is outside the view of the normal be strange and odd break the rules step of the boundary cut down the fences break down the walls I am thinking of pink floyd’s the wall at this moment “tear down the wall!” harpo said that he knew in the end that we would be left with nothing the system is vulnerable it is built upon a foundation of sand a foundation of illusion the only thing that props it up are lies and more lies the rulers mock us they mock our need for order and structure thus they use order and structure to enslave us to trap us to make us their pawns in a corporate chess game do you feel like you don’t have a grip on your life there is a reason why you feel this way it is not because of some inadequacy with you or some weakness in you it is because the system make your gasp tenuous and weak they want you to be unsure of yourself to be confused to be troubled they want you to focus more time on your problems than the problems of the world each clue he gathers leads to a dead end and no resolution harpo cuts the girl open and pulls out the eyes of society millions and millions of eyes they pour out of her in beckets 30 or 40 buckets full everything has no meaning the eyes blink and stare are her they are blinking Morse code they want her to put them back inside of her so they can judge and torment her accuse her of all sorts of unspeakable things she smiles showing her teeth the crazy lady smiles and we all love her she wants her life to have texture she is building a monument of steel barrels to the sun god she jumps up at the last minute she is the last one to have the illness from familial ties the crazy lady is carried away by her investigation away from the shores of the Mississippi yet the mud is still on her shoes muscle skeletal system her comfort zone and marginal places she said that you were screwed into the heart of the city the inner city she prowled among the hopeless those with jagged dreams and fingers of concrete they were smoking buddy Epsom spreading him thin on a foot long hotdog murder camp queen and her sleeping bag she would get it all twisted with the roach clip at the end of the hall the crazy lady had dropped out of the world the world of middle-class vaginas men and women who have replaceable parts they are all exposed to the contagion all vestiges of normalcy have disappeared from the life she vacated existing for too long on the outside has a price she has discovered that Dr. Loophole has another solver of mysteries he has drilled holes into her head to be his feeling of doubt and self-hate as if she didn’t have enough of her own maybe she thinks that it will have some time a Ritalin effect on her sort of burn her out so much of her has dissolved already reminders of the disintegrating comfort a bottle of vodka a sea of alcohol she swims to forget the pain the self-inflicted gunshot wound the terror of her recurring nightmare confronting the non-reality of her existence she is not running from a crime no one is chasing her except herself she is chasing her tail going round and round (Rat) endless steps that left the crazy lady with the feeling of being lost she is lost in the city and within herself a metaphysical lost that would require a talking lion if this were a movie or a work of science fiction there are no metaphors to present a truth because there are no truths to reveal except maybe truth is a lie a splintering of self this is my Jungian shadow giving the shadow a voice I stopped listening long ago the other wanted to speak to you to talk to you to welcome you into the fold the crazy lady has become a part of the internet she has become the internet she is lost inside the box I will never find her she will be lost to me forever she is under surveillance we have cameras installed everywhere we will find her or will we every soul lost in his or her own particular hell not able to touch the world that exists outside of their bodies the crazy

