i joined the a.a.r.p for prescription discounts.  then i killed a doctor and stole his script pad, ran all over town hanging the little squares of paper.
i didn't kill the doctor. i seduced him. i grabbed him by the lapels of his white coat.  i changed my genitals in his head.  the ink was dry on my chart and the information still changed.

the backspace key.

i told the doctor i'd need several different scripts. i read off of a tattered list. i told him it was of no consequence that i'd be taking the pad.

i grabbed again at his coat. and she kissed him. on the neck and shoulders, never the mouth. she was an ageless prostitute. pickled on the streets and waiting rooms around town. she loved golf magazine. she was raised on golf magazine. i could hear her breathing outside the door. i sat naked on the disposable white sheet, eyeing the doctor, perched on his ubiquitous rolling stool. i wiped the grit from my ass with the rough paper. i grabbed again at the doctor's lapels. i held them and we listened to her breathing.

theories on butthole singularity. (second wave)

(gOD's dirty little finger)

an electrical charge running through every pant's seat.

like touching two raw wires.
(instinctual at best)
nerves collecting data.
(thought oozing from every port)

man's continuous nature

*(ordinary)                                                                  *(like a diamond in the sky)

theories on butthole singularity. (part the initial)

(she said you tasted like gOD's bitter asshole)

disassembled
       (not in his own image)

man                                ≠                                              gOD
(*)                                                                                 (*) bitter root
                                                                                      (*) fish graft
                                                                                      (*) the functional dignitary

                                                                                      (consider him barehanded)



luther*---------------------*valerie
               \                      /
                 \                   /
                   \                /
                     \             /
                       *pierre

(branches out infinitely)

war.

set a war in your heart with pills and grass.
(he was dressed head to toe like a goddamned communist)

all fatigues dressed in smoke and ink stains. (callouses on hand spelled out the new anthem)

drinking regurgitated wine(for lack of draught).

she held her neck long and straight, like a chimney(straight into my heavens).

they were writing with paper clips and black ink. futile in the sun, dried up like a raisin before a single page.

gases and debris and a planet in between.

and all the gutless savages floating in space.
planets are bodies and bodies in between.

all the aches inside all of the heads,
i can't forget them and it is destroying me.

all the wounds from walking barefoot in summer.

dressing them all and never forgetting.

never overlook the importance of bludgeoning yourself with a series of small hammers.

a pointillism of violence.

you are meat and never forget it.

show me all your letters
showers down in word
on the streets at night, black.

smooth curve of breast
globe of lamplight
breaking up the fog at dusk.

four a.m., our time
standard time of rags and smoke

smoothing with stone
careful not to break,
of decent men.
of fine cloth, linen.

sheets of rain
falling like your letters
waves of code in black and white.

broken darlings,
ruined supper
outdoors, by the rain at night
shining block of concrete
topped by your letters, at night.

blue and black tendrils, walking.(intelligent)

watching fog rolling and winds breaking down. apes and men, dogs and wolves, walking upright.
(in the pit)

curling around broken fingers, blue and black smoke. (in the jar)

where is the exit? how will we know?

gOD opened the black and grey clouds and said curse.

lie (you) in the gutter of alcohol. bring penance and wipe, bring towels of good cloth and black ooze.

(lucy watched in stupid awe)

no night, no more night. (gutter of days)

session today with dr. ruxpin. the telecommute to his earthen lair is no picnic.  the connections placed in the lobes of my brain are cumbersome, but the hard wiring of my genitals just seems excessive. (if it weren't for the precision lacerations i may consider seeking new council).

purple linda was already in the lobby at ruxpin's, sniffing at the older magazines, waiting for his calling bell. (purple linda writes suicide notes and eulogies for alley-cats). she sniffed longingly at a page particularly laden with sentient oils. (eyes closed, but ready).

linda was called into dr. ruxpin's office and my mind went white with rage. i knew ruxpin could sense this on his monitors. i swiftly kicked linda in the calf, she went down like a sack of old junk. (carpe diem and an agile maneuver put me on the bearskin rug in ruxpin's office).

ruxpin stood over me with his waxen eyes.(the shock in my genitals the only lasting memoir).

i nearly left this post trapped beneath the page guard on my decorative typewriter(a human device of unknown comport). pinned forever against the blank face of a rotating wheel of rubber.  it stared at me in my sleep, from the edge of my bed my erect phallus pointed at it like true north. it begged to be shown, like the station's fanciest prostitute on st. gibbons day.

(the atmosphere was thick today. gaseous emissions clogged nearly every port on my supple body.)

to have left this post(all things beyond the scope of parenthetical dignity) outside of the gaze of the worlds would have been a tragedy of grecian magnitude. (not greek food, though?!? am i right? ladies! all that cheese of the goat and carbohydratol would damage my self-worth beyond measure!)

(i am a fiend for all things touched and untouched, the ladder of my universe dangles tantalizingly away from the surface of my things good and pure. pure like a font of white aura, of which i bathe my clothes and genitalia simultaneously, commingling essences and services in devout fashion.)

now entering the era of wooden emotion.