Things to pretend that you did when you were eighteen part one.

fig.87) arm over face (in weeks still)

For a while I work on my spelling. I pull out my dictionary every night and for a while I sit alone and work on my cover letter. That is until I realize that the only word that matters is, you. Then with the help of my keyboard that's also shortened by one. By 7 o'clock I'm as tight as a flat fart and my job is waiting. Welcome home is how I sign my letter, care of B' fucking J'.
So I go out with with some stickers to vote in my bathrobe. CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SYNERGY, CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SYNERGY, it's all up and down Milwaukee Ave now. It's on every little red kiosk and light post between here and Avondale. I keep a yellow chap book in my pocket for jotting shit like this down. It's full of neologisms. It's like a church of spartans in the raft of Texas full of, song song song.
But after a long day in a hot room with Murray and the Luke Skywalker of dance, I really want to unwind. It's like I'm always saying to Theresa, "Like all of the times before now, these are also shared. There's so much more for us to build and to be said with all of the knowledge that we have yet to learn. So let's stay engaged. After all, these might be disruptive times but they're not end times."
"Because I am rich with old care. Rich and nameless, between this bath and the windows sill," is what Theresa is always saying.
"Because I am rich, stoner rich. O' Green and fancy greener too."

"So dry yur eyez," she snaps.

Comments

Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

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