15.3

lady melts into the walls of the apartment the next renter comes in and hangs pictures from her nose she has become invisible she just stands there and watches she is waiting for something but what I don’t know she is just waiting she has a home but she has no place no existence no identity no one talks to her no one asks her any questions even if they did she couldn’t speak she has no voice her nature of existence is characterized as unstable the rules of order do not follow she is outside the system she tries to remember how things used to be before she disappeared but she can’t it is impossible for her to go back to her previous life that life is gone she has become unable to map the totality of her existence she is filling up her red notebook with the words that once was her existence the words flow through her touching her soul they leave small scratches on her heart tiny little droplets of blood pour out of her with each beat of her broken heart she is thinking that this must be the beginning she has crossed the threshold into the cosmic realm Dagger was found hanged in the countryside he had left the castle with his Lordship and the crazy lady the local historian has speculated that dagger was a human sacrifice some say dagger had an enemy in the likes of the turk that dagger was fooling around with miss palm this reads a bit too much like clue if you ask me I should pursue other venues of thought what takes place inside the cave remains ambiguous his lordship has dabbled with miss palm also miss palm with the lightshade in the bathroom his lordship s going venomous that hard to swallow account a dagger being taken away in a spaceship miss palm claims that the body hanging in the tree was a double a lifeless double provided by the aliens so that no one would go looking for dagger outside the rational outside all attempts to contain all potential threats Hugo insists that change is evil changes does not lead to progress but to disaster and anarchy buried in an unknown place reducing the impossible to the possible internal defenses that let us choose how much of ourselves we give away we give ourselves away everyday some more than others you surrender to the reading you throw away disbelief and you dive in with your head and heart getting yourself dirty in the life getting honked at by people on Saabs and Mercedes mashed together and then emptied of some vital essence exaggerating your poor posture in a kind of desiccated lunar way a weird kind of subliminal seismic disturbance spikes that penetrate all the way to the back of the skull you are creepily curved and deformed a rent a cop a rent a woman to do this like a dystopic vision it’s all about deformity a dick head that lets you explore your feelings fragile they are all fragile breakable expendable they want to be watched they need the voyeur the person peeking through the window they put on a show they map out their steps and write down their lines they practice their parts over and over to get it just right melting into the cosmos every question does not have an answer imagine the chaos your murderer has not disappeared betty boop catapulting a version of self I lack the world and move in it as a ghost all these steps to cross the threshold of life to dissolve into nothingness the completion of time the certainty of the descent the fall into the abyss on the doorstep of the unknown this figure turns superhuman escaping the boundaries of self and non-self the way I see the world and the universe have changed I have replaced my old worn out set of rules and values for a new set of rules and value I have replaced restrictions with allowances with freedoms I can do all things all things are possible there remains the question of what waits for me on the other side what waits for us on the

15.4

other side of the sea of red stepping into the waters we become red ourselves hugo is speaking Chinese and tonya is laughing she wants to know what happened to dagger I told tonya that dagger went to discover the possibilities of freedom that he no longer wanted to swim in the sea of red that he moved to Oklahoma to preach the gospel to poor dirt farmers tonya circumvents the notion of escaping into the nothing she asks me what is on the other side she wants me to take her there someday once we destroy the boundaries of this world then what world will we find ourselves in will we just create another hell to replace the current hell we live in no longer frightened by the looking the millions of eyes that poured out of her I think they represented soul that she had swallowed I began to feel that I belonged to everyone else the search leads to the undoing this I have accepted the journey leads to death if I didn’t look would death still come I have put on the boots of my ancestors not blood relatives by spiritual ancestors the writers that came before me who looked into the gaping hole of the abyss and laughed as I do now I can only laugh because I realize that it is all a big fucking joke a cosmic joke played on humanity by the universe I watched you I followed you everywhere you went you could not see me because I was in my spirit body remember you felt someone or something touch you in the middle the self remains the ultimate mystery we must learn about ourselves before we can learn about others the room inside you mind is a locked room your true self is somewhere beyond yourself outside of your locked room I am kicking down the door removing the space between us the place where freedom and terror collapse an implosion we become concentrated we become dense collapsing in on ourselves closing in becoming ever smaller a rupture of our understanding what we thought we knew no longer exists everything has been changed people have changed places I have become hugo and hugo has become me we have traded places I have become tonyas husband and hugo is the jealous lover I wonder if tonya can tell the difference between us I wonder if she knows that we have traded places she calls me hugo and she calls hugo martin but I’m not sure if she is just playing a game our positions in this world are tenuous nothing has been chained down to the rocks a different understanding of power the power of your words to destroy or create my words turned me into hugo I am now speaking hugo’s words and hugo is speaking for me this paradox has become inescapable is it my saying that makes it so what if I said we could return to our original selves what would happen then how would the world be different we have moved away from the centering of self as we move into the realm of ambiguity there is so much that is unknown where do I end and hugo begins are the two of us one are we the same person did I create hugo in my mind or did hugo create me are we both the figment of some demon’s imagination a regime of truth patriarchy masculinity religion pornography beauty and myth operating the gaze of power I see you played out in everyday encounters a productive process creating human subjects and their capacity to act it is your words which create power  the access to a deeper knowledge that is not knowledge but a way of speaking that

