Thursday, September 18, 2003
except i sustained a massive hematoma in last week's game, and now i can barely walk. i can still buy coke, though.
Thursday, September 04, 2003
i am an excellent coke-buyer and a fucking brilliant street-walker.
allow me to qualify those claims:
for the last year, every day at about 3 or so my energy runs low and i go down to the street to buy a can of coke from the newspaper vendor on the corner of 23rd and park. it’s the same man every day, but i don’t know his name and probably never will. i go to the corner, walk up to the little fridge and pull on the rope to open it (the rope has a little bell to prevent theft), and hand the guy a dollar. whether it’s a bill or change, it is always a dollar. to be honest, i don’t even know if a can of soda from his stand costs a dollar. i just give him one. when i don’t have exact change i almost apologize to him.
i know a can of coke is less than a dollar at the duane reade on the ground floor of my building. i know it is less at the supermarket across 22nd. but the duane reade is inefficient, and there is always a line. same thing for the grocery store. i know if i give the lobby security guard a dollar, he will buy me two (only 50 cents) from the vending machine (owned by a different company on the 2nd floor of my building). but i can’t be bothered. there's only one way to buy coke and that's through my guy. there is also a hot dog lady on the corner of 23rd and park, and she sells cans of coke. i tried going to her once, but i had a ten and she let out this big sigh because i either:
a) only wanted a coke and didn’t want a dirty water dog
or,
b) didn’t have exact change.
in any event, she pissed me off and i threw the coke down on her stand and demanded my money back, telling her if it was too much fucking trouble for her to sell me something she is standing on the street selling, she could go fuck herself. she took a few steps back, handed me my bill and told me to please take it easy. fuck that. you are selling and i am buying. i said please, i asked for what i wanted clearly, and i handed you money—if you can’t handle the rest of the transaction for any reason, fuck off, i’ll find someone who can.
there are often a number of lowlife lotto players and scratch-off junkies in front of my vendor, but it’s like they don’t exist to me and my guy. i cut right past them, right through them, right over them. i reach over, his hand snaps out, and he gets the dollar-- in a flash i am heading back, coke in hand, with the little bell from the fridge door still tingling.
today he was out in front of the stand putting out candy or something. today we one-handed it. i reached past him, dollar in hand, grabbed my coke and he plucked the dollar from between the can and my fingertips as it passed his head, all without either of us even acknowledging one another. a co-worker i was with asked me a second later if i had just stolen it. we’re mesh that well, me and the vendor. we have a perfect relationship. i am an excellent coke-buyer.
i am a fucking brilliant street-walker, as well. legendary. i slide down the sidewalk, cross busy streets, go up and down staircases—all that shit—with an amazing agility, speed and with what i would have to say is a clarity of mind that i rarely notice in others. i know where my train doors open—not on some commuter LiRR train that i board the same time every day-i mean on the subway--on lots of trains on different platforms across the
city. i know which end of the train i need to be on in order to be closest to my destination’s corresponding exit when it reaches a particular stop. i move with an efficiency and economy of motion that is almost fucking godlike.
i can approach a crosswalk, scan the situation and make the call in an instant, timing my movements, my angle and my gait, so that i need never break stride and cross in one smooth, swift motion. i never appear hurried or pressed for time—i am just...maximizing.
Usually i have to dodge the people staring blankly at the don’t walk sign. i’ll never understand that. They just sit there looking at the little red sign waiting for it to go green, to say, “it’s ok to cross the street now, little one.” i know it’s the law and all but what the hell, i’m not a sheep. i’m not going to stand there like a jackass when there isn’t any traffic, simply because the sign says “don’t walk.” Countless times i have passed people who are just standing there, with not a car in sight, waiting for the light. i just don’t get it.
i always feel a bit burdened when i have to walk with someone else in the city. i just have a way of walking, a way of making all those little decisions--of balance and stride-- that come with living in this city, quickly and independently. i move for self. When i have a partner i am forced to figure them into my equation. i have nearly lost friends to taxi cabs in crosswalks, because when i got to the corner i instantly reckoned whether i had time to get across and made my move. My friends always seem to hesitate for a moment, and that little instant is often the difference between having time to cross and getting hit. i have heard a sharp intake of breath behind me, on many occasions, as friends realize that they waited too long and need to run a bit to get across ok, or else they have to jump back and wait for the car to pass. it happens a lot.
