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Truckin’ from the sconcheon to the escarpment, a tooling Gambino in a New York state of mind on the money, with a Chicago city of heart on the bull, and with an L.A. lot of circulation on with the show!

Livin’ in hell for some time, time to getaway to Paradise, Hawaii, a place off the charts, for great white sharks, sand crabs, and island fever!

Straight 70 poikothermy, amped 80s, no-no naughty 90’s, and kilogram’s 100th timed art-deco modern art full of pure sense, refined “Yayo!” screams, unfettered energy, and indefatigable renewal of deep dish π at an all-you-can-eat 5-star buffet (quinsy decagon) in-flim-flammable film-worthy filet coating me in the king’s own kin gown.  Enzymatic transferase catalyzes the spread of butter in the pot-luck smorgasbord, suction-cupped, octopus alive!

If only I had something to hold onto…that precious, all-consuming carnation’s slithering tentacle…

Like a parasite living within a renewable resource remaining apathetic to that parasite’s withdrawing presence, the resourceful organism goes through the motions that appetizes me pink (color of lust or of medium rarity.)

Tulips on parting and a Dutch to hold, the green-leaf variety flavored high honey!

The roaches’ paradox:  Flaming Lips Buggin’ on rooster-fish, “little cock-cunt undesirable maggot feasting dumbfounded ignorant, ‘learn to swim!’” shouting aside, “stupid shit dysfunctional junkies for lack of euthanizing hotels for the sake of eugenics.  Keep ‘em separated without rights or the right to leave and procreate offspring or their miserable habits on the rest of the world.  Pick a side and it better not be mine!  I have the right to leave at any moment, and yet, you have no such luxury.  Good!  I’ll take what’s mine and do what’s expected of me.  Let go of me!  Get the fuck off me you ignorant piece of shit!”

[Separated by two sides of the same coin] -- [Keeping scored metal tokens that measure life success and forgive debts to others, (in theory (as long as official currency is maintained by the NY State of mind)]

“Behold, ye are nothing, and your work of nought: an abomination is he that chooseth you.”

The only thing worse than being me, it is uniform conformity.

Baron von Otto Nast champions the cause of musical liberals exposing Communist sock + pole (anti-rock + anti-roll), beating deliberate tunes of knowing glory, stalling a glorious climax for fear of exhausting precious fluid resource, sauce of life, Russian rice-potato ferment.

Decapitation of revolutionary figurative operatives hydra spawn literary Scorpio scorpion slices that grab a hold of you and fill you with poisons, fixating poisons that fixate victims with a pleasurable paralysis, a sought after freeze, and an end with no surprises, the denial of twist, the love that trauma defined.  Soft and tight, pressure warms as it narcotizes.

Full of undead spirit, the undeserved happenstance remains standing a stuttering testament to taking things as they come and hoping for the best to come.  Ye, if your best be knowing better by learning, expect punishment of corrections.  While correctional facilities provide the means for employment, they don’t always employ the proper discipline of character required to reform or correct.  Led by the example of misleading leadership, prisoners violently steel themselves against the violence patrolling on guard duty.  Victims of crime, abuse, and exploitation, modern slave drivers continue to earn their living on classified characters of domestic abuse or fugitive refugees immigrating from the heart of darkness abroad.  Bumpkins with billy-clubs and high-powered rifles powered by high-school graduates with a license to shoot on sight of offense (with eyes yet plucked out).

Topeka Tapioca Topicide, n. The killing of one topic by another.  “May we change the subject?”

The Scopes Monkey Trial: Inherit the Wind: “The Righteous & The Wicked”: War and Peace

“He that trusteth in his riches shall fall: but the righteous shall flourish as a branch.
He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind: and the fool shall be servant to the wise of heart.
The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life; and he that winneth souls is wise.
Behold, the righteous shall be recompensed in the earth: much more than the wicked and the sinner.”
Proverbs 11:28-31

“…not a novel, even less is it a poem, and still less an historical chronicle.” ~Tolstoy on War and Peace

With “god-like” perspicacity, priceless I-ring, ethereal jewelry, ability enhancer – the ability to possess shadows, scatter ranks, heal through and through by the induction of light and the banishment of elements of interminable malice by observing and following the objective guidance of photons’ united illumination of divergent nadirs that trough through the split of hairs, fed through by the mouth of the river’s tributary, psalty absolver of lustrous chastity.