15.5

defines your reality a productive will to power this is not embodied in an individual but in a collective a spiritual survival of the Jungian collective the primal animal from which we all have crawled out of the ooze to devour our neighbor in order to feed our young the sacrifice was not pretty but it was necessary the child of a deeper power the will to power has a life of its own independent of human agency a surface understanding of something that we cannot know does this sound like bullshit to you I am divorced from reality I cannot feel you anymore this power works through others to achieve its aims I was a victim of this power it worked through me using me to get what it wanted I was a pawn it didn’t matter what my will was I was powerless the power flowed through me changing me for better or worse I don’t know I will never know the basis for such decisions is ignorance it has its own interests it is like being possessed by the power the power moves through you becoming you it is a principle of dispersion rather than unity I open my pockets and disperse the power my power if it is true that I can own such a thing fabricated bodies by making them the objects of the observing eye observing the mind of everyone forms of control and methods of domination where does this power of knowledge break down what if your knowledge was false then where would be your power what basis would your power stand upon could your power be taken from you if your knowledge was proven to be false the words that I write upon this page are they discursive or non-discursive do they speak of a power that is beyond my finger tips do they come from somewhere else some place that is beyond me is this the place that I escape to in the moment of creation you can watch me paint on you tube http://www.youtube.com/user/MartinFreebase you can watch me paint as a disembodied arm that creates is that me or someone else I am not sure how can you be sure that image of a human being could be someone else and not me am I a person am I real do I really exist in this world who created this world that I live in did I did you can you point the person out in a court of law do I know you could I ever know you did we know each other before in a different life we presume the existence of mouth teeth and sugar you make things so sweet not too sweet but just right I assume you exist because you are touching me does that make me an asshole does that make you an asshole she sniff the grapes and then bites down her stocking cap is a bit skewed to one side she says that it is weird she is looking thrifty the colors look like vegetable soup

15.6

she is selling her beads Lucite carved in the plastic worlds of goldfish she is testing me for a chemical smell dipping me into her solution trying to dissolve me she says that I am lucky my cover art is messed up a Smokey the bear collection taking pictures of me putting me up on her wall she says I will be in the slideshow she will be giving for the church circle everything is the fault of the other no one cares what the issues are we have planted bombs in the common ground she holds my face in her hands I am telling her to take her medications etching her initials into my arm she feels like talking I’m not really listening to her she accuses me of being too fragile I am making firewood building a fire to roast her flesh on roasting her catfish falling in love with the daughter we didn’t know what we were making the rules of discursive formation provide the conditions of existence we ate the Neanderthals who were living in the alley teeth marks on all the bones it was too late for us to discover their discourse we wanted meat picking the meat out from between my teeth I watched you destroy with a razor blade I could not bring you back in form the cold the fire in my heart was not warm enough I watched the devil eat your heart you were working for the pilgrims pulling out staples from the constitution  you think god is sending you messages I asked you if you knew Tim kinbote into the mouth of the shark it was a blue table cloth this looks like reptiles I asked you if you could love a reptile you said yes once a long time ago there was a bug in your hair I keep putting it back in she is looking the other way looking towards the west hoping the sun will set again swimming in the woodpile the spiders know your name they have tattoos with your name on their legs hairy legs with ink it is possible to say certain things and not others rejecting the physicality of the body drawn from the surface manifestations I have rejected your agency you have no power against me I am your nightmare and your savior it doesn’t matter how you speak to me I am here in the flesh and I won’t let you push me away this time like you have so many time before unconstrained creative essences they flow between us my focus is on your body of power you are concerned with the issue of embodiment how you essence fills the void the distance between us is disappearing you are not a romantic subject substitute you are real and in the flesh doomed to be the plaything of power I have denied your essential self that part of you that lives beyond this world not as a docile body but as a reflexive living speaking being personal identities emerge in a battlefield your body is natural and overlaid with cultural values I can see through this disguise how they see you does not matter to me I see you through the eyes of perfection through the eyes of the animal I move your body by channeling your desires flesh upon flesh although you are socially constructed in your discourse and actions you exist none the less as a thinking feeling subject and social agent capable of resistance keep telling yourself this over and over you look just like a human you talk like them and even have feelings and