i enjoy the crush and commotion changing trains each morning at union square station or when i find myself in times square. i can always see my path laid out in front me ahead of time—i see the turns, the changes in speed and the paths of all those who will cross mine. when i am walking i am a 10-second seer and the future is mine.
allow me to qualify those claims:
for the last year, every day at about 3 or so my energy runs low and i go down to the street to buy a can of coke from the newspaper vendor on the corner of 23rd and park. it’s the same man every day, but i don’t know his name and probably never will. i go to the corner, walk up to the little fridge and pull on the rope to open it (the rope has a little bell to prevent theft), and hand the guy a dollar. whether it’s a bill or change, it is always a dollar. to be honest, i don’t even know if a can of soda from his stand costs a dollar. i just give him one. when i don’t have exact change i almost apologize to him.
i know a can of coke is less than a dollar at the duane reade on the ground floor of my building. i know it is less at the supermarket across 22nd. but the duane reade is inefficient, and there is always a line. same thing for the grocery store. i know if i give the lobby security guard a dollar, he will buy me two (only 50 cents) from the vending machine (owned by a different company on the 2nd floor of my building). but i can’t be bothered. there's only one way to buy coke and that's through my guy. there is also a hot dog lady on the corner of 23rd and park, and she sells cans of coke. i tried going to her once, but i had a ten and she let out this big sigh because i either:
a) only wanted a coke and didn’t want a dirty water dog
or,
b) didn’t have exact change.
in any event, she pissed me off and i threw the coke down on her stand and demanded my money back, telling her if it was too much fucking trouble for her to sell me something she is standing on the street selling, she could go fuck herself. she took a few steps back, handed me my bill and told me to please take it easy. fuck that. you are selling and i am buying. i said please, i asked for what i wanted clearly, and i handed you money—if you can’t handle the rest of the transaction for any reason, fuck off, i’ll find someone who can.
there are often a number of lowlife lotto players and scratch-off junkies in front of my vendor, but it’s like they don’t exist to me and my guy. i cut right past them, right through them, right over them. i reach over, his hand snaps out, and he gets the dollar-- in a flash i am heading back, coke in hand, with the little bell from the fridge door still tingling.
today he was out in front of the stand putting out candy or something. today we one-handed it. i reached past him, dollar in hand, grabbed my coke and he plucked the dollar from between the can and my fingertips as it passed his head, all without either of us even acknowledging one another. a co-worker i was with asked me a second later if i had just stolen it. we’re mesh that well, me and the vendor. we have a perfect relationship. i am an excellent coke-buyer.
i am a fucking brilliant street-walker, as well. legendary. i slide down the sidewalk, cross busy streets, go up and down staircases—all that shit—with an amazing agility, speed and with what i would have to say is a clarity of mind that i rarely notice in others. i know where my train doors open—not on some commuter LiRR train that i board the same time every day-i mean on the subway--on lots of trains on different platforms across the
city. i know which end of the train i need to be on in order to be closest to my destination’s corresponding exit when it reaches a particular stop. i move with an efficiency and economy of motion that is almost fucking godlike.
i can approach a crosswalk, scan the situation and make the call in an instant, timing my movements, my angle and my gait, so that i need never break stride and cross in one smooth, swift motion. i never appear hurried or pressed for time—i am just...maximizing.
