Fuck (buzz) fuck (clank) ….. FUCK!!!>>> fuck fuck fuck. I ……. think I …. may be a schizophrenic. (How can it be, that I am still hanging on to what was the imaginary contradiction of what it means to be true to life, holy and valuable). Ok well, probably not but (truly) maybe…….? Early on-set of some sort of serious mental illness. I (do) don’t have any of the symptoms but (I am) I feel like that word (that world) was made for me. I was born to slip inside it like a masterfully tailored tuxedo made of shit1 and drool2 and spaghetti.3 I worry about being “crazy” so much that it’s driven me crazy - and I worry about that. I really do. (I don’t care…. I used to care more… before it all took me over, before it really mattered….).
There are a few things that make me feel sane though - sex, alcohol, food, and occasionally a good book. I’d say drugs (because I thoroughly enjoy those) but they most certainly do not make me feel more sane. Quite the opposite as I’m sure you would agree is often the case in any circumstance where you’ve got “the good shit.”
I’m sure you would agree with a whole mess of things I say because in my head that’s what you do every time. I picture you reading this and nodding in total sync with my reasoning and what I see as a dash or two of dry wit. Although. Even if you did find the things I say clever and agreeable on any level (it’s very possible you don’t/won’t/wouldn’t/think I should go fuck myself, you’d just sort of stare in stillness and be like “ok, yea” in your head).
The thing about things is they’re so thingy. Right? Stay with me here.
[glass hanging perilously close to the edge of a desk is lightly grazed with the thicker part of a shirt sleeve causing it to wobble, just for a moment, and flop off the edge smashing down to spread its water and broken glass all over the expensive looking Persian rug]
One time I was jolted out of a numb and sleepy stupor like a deer being obliterated by a speeding train mid-leap. Coincidentally it happened while I was hitting a deer in the train I was driving (or conducting or moving or however is the proper supposed way to say, “I was driving a train”).
I’ve slept with one hundred and forty-two women, but I have to stop for a while because I’m very fond of this number even though it has no significance whatsoever in my life or the life of those around me.
I felt this same way when I hit one hundred. I thought, well, there it is… one hundred women. Guess I should stop. But of course time marches on, and, so too do female and male reproductive organs and hormones, and it seemed no time at all had passed before I was back at it again.
[UNINTELLIGIBLE SERIOUS THINGS WRITTEN WITH A HINT OF HUMOR THAT, if executed properly SHOULD INSPIRE DEEP THOUGHT<PROVOKE HEALTHY SKEPTICISM> and make the reader feel as though he’s reading pieces of his own discarded thoughts, THUSLY making the reader jealous on some small level that he OR SHE didn’t write those thoughts down himself. OR HERSELF. Etc. But not TOO jealous, lest they hate the writing and, THUSLY the writer which, in this instance is me. And, how will I ever get to 200 if you don’t like me]
[car speeds away with a trail of dust and the sound of gravel and rocks being kicked up under its tires, THOSE ROCKS AND DUST FORCE YOUR EYES TO SQUINT JUST ENOUGH TO MAKE THE WORLD BLURRY FOR AN INSTANT and suddenly it all makes sense. Doesn’t it. It always has. Hasn’t it.]
One of the things I worry about daily (this list is long) is that I’m not crazy at all. That this is all normal and I need to just deal. That would also worry me because that would imply that many other people think like me. They have the same frighteningly disgusting and unhinged thoughts and dreams and run the same scenarios of non-sensicalnessishisms that I find myself doing at the slightest provocation. If that’s the case so be it, but I just want to know! How can I know? Maybe that’s why people develop multiple personalities and/or never quite “find themselves” because they’re too busy trying on the lives of others. They want to know too.
Once, I dated a girl whose performance of oral sex upon me was so exceptionally brilliant that all others have bored me to tears since. It is as though I’m now forever watching predictable action movies, the only suspense is wondering when the bad guy will die and how much damage he’ll do before then.
If you’re still reading this I’m impressed. Actually I’m not, you should read it. You can’t spare three and a half minutes of your life to read two pages? As Albert Einstein was famously quoted as saying “blow-jobs are best when terribly wet and just a bit teethy.”4 However, of all the jobs that are considered dangerous and have the threat of death intrinsically tied to your everyday activities, I think I’d most enjoy being a dog breeder because you get to watch dogs have sex all day. You can’t beat that.5 Plus the pay is up in the same area that a neurologist’s or an ultrasound technician’s would be.
I like thinking about cavemen and women…I like thinking about cavepeople.6 What must have been bouncing around inside their cave brains everyday as they went about doing… what ever it was they would do. I wonder if they ever stopped to appreciate a breathtaking sunrise. And, if they did, did they know why? What did they think of clouds? Did they masturbate?7 Did they clean their assholes after they defecated? Oh, the things I’ll never know.
I suppose I’ll end things on that note. The things I’ll never know. I’ll never know what you were doing right before you read this or if you finished it or what you’ll do after or what you’re wearing or the last time you got a haircut or took a shit. It’s all just babble jabber.
It’s all just babble jabber. Babbble jaa. Bland babble flapper matter. Blaaabbblleeeee jaaaaabre RAROJFOIJSFOIJSOIJOIJOIJFFFRRRR &&&. OwiehjtFLAAAAAA66 6THEEEEFEDEEVVIIII SSSSLLLLLLLLLFMADE NEOIUHEOI HWETOWUEHTO IW EHorielhoghnsontownmademedoit TOIWEHTOIHJOIJOIJFOIJASDOIFJOSD something inthestringbeans IJFJDBBCBCBCBLLAJJ AJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJALALALALALL AMAMAMAMAMAMADFAFAFAFAF FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK stringbeans FUCKFUKUFKFUCKFUKCUFKCUFKFUKFUFKUKKKKK FFFUUUFFKK FUFKKFUFKFUFKFUFKFUFKFUFKFUFK .Flag.
5 Merriam Websterman’s personal dictionary.
6 The Encyclopedia of Semi-erotic Occupations Involving Animals. Page 1.