15.7

emotions like humans you are seeking a history searching for your origins must you die for your history these little touches of solitude as she holds a picture of her mother holding her as a child thus she knew she had a history this picture was her proof of a time before her before she began failing to access the symbolic nature of her past she cannot grasp the meaning of herself she does not exist outside of her mind she is a creature of the pastiche a corrosive rain which wears things away we are the waste produced by the system the surplus human beings that society has no place for they will crush us if we let them their desire is to destroy our spirit our will to live that is why our culture glamorizes the suicide they want us to follow in their tracks do you know where I live I live in the gutter in the cesspool in the waste of the postindustrial city the name of the city doesn’t matter they all look the same they all are falling apart living off the past glories of a dead world our world is already dead we are dead the walking dead our existence is living off the garbage joining the eclectic crowd of faceless people living on the garbage heap picking the garbage sorting the garbage becoming garbage someone should set fire to this world and burn it all up a pop cultural extravaganza tonya adds the exoticism to the assemblage of outmoded pieces becoming an obscenity total transparent visibility we are living in the ecstasy of communication a twist in the relationship between the real and its reproduction you are a perfect descriptive machine as long as I keep you full of oil and gasoline you run smoothly with no problems you recreate my past reality not the real world but the world of my memory I realize this and you my machine realize this thus we ignore that gaps in understanding between us we pretend that our interactions are human no distinction between real and copy remains no longer producing the limits of being we have failed to enter the symbolic order condemned to live a perpetual present the experience of the present becomes powerfully overwhelmingly vivid and material Zelda is an angry dog she barks at the people as they walk by her window the mailman is afraid to bring her the mail Zelda once attacked the paperboy and bit him in the leg her language requires her to accept her sexual identity doggy style with the mailman and the paperboy she wants to discover conception she is not convinced about the sincerity of others she assumes a sexual identity becomes a woman and loves a man yet her emotional responses are dissimilar to a humans there are questions which Zelda cannot answer she explodes when asked to tell us about the good things associated with her mother I think some of you would explode also at this point in the questioning for others the trigger would be your father she has had it both ways an image provides the right to exist photograph mother history the missing link between past present and future the that which has been your past still haunts you the trace of the dream of unity of the impossibility that which is incomprehensible we enter into the paradox it becomes us and changes us in many different ways we are pushed out like waste by the paradox when it is done using use when it has extracted from us are vital life force the imaginary exists as a loss the all-nourishing mother transformed into memories monuments of the past the wind and rain beat against her breaking her down little by little do you come to worship here anymore does anyone come to worship by the statue of your memories Zelda plays the piano to recapture a memory her memories escaped her and now she is busy trying to catch them to bring them back to her forcing them back into her mind she needs her memories a seduction she lays across the photographs and plays with herself I can hear her calling out daddy daddy as she rubs away at her memories her black and white snapshots of her past world her mobility is the result of her perverse confusion she cannot tell the difference between the present and the past she induces a belief in me that she is alive her body is a formality the belief and hope that I am alive the status of memory has changed I remember you or do I could it be that I have convinced myself to remember so that I have a justification the past is a collection of images and the right or wrong meanings we attach to them to prove our right to existence I deserve to be here in the now because I was in the past my past existence justifies my current existence there is a difference between the thing itself and its images establishing well-founded madness or true love I am the possessed I am the lover Zelda wants to distinguish the pure from the impure she wants her lovers to be true and not false proceeding once again through the means of irony the circulation of souls she is hiding under the dictionary pages looking at her shoulder blades moving her collar back and forth fitting only the archaic god himself a mirage the evil power of the falsehood that lie you told in the backroom division pursues and achieves its goal the bloody hand the pointing finger the piercing above your eye Zelda intrudes and insinuates discovers in the flash of an instant as she leans over the abyss the idea from the image implying a perversion an essential turning away this is what you do you close me out you draw your circle without me I stand outside of you not feeling you an iconic copy of a replica I have resisted you and now I am no longer real to you I have