Usually i have to dodge the people staring blankly at the don’t walk sign. i’ll never understand that. They just sit there looking at the little red sign waiting for it to go green, to say, “it’s ok to cross the street now, little one.” i know it’s the law and all but what the hell, i’m not a sheep. i’m not going to stand there like a jackass when there isn’t any traffic, simply because the sign says “don’t walk.” Countless times i have passed people who are just standing there, with not a car in sight, waiting for the light. i just don’t get it.
i always feel a bit burdened when i have to walk with someone else in the city. i just have a way of walking, a way of making all those little decisions--of balance and stride-- that come with living in this city, quickly and independently. i move for self. When i have a partner i am forced to figure them into my equation. i have nearly lost friends to taxi cabs in crosswalks, because when i got to the corner i instantly reckoned whether i had time to get across and made my move. My friends always seem to hesitate for a moment, and that little instant is often the difference between having time to cross and getting hit. i have heard a sharp intake of breath behind me, on many occasions, as friends realize that they waited too long and need to run a bit to get across ok, or else they have to jump back and wait for the car to pass. it happens a lot.
i enjoy the crush and commotion changing trains each morning at union square station or when i find myself in times square. i can always see my path laid out in front me ahead of time—i see the turns, the changes in speed and the paths of all those who will cross mine. when i am walking i am a 10-second seer and the future is mine.
the whole world is going crazy. I can’t ride the subway, can't walk out of my apartment without experiencing some new kind of horror each day. I can't fathom the people around me, can’t understand them.
What the hell are you thinking, putting a big sticker across the windshield of your Lincoln Luxury Sports Coupe that says LUXURY SPORTS COUPE? There's some point to that? That announcement is somehow necessary and beneficial?
I saw thirteen Central American people get out of one station wagon in the Bronx last night. Two infants, 5 or six kids and the rest were adults. Are you out of your mind? You don’t DO that. THAT is DUMB.
I went to the Queens Central Library the other day in Jamaica. There were no less than 5 security guards evident there. 5. Is there some sort of high finance going on at the book borrowing place? No. They are there in case of "trouble", in case "something goes down". At the LIBRARY.
I had lunch in Flushing, which is like some sort of little Korea in the midst of Queens, and I just stared at some Asian guy selling tofu in little cups and plastic bags. He has a little stand with a big vat of tofu and every time I go there he is in the same spot, smiling and scooping out tofu. Care for a tofu cone? You want sprinkles on that? I could just picture him in some freaked-out apartment making huge batches of tofu with his toothless mother cackling and stirring the vat. Then some woman walks up to me and says "What time now?" What time now??? Time now 1:30. Bye Bye.
We always eat at Szechuan Capital if we go to Flushing. They have fantastic food and great prices. Ed always gets basically the same thing: Two steamed vegetable buns, seaweed soup and scallion cakes (He's a vegetarian, but not for any other reason than he used to be a great big fat person ((220 lbs.)) and he went down to 165 lbs. when he stopped eating meat.) We usually have the same waitress, a chinese lady who looks to be in her late 30's. I wonder if she is really IN THERE. We go fairly often. We are usually the only white people in there. We order the same food, but I don’t think she has any idea. Every time he orders those friggin buns she says the same thing. "Vegetable bun very big" and she makes this little gesture with her hands indicating the size. I mimicked her perfectly at the exact same time she was doing the gesture and her little speech about the size and she laughed. Thing is, we go in there next week and I bet she's going to do the same thing. We leave no impression. Too many faces.
I remember one time I stopped in to this little printing place where a friend of mine was working, just a little storefront printing press. It was Friday and I was wearing a suit. The lady behind the counter said he was off today. I asked her to tell him "ray stopped by to say hello". She said she wouldn’t see him until Tuesday and may forget to tell him. I thought a second, and then did a handstand in front of the counter and held it for a few seconds. Then I asked her if she would remember now. I saw him a month later. She did. The bun lady is in for something soon, maybe I'll bring a sign with me that says "VEGETABLE BUN VERY BIG" and hold it up when Ed orders.
My friend Brian, who drives bent forward against the steering wheel "to be closer to the action", accidentally ran over a huge raccoon last night on Gun Hill Rd. in the Bronx. I looked out the back window and could see it violently writhing on the ground with its legs shuddering in the air. On the hood of his car, a duster, it says 3.0 V6 OHC. (He didn’t put it there, it came that way).
