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God! should say something now, tell!

is revulsion the only thing left that moves you?

If you lose all your limbs one by one over a period

of weeks for a couple months and keep them in the medicine cabinet (here's a left hand finger,

and over there--) as proof of your passing existence, then what would be left?





The CELL-PHONE is a "a cry for help"

afraid to be alone unwilling experience by any means possible

"We're all connected!"

horrifies me.

people ought to be reincarnated as single-celled organisms, cell-phones, sloths.



what we do (e.g. TALK) is miscommunication yet somehow



I'm talking to myself

don't think anyone's listening

instead of hiding (memory/then/now)

foolishly raised to be open and trusting

you're not here



THESE DAYS

feel invisible.



need strangeness need

faces w/o mouths but beads of sweat (Dali)

logic is not logical in mathematics, it's a child's game, innocent as a barebreasted woman. (Delvaux)



I knew where to find you.







I wish I knew where to find you. And that the metal plate in my head was more than just a metal plate in

my head.

Digital Stone Age Surrender

so lame shaking the corporate money-maker



COR POR REAL



Of course I missed you.

I loved you once. Here.

In my own crash area.



Colossus of my pillow stuffing. (Delvaux's statue)

architecture, diagrams, temple, facades, partitions, curtains,the unfolding story.



baring your soul?

5) privacy, though un-American really works

Years of losing all teeth. Years of dentist Years a muffin with a piece of tile in it

broke an important molar. Spent thousands to save it: reconstructed, Williamsburg Bridge. Now a gaping hole. But it only shows when I laugh like a horse. Okay because my friend Eric lost More than one. Practically crying on the phone. His laugh sounded like a whale.

"Yeah, I know, it's a reminder that in reality, you're just one step from

the gutter."



Then/Now I can't remember where. Levi jacket fuzzy from snow, stiff.

Probably got high, copped a joint, caught a ride.

People on their way to jobs, ridiculously long distances.



What was I doing? I don't know what I was doing.

I was on a TV Ride

through a bunch of badly lit rooms, claustrophobic and tedious,

imagining a Toothless Bum,

afraid of turning into Marshmellow Fluff.









There are two kinds of people in the world. Marshmellows and Razorblades.



So you never really felt like you owned your own life and you never really did.

unless you lied



Tell the world

BONUS*page*

How you

instead chose passion. . .



the barricades are real

you just can't see ‘em

till you get inside one



The Domino SUGA factory across the River, blackened with soot, supplies all the cubes and lumps for all the cravings.



is anxiety maturity?

it comes with Time

rolls on itself

and gathers into a lump

(song!)

the sex act that turns on hate

the moon's a fuzz ball

when the stuffing comes out

watching it like a clock



There's no one here except you, even I'm gone.

The fan is humming, a stray breeze across the bed.



pretend like nothing happened

You were dying. Or you were going to die. Or the world was dying.



I was freezing.

exquisite corpse



So. . .

Abandon

SEIZE THE DAY

[Trademark, Estate of Napoleon Bonaparte,

Used by permission.]



Thinking of. . . Getting a job on the MTA? As one of the raving mental system forever in transit and at home, simultaneously with the MTA. Rail. Get on and start screaming a used paper cup.



THEN/

I started out hiding.

FREEZE.

Hiding never did any good, but we had to try.



*page*

A Thing



says, "You panic, you freeze, then you lose time. It takes 2 beats to make

a rhythm. One beat is just a thing."



(When I woke up in the snow on the side of the highway)

I vomited, coughed up some crud, wiped off the snow as best I could.



Good at pretending.

But right now what I need is to warm myself. Warm up, thaw out. Fingers, numb, toes, whole body. Climb over the fence. . . which way North South East West?

Run out of choices, you can always put it off.



A week maybe.

Here it is, a highway, gray snowy Monday, commuters on the way to work, shadows in cars, proof, license, you exist.



I keep hoping something will pop up. Something I overlooked, mistook for something else.

Not even close.



Climb the fence, walk down.
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