15.8

disappeared I have become a semblance ever corrupted preventing me from rising to the surface the great manifest duality the latent distinction modeled internally and spiritually by means of an aggression a subversion against the image against the claim to a singular purpose we have lost the resemblance while retaining the image we have lost our claim for moral existence we fail to make this beast in our image because we only working with a copy and not the true thing itself thus our creations are born corrupted and weak they fall apart under scrutiny if we ask them of their origins they do not know how to answer and origin was never in their minds only the present only the pains and pleasures of the present to ask them about their origins would only destroy them it only reveals the lie that they have grown accustomed to that they depend upon like the farmer depends upon the sun and the rain is this a good bet deciding on your memory chopping off the man’s finger a dead body in my bed on the mattress diving into the elevator did she misbehave the very nature of each experience capturing the feeling there is an invisible meaning that must be revealed learning how to die is our subject matter it is death that we study to learn how to live she loves to eat cheese and she continues to eat cheese putting bait on the hook an idea your focus with more power catching the fish that are important to you I know all about you I saw you coming at me like a dereliction of your duties like a moonbeam escape artist you have a set of keys in your pockets I see you on the phone who you calling baby is there anyone on the other line are you calling the universe did mother nature answer I see you smoking you cigarette a big puff of smoke that crooked look in your eye the saliva in the corner of your mouth is it the drugs baby I see you wearing your yellow dress the one that I like so much more than your double-jointed fingers I know there lies a valley between our homes I see you on the highway coming to me you are in that white convertible driving that white convertible the white convertible runs like a horse a white horse are you my heroine are you my savior can you save anyone can anyone be saved is salvation something of this world or the next is this world worth saving I used to save pop bottles and turn them in for nickels I used to buy a nickel bag of weed I used to seep out the little store across from Lafayette street I see you eating chocolate covered raisins I see you covered in chocolate I am eating you like a raison you taste so good in my mouth taste is a precious thing you are so precious loving the experimentation the process of action and reaction getting something thrilling 3 million miles away a long fucking ways away I am watching out for mechanical shapes it is like you have become raw material for me you are an abandoned wasteland something that others have thrown away something that others have forgotten for me you a treasure a lost treasure that I love that I cherish I want to keep you close to heart at all times I couldn’t imagine life without you I couldn’t imagine and you know I imagine so many things you are my sophisticated child uninhibited my creation I made you from rust and the residue of heartache you are fascinated by the manipulation how I twist and turn breathing in the mask there is perspiration on my brow my forehead is wrinkled and there is a fullness inside of me a great potential for love my friend asked me if I loved you and I said yes I reached into the car and pulled the guy out of the car by his throat it was not a powerful use of generalized fear it was a specific use of personal fear I reached in and made his fear personal there was a threat of more force implied by the action a good old fashioned ass beating should have ensued but then an angel spoke and my anger relented tonya was sitting in the passenger side of the car her neck exposed from romantic devastation I was ready to devour her to show her what you and I have to show the world forever skewed I wanted her to experience how I pushed down upon the spike of romanticism watching the inner light pour out of you how I have become elsewhere to mix the surreal with the sublime to bring back to harsh reality I have been accused of writing things to shock do I shock you is any of this really shocking haven’t we all been exposed to so much that nothing shocks us any more we have grown numb can you imagine Zelda impaled on a spike if you can is this my fault or yours did I make you see it or did you want to see it have you seen it many times before am I a causation or a remembrance can you see how Zelda impaled could represent love an extreme love a pure love there is an action and a reaction it just starts to talk to you the situation the moment like alight coming out of the darkness the

15.9

beautiful process begins they all line up they find their place where they belong a whole bunch of different things happen to me and to you things just happen and we have no control over the process it just takes on a life of its own we just sit back and go for the ride we see where it takes us sometimes it’s enjoyable and sometimes it’s not many times there is a point where the reaction is to destroy this thing we have created you want to destroy it and get past it to move beyond the bullshit to move away from the phony and yet we find our freedom in the destruction there is a synchronicity between creation and destruction I guess these two forces make us like god because god both creates and destroys although possibly destruction outweighs his creations it seems like there is so much of this world and people’s dreams that are destroyed whether it is by a god or just random bad luck so you just start building on top of the thing that you just destroyed and you create something new something different something better it is like the creation need to be destroyed in order to grow in order to break out of the cocoon of the mediocre the prison of bondage another thing comes out of the destruction this is how we can get a glimpse of so much more we spend so much of our lives at the surface level and no one has clue about the deeper meaning the deeper person approving laughter washing over me a mix of innocence and corruption speaking of the devil as he hides under your bed frightened dust bunnies under there pull the covers up tight while I’m inserting batteries into your favorite toy obtuse lines of dialogue henry is paying for online porn with a credit card he stole from some drunk at the bar henry is a real son-of-a-bitch a real dirty rat bastard he will fuck over anyone he can he used to steel bob’s lunch money when they were little kids henry is trying to sell us on the idea of a vortex my stomach was making sounds like a jet flying at a high altitude the mothers were coming over to look over the books they were going to make sure that I wasn’t pocketing any of the money henry is talking about his soldiers again how he has a death squad to kill any of his enemies his soldiers ignore that their commander is insane they ignore that fact that he buys their weapons at a secondhand store that he is always putting them in a compromising situation some guy in the backseat with a buck knife he is playing with his knife while his brother is searching henry’s bedroom for something that was stolen during a party the brother came back satisfied that henry didn’t steal it but I that he did in fact steal it because it was hidden in my sock drawer henry is talking about our freedoms how we all have freedom of choice the freedom to be burdened by obligations and to believe in the electoral college believing in sugar plum fairies henry says that he never forgets that he remembers everything the good times and the bad he wants to occupy main street but the problem is he lost his map and can’t find his way there he is challenged by the altitude there is a girl in a lawn chair and she is wearing dark shades to cover her eyes she walks like a dead man we are both looking for my cat daisy who has run away she said that she saw daisy just the other day that the cat comes through her yard almost every day I am spinning in circles watching the sun go down and drinking a glass of lemonade if this were a dream than shouldn’t I know wouldn’t there be a tell tale sign the little high school girl asks me to sign her yearbook she says that I am her favorite teacher I asked her what she learned and she says how to self exclude a 21 gun salute I keep her fingernail clippings in an envelope and some snippets of hair stolen from her hairbrush hash oil love and voodoo free enterprise the electrodes hooked up to her loss and pain a little blood she wanted to be another heartbeat she wanted awareness a waitress living in a the junkyard with junky dreams and a wrench set to hold off the self contempt worshiping the gradual haze as the pollution hides the sun she has a certificate to show you she has a dirty mind her mother had her tested there are stitches up her spine she likes to eat quick standing at the counter and out the door no thank you no fuck off and die she is just gone you have to tie her down to keep her in one place she likes to come around one in the morning something to do with the reign of Saturn the little school girls is a Capricorn it has been a very long trip sometimes we think we are the only riders that we are moving forward all alone she knows so well the sound of my voice in this world and the next she hears me when I’m hiding in the neighbor’s yard she says murder is always in my eyes murder on a railroad track I told her she wouldn’t stand a chance with me I had all the time in the world it was like a hard dream when time stands still and I am bringing down the mountains in someone else’s hand her torn body in my arms she is learning how to decay I’m not sure how to grade her I am looking at her god film frame by frame looking for the subliminal