I saw this middle eastern guy on Park Ave. and he had on those awful, awful sunglasses with the gold-like plastic on the sides. I love those things, they are as good as having a t shirt on that says AVOID ME, I AM OBVIOUSLY A BUFFOON. STAY CLEAR.
I went out on the Upper East Side last night. A totally different kind of horror. Cheeseballs. Slacks. Plaid. Brown shoes. Beautiful idiots and people that could buy and sell me. I'm sitting in a bar, surrounded by my peers who are smarter, more successful and better dressed than I will ever be, thinking "these people are so fucking stupid." "You must have agonized over which button up shirt will match with those khakis" $4 for a pint of Bud Light. Are you out of your minds? The "acoustic" band looked like a bunch a CPA's singing about coping with hair loss.
I was looking at this guy at the bar in front of me whom I had noticed because his laugh seemed sort of strained and loud. He was wearing brown shorts, a button up shirt unbuttoned about 3 buttons down, a thick gold chain, an expensive looking watch, a cell phone clipped to his pocket and tan socks with some kind of whacked-out sandal-type shoes. He had muscular legs which I think accounted for this wearing the shorts and he had a tan. His hair was parted in the middle, a little thick (almost bushy) on top and feathered back, halfway on the ears. Just like I got it caught in elementary school. He was kind of nodding his head to the music to this horrible music and I think it was more for show than for enjoyment, like "look at me , I'm grooving". I was watching him (I realize that sounds frightening) and I was looking for a wedding ring which I didn't see and I remember thinking to myself "So that's what it's like to be 34 and single on the Upper East Side."
I know that the downtown scene which I prefer is just a different version of the same bullshit. Tattoos and piercings and I'm so god damn unique and artistic and it's not about money can I borrow $10. I went to the warped tour at Randall's island to see this band I really like (the Deftones).Ed stopped at one point as we were walking around, looked at me and said "I see a lot of people who are going to regret their bodies in twenty years." I remember thinking to myself, this is the youth, this is our army, navy, air force, marines. An army of retards.
I keep wondering what the hell is going on, and why isn't anybody realizing it. People are becoming more and more fucked up. That's about the size of it. I am too, I am sure. It's this living on top of one another that's doing it. Piling people on top of people and all our humanity is being squished out. We aren't made to live like this, this never-ending migration to cities and the urbanizing of the suburbs and the suburbanizing of rural areas.
I imagine people have been saying the same thing as this forever, that it's all wrong, that we can't continue like this, yet we do. Will it last forever? Will we figure out what to do about all that shit I hear about, over-population, shortages of natural resources, killer bees, starlings from england, nuclear power in the hands of religious zealots ? The number of un-imaginable acts committed against or by children that indicate the level of our sense of humanity has sunk to. Those horrible sunglasses.
I can't see any other solution than some sort of even-ing out. Some sort of global, spiritual, economic and physical middle ground that will be reached, whether we want it or not. The whole world is gonna turn gray. I suppose that sounds simplistic. It should. The extremes keep getting further and further apart, and there ain't shit I can do to stop that, but the middle doesn't move. It's always gonna be right where it started. I can't conceptualize a new middle.
I don’t think we are going to evolve into some non-violent, well-spoken, sensible-as-all-hell race of hard-bodies. Nor do I think that we'll spend our future in some sort of post-apocalypse anarchistic half-lit nether world. Ever. I just don’t see that "enlightenment" dawning on us all, or even being forced on us. There are too many contradictions in that idea for it to be conceivable, the simplest being that a real UTOPIA couldn't be something forced. I found it very interesting that the only type of religious belief they wouldn't tolerate in that book "utopia" by whoever wrote it was no religion at all, atheism. Reason being was because an atheist would have no deterrent other than fear of punishment and his own sense of morality to keep him from breaking the law. No fear of holy retribution or vengeance.
True, maybe there is an understanding we will one day achieve that I could not possibly conceptualize, that will be so simple and so universal that it will be accepted immediately and wholeheartedly by all. Will that be God? I don't know.
