I feel like I’m losing my mind.
I also don’t know if I care.
I screwed up a podcast today, mixed up some names from the Bible. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, especially given I was reading JAMES just before – and he ADMONISHES US to be CAUTIOUS in seeking the role of teacher. And here I am, BOLO, shit head, fuck up. Jesus is not happy with me.
I wonder about trying to make money … I dunno.
Been watching this old show that had been unavailable, online, for a long time … and it looks like they digitally remastered it, editing the background, to add geoengineering spraying … as if the clouds it might have shown, the ones from my youth, would be to fucking shocking to see … better to hide this, forever.
I could use a hooker, and take a trip to the movies with this slut. We would share a large popcorn, covered in butter, and then slip off to the men’s room to find that swift harmony of the grease zone. She’d yeez all over my pants as I left my mark on her shoes, and then we’d get chased off by the theater manager, and then what? ROB THE DRUG STORE? … I dunno.
I was a scrub racer once … I was a jaundiced-owl and a hair dresser and the last of the 3 armed Shimbly’s … I could wrestle crocodile and snort coke and find love on the edge. I lived in a box outside of Grinken Town, where the noodle people eat their ramen and then vomit up their rat slurry to sell to weirdos from Paris. They can eat their own flesh to soften the blow from Heaven.
I wonder about my madness, and whether it’s a super power. Maybe my insane rage will be my ticket to FAME. I’ll grow an army of dingus-freaks and we’ll wear leather and steel and hunt the squirrel and live off of old time hooker soup. WE WOULD BE HUGE and unstoppable, if I cared.
My madness is my laser beam love. I can sky glide in raspberry make believe, while GERDY and BIRDY fondle the ruckus prince in my study. We will have musket parties, and drink spiced rum from some trendy blender. Our silk hide servants will grow stygian grub for our pies.
Sometimes I stare at the holes between the holes. I see the fragmentary alliance between disarray and entropy and their queer love pact. The particle streams reverse themselves and Ron Jeremy starts selling enhancers late at night. Your Mexican lover is none other than Rolanda.
I knew this guy from Sheffield, in the UK.
He was a triple toker and gasoline smoker and he had an MG and would drive real fast …
His girlfriend was named Jacey, and she had red hair and pale pimply skin …
He was sane.
[curated: 3/30/2023]