15.10

messages liberating a river town idiot smile alien virus and eating all the cornflakes miss palm is bathing in the next room in coca cola I can’t sleep I am on a ledge so early in the morning I haven’t been to the coffee shop all week and miss palm is young she is talking about the tomatoes in her garden the best revenge I am helping her can her tomatoes I am using her ego to stir the soup sucker punched she gave me her phone number I called and left a message pilfering her banking account it will give me pause opening her up a metaphysical poet she is on the front burner the blue is coming out she is overwhelming playing with herself in front of the window it didn’t seem like two hours miss palm thinks she is falling for me she is smoking my last Turkish cigarette she is lots of fucking fun everyday telling them to go suck it she can’t explain how she gets so delusional blaming it on the antichrist she is a different breed always for sale busted piano keys and I liked her better with blonde hair she is waiting for the sun to rise to expose her nakedness between her legs is a heaven and I am converting to her religion I’m beginning to believe in miss palm more and more I think she can walk on water that she can heal my leprous soul bring me some fire in this cold wasteland my oxygen reserves are almost depleted she is creative and inspiring wrapped up in her plastic she is warping my world with her happy birthday wishes the smell of lake water and gasoline I am becoming one of her bad side effects I am sick twisted and decaying living in a small cloud of fear driving down every night to see her behind the garbage can looking up at the big buildings spraying pesticide on the people it is a waltz she is worried about her dream I am watching her over the surveillance cameras I’m not talking about miss palm feeling the Formica I found something at one of her meetings calling the front desk they say that I was never here she was sent here to destroy me there was an angel in the corner reading high times I asked her if she was a model I am proud to be her host her roommate is talking about her how she is a beacon of knowledge I am the man behind her with a passion for the doing a passion for ideas I am diving within her with my passion awakening inside of her a vast reservoir with honesty and integrity a giant ocean of experiences she is sweeping the floor sweeping up the time they want to know if they will ever see agent smith again a change in her voice our deaths have been separated broken opacity the sickness is this life enduring the inanimate it is this one thing nothingness we return to the pot of boiling soup miss palm imagines it to be potato soup I have seen this annihilation miss palm is underneath me holding me up being a foundation I slide inside her the last moment in my time it is a moment without duration an instant an instantaneous cut in the line of time we look forward to seeing your materials will they be in color it isolates me I am looking ahead to see things to see possibilities paths implements obstacles tasks and opportunities to see miss palm in the flesh disrobed of her glamour her witchery and slum godlessness utter impossibility advances toward me illuminating the expanse I wrestle miss palm to the floor and pull the evil out of her with long silver tongs to struggle with the negative is the key to