I think things are going to continue as they are. The freaks will become more bizarre and incomprehensible. The boring will become more plain and indistinguishable. But I do think that the number of people that could be said to fall in the middle will grow. The mediums of communication are becoming more and more accessible to people. Cell phones, beepers, lap tops, internet, email, they are undeniably having an effect on people. I wouldn't say, though, that they are drawing mankind closer together. I think that they are providing forums within which people can become more aware of how other people live, how they think and act and what they are thinking about. But that awareness doesn’t necessarily bring understanding and it doesn't necessarily bring them closer, either.
But it helps. The awareness that these relatively new tools and means of communicating have made possible is encouraging. But I don’t think it will have much effect on those people you could say live on the edges. Nutballs, spanks, down-right weirdos. They aren't going to be brought back into the fold by interaction with the more even-keeled population.
Somebody once said that a man shows his greatness, not by being at one extreme or another but by touching both at once. I agree with that. Someone also said "I don't care whether it's good or bad, as long as it's intense." I can see that in myself as well. I am making an effort, not to know everything, but just to get a good idea of how much is out there to know, and to know it a little. It sounds egoistic, but I really want to be a kind of renaissance man, a jack-of-all trades type guy. A little bit of everything. I want to be the middle. Right now, I can see myself as being more on the fringes. Let's face it, I'm practically a fucking freak. But I KNOW that, so I am one up on the rest of them.
What the hell are you thinking, putting a big sticker across the windshield of your Lincoln Luxury Sports Coupe that says LUXURY SPORTS COUPE? There's some point to that? That announcement is somehow necessary and beneficial?
I saw thirteen Central American people get out of one station wagon in the Bronx last night. Two infants, 5 or six kids and the rest were adults. Are you out of your mind? You don’t DO that. THAT is DUMB.
I went to the Queens Central Library the other day in Jamaica. There were no less than 5 security guards evident there. 5. Is there some sort of high finance going on at the book borrowing place? No. They are there in case of "trouble", in case "something goes down". At the LIBRARY.
I had lunch in Flushing, which is like some sort of little Korea in the midst of Queens, and I just stared at some Asian guy selling tofu in little cups and plastic bags. He has a little stand with a big vat of tofu and every time I go there he is in the same spot, smiling and scooping out tofu. Care for a tofu cone? You want sprinkles on that? I could just picture him in some freaked-out apartment making huge batches of tofu with his toothless mother cackling and stirring the vat. Then some woman walks up to me and says "What time now?" What time now??? Time now 1:30. Bye Bye.
We always eat at Szechuan Capital if we go to Flushing. They have fantastic food and great prices. Ed always gets basically the same thing: Two steamed vegetable buns, seaweed soup and scallion cakes (He's a vegetarian, but not for any other reason than he used to be a great big fat person ((220 lbs.)) and he went down to 165 lbs. when he stopped eating meat.) We usually have the same waitress, a chinese lady who looks to be in her late 30's. I wonder if she is really IN THERE. We go fairly often. We are usually the only white people in there. We order the same food, but I don’t think she has any idea. Every time he orders those friggin buns she says the same thing. "Vegetable bun very big" and she makes this little gesture with her hands indicating the size. I mimicked her perfectly at the exact same time she was doing the gesture and her little speech about the size and she laughed. Thing is, we go in there next week and I bet she's going to do the same thing. We leave no impression. Too many faces.
I remember one time I stopped in to this little printing place where a friend of mine was working, just a little storefront printing press. It was Friday and I was wearing a suit. The lady behind the counter said he was off today. I asked her to tell him "ray stopped by to say hello". She said she wouldn’t see him until Tuesday and may forget to tell him. I thought a second, and then did a handstand in front of the counter and held it for a few seconds. Then I asked her if she would remember now. I saw him a month later. She did. The bun lady is in for something soon, maybe I'll bring a sign with me that says "VEGETABLE BUN VERY BIG" and hold it up when Ed orders.
My friend Brian, who drives bent forward against the steering wheel "to be closer to the action", accidentally ran over a huge raccoon last night on Gun Hill Rd. in the Bronx. I looked out the back window and could see it violently writhing on the ground with its legs shuddering in the air. On the hood of his car, a duster, it says 3.0 V6 OHC. (He didn’t put it there, it came that way).