“Yap, yap, and yap…if it’s all the same to you scholastically socialist power equalizer, why plaint?  Why speak at all?  Your (invoice) invective invokes a disturbing presence, it is driving me berserk, you…talking cowboy, acting slave…as if…your master’s presence were oppressive!  Nevertheless…why should I change?  Why should I change when I hold and maintain my grasp of the power and of the control and of the remote locale hiding place full of well-to-do lists, buckets full of wishes, and an electrostatic peregrinator?”  The man lists recumbent before his Sanctovision carpenting telebeams of passively ultra-aggressive fiber-optic photohypnotics that induce a type of restless pseudosleep of commercial topicide entertaining the idea of entertainment efficiency like no-nonsense thrills that attend to the attention, “I’m too busy to pay,” (you, The Help) “even a trifling sum to you animal loving loafers bent on getting handouts from us able-bodied types and giving them to those undeserving invalid procrastinators undeserving of charity without tax-breaks!  What is it to me?  Nothing.  Go away from me now!  Bah-Humbug!  You goldbricking DeVito!  (My image in your mirror, through your lens disturbs me and I am too encumbered to find the mirth.)”

To myself, a scolding, “Your art is an abomination…that you would choose this and that but not care to include everything (and the kitchen sink) at the risk of sounding trite.  That you would reference that thesaurus and moth-eat your own thoughts…go through and cornball your own procedure, thinking that you could modulate your own voice for the sake of comedy…they’ll be laughing at you, certainly, but not for the reasons you wish, and you’ll be likely to miss the real joke altogether in your horse-bitten ~ mental jockeyed deliberant confusion like a bomberman in charge of literal stop constant plosives.  An ear possessed by a demonic tongue forking bitter, occlusive wax… trying on erotic wigs framing a face wagging a tongue lapping thin air without a sense of shame, that goes with my pilly-raspberry holiday sweater sopping with the thick drool of brain-dead dogs and the posthumous ooze of ghostbusting slimers ejaculating dysphoric rot into a swirly swig in brown stained porcelain, sneezing chunks and hiccupping loads of raw data sent back for analysis to this cold, flushing crucible, my troubled throne designed for the express purpose of diminishing dingleberries methodically with an antique crank-propulsion enema slipstreaming behind a Waterpik® bidet!”  (The anal floss congruent)

The diaphanous syrupy reticulate was then collected in tiny vials for later reduction to be used as a thickener, general flavor enhancer, or a remedy for pruritus or infertile sod…

All one great prurient pursuit for joy in all the wrong places, like some blasphemous whore-mongering open-mouth surgical theatre for indoctrinating dentists whose duty it becomes to purge the mouths of those dirty cock-suckers, shit-eaters, and (dare I say…) cunning linguists who mistreat mouths and pay dearly for the (some say luxury, others say right) to have another pair of peepers pay some sort of Hippocratic credence to the accumulating plaque of Mrs. Blackenchipped while students stare agape.

…And the worst part is you live alone with some other guy who takes advantage of you, collects the rent and leaves the money lying around like he’s got nothing better to do with it other than blow it off the coffee-table Yayo!

“You have a knack for making everything you touch ugly.  Is there really so much poison in you that common decency doesn’t stand a chance?  Honestly, for all your idealizing, what have you come up with beyond some disjointed come-filled smut set to offend and antagonize?  You should be ashamed of yourself if you don’t have anything nice to refocus your efforts on.  Is it really all pain, filth, and misery with you, or is it your intention to draw attention to this fantastic gutter of your filthy, disgraceful imaginings?  Do you enjoy doing this?”

Yes, in fact, I do.  It’s all I can do to stay sane is to imagine lives, events, occurrences, and very worlds that are magnitudes more horrific than the one I occupy, so that I may always be grateful for this life I have been given, yet somehow, twenty-six years into it, still have not completely grasped or got the hang of this life of flux.