I saw this middle eastern guy on Park Ave. and he had on those awful, awful sunglasses with the gold-like plastic on the sides. I love those things, they are as good as having a t shirt on that says AVOID ME, I AM OBVIOUSLY A BUFFOON. STAY CLEAR.
I went out on the Upper East Side last night. A totally different kind of horror. Cheeseballs. Slacks. Plaid. Brown shoes. Beautiful idiots and people that could buy and sell me. I'm sitting in a bar, surrounded by my peers who are smarter, more successful and better dressed than I will ever be, thinking "these people are so fucking stupid." "You must have agonized over which button up shirt will match with those khakis" $4 for a pint of Bud Light. Are you out of your minds? The "acoustic" band looked like a bunch a CPA's singing about coping with hair loss.
I was looking at this guy at the bar in front of me whom I had noticed because his laugh seemed sort of strained and loud. He was wearing brown shorts, a button up shirt unbuttoned about 3 buttons down, a thick gold chain, an expensive looking watch, a cell phone clipped to his pocket and tan socks with some kind of whacked-out sandal-type shoes. He had muscular legs which I think accounted for this wearing the shorts and he had a tan. His hair was parted in the middle, a little thick (almost bushy) on top and feathered back, halfway on the ears. Just like I got it caught in elementary school. He was kind of nodding his head to the music to this horrible music and I think it was more for show than for enjoyment, like "look at me , I'm grooving". I was watching him (I realize that sounds frightening) and I was looking for a wedding ring which I didn't see and I remember thinking to myself "So that's what it's like to be 34 and single on the Upper East Side."
I know that the downtown scene which I prefer is just a different version of the same bullshit. Tattoos and piercings and I'm so god damn unique and artistic and it's not about money can I borrow $10. I went to the warped tour at Randall's island to see this band I really like (the Deftones).Ed stopped at one point as we were walking around, looked at me and said "I see a lot of people who are going to regret their bodies in twenty years." I remember thinking to myself, this is the youth, this is our army, navy, air force, marines. An army of retards.
I keep wondering what the hell is going on, and why isn't anybody realizing it. People are becoming more and more fucked up. That's about the size of it. I am too, I am sure. It's this living on top of one another that's doing it. Piling people on top of people and all our humanity is being squished out. We aren't made to live like this, this never-ending migration to cities and the urbanizing of the suburbs and the suburbanizing of rural areas.
I imagine people have been saying the same thing as this forever, that it's all wrong, that we can't continue like this, yet we do. Will it last forever? Will we figure out what to do about all that shit I hear about, over-population, shortages of natural resources, killer bees, starlings from england, nuclear power in the hands of religious zealots ? The number of un-imaginable acts committed against or by children that indicate the level of our sense of humanity has sunk to. Those horrible sunglasses.
I can't see any other solution than some sort of even-ing out. Some sort of global, spiritual, economic and physical middle ground that will be reached, whether we want it or not. The whole world is gonna turn gray. I suppose that sounds simplistic. It should. The extremes keep getting further and further apart, and there ain't shit I can do to stop that, but the middle doesn't move. It's always gonna be right where it started. I can't conceptualize a new middle.
I don’t think we are going to evolve into some non-violent, well-spoken, sensible-as-all-hell race of hard-bodies. Nor do I think that we'll spend our future in some sort of post-apocalypse anarchistic half-lit nether world. Ever. I just don’t see that "enlightenment" dawning on us all, or even being forced on us. There are too many contradictions in that idea for it to be conceivable, the simplest being that a real UTOPIA couldn't be something forced. I found it very interesting that the only type of religious belief they wouldn't tolerate in that book "utopia" by whoever wrote it was no religion at all, atheism. Reason being was because an atheist would have no deterrent other than fear of punishment and his own sense of morality to keep him from breaking the law. No fear of holy retribution or vengeance.
True, maybe there is an understanding we will one day achieve that I could not possibly conceptualize, that will be so simple and so universal that it will be accepted immediately and wholeheartedly by all. Will that be God? I don't know.
I think things are going to continue as they are. The freaks will become more bizarre and incomprehensible. The boring will become more plain and indistinguishable. But I do think that the number of people that could be said to fall in the middle will grow. The mediums of communication are becoming more and more accessible to people. Cell phones, beepers, lap tops, internet, email, they are undeniably having an effect on people. I wouldn't say, though, that they are drawing mankind closer together. I think that they are providing forums within which people can become more aware of how other people live, how they think and act and what they are thinking about. But that awareness doesn’t necessarily bring understanding and it doesn't necessarily bring them closer, either.
But it helps. The awareness that these relatively new tools and means of communicating have made possible is encouraging. But I don’t think it will have much effect on those people you could say live on the edges. Nutballs, spanks, down-right weirdos. They aren't going to be brought back into the fold by interaction with the more even-keeled population.
Somebody once said that a man shows his greatness, not by being at one extreme or another but by touching both at once. I agree with that. Someone also said "I don't care whether it's good or bad, as long as it's intense." I can see that in myself as well. I am making an effort, not to know everything, but just to get a good idea of how much is out there to know, and to know it a little. It sounds egoistic, but I really want to be a kind of renaissance man, a jack-of-all trades type guy. A little bit of everything. I want to be the middle. Right now, I can see myself as being more on the fringes. Let's face it, I'm practically a fucking freak. But I KNOW that, so I am one up on the rest of them.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
as i sit, idly penis-proofing and manually editingmyself, i wonder about beef-cooking gluttons, faulty disgust mechanisms and red desperation. i ponder the meanings of these efforts. ed puts thecountry club cc's in himself, brian saws and hammersin the dark/disco/lab, and fatty makes love puddles onhis gut. i picture defeatist malt liquor stickersstuck to the walls, golf statusclubs in the trunk and costume-suit jackets on telephone wirehangers. i see 70's FMcentrifuge receivers hooked up to orangeintestine-extension cords. i think long hard thoughts about nails driving willingly into fat, hairy fleshand commmon sense being physically enforced on ourmost wayward members. i think about hair conditoner tub love and the special referee's outfits. i mull over the human genomeand the awaiting eternal hell of vengeful cracked-neck miceghouls, especially those from the learning process days. i wonder about rabbits nuts and tweezersand median income. i know about my appointment withdeath and the steady drizzle of my flesh off the bones into the bottom of the casket. women aren't all thesame. i just treat them all the same way and then getsimilar responses in return.
NO means no and you can't drive far enough away to getaway. how do we get into the spirit world...where they can't see us/touch us/fuck uswith their long dangling pricks? tied up in IRSharnesses and gang-banged by older men in better suits withno imaginations--only disgusting appetites.income tax returns in the mail and we're all toostupid to have jobs. i think they made it up. I thinkour fucking chances are gone and they will continue tosuck it out of us because we aren't tennis buddiesfrom harvard days and we had to mow our own fuckinglawn/carve out our own big white water spouting stones in the garden/repair our own cars/transport our own couches. ye ssuck it outand pump in the vitrol fluids fill up the pulsing veins until they substrate on it and harden ourworld, just more freakbots swinging empty cocks in theface of the new youth.
NO means no and you can't drive far enough away to getaway. how do we get into the spirit world...where they can't see us/touch us/fuck uswith their long dangling pricks? tied up in IRSharnesses and gang-banged by older men in better suits withno imaginations--only disgusting appetites.income tax returns in the mail and we're all toostupid to have jobs. i think they made it up. I thinkour fucking chances are gone and they will continue tosuck it out of us because we aren't tennis buddiesfrom harvard days and we had to mow our own fuckinglawn/carve out our own big white water spouting stones in the garden/repair our own cars/transport our own couches. ye ssuck it outand pump in the vitrol fluids fill up the pulsing veins until they substrate on it and harden ourworld, just more freakbots swinging empty cocks in theface of the new youth.
it doesn’t matter how big the sky is
as long as you burn across it
as long as you burn across it
