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5-6 :: happy

the actual feel breeds the make-believe galaxy in which things are possible. the boombox was otherwise plenty adequate for the job. shuttle runs between joy and impossibly closer. for its own sake & for the pretense of belief as not being total. happy day of catholic guilt and sacrifice.

happy etiquette. take your compliments, gold-star mouth. buff was where you said it would be. i could squeeze your arm. but i was under the impression that it was health and vitamins and whatnot we were competing around. rather than volume.

i found myself using that vocabulary without cringing.

in that meat and meaning way.

psychic marbles when you're not a full-fledged tomorrow. the undercuts are accumulating weight. the realization of any solution being null and void has been shamefully slow. some measure openly feel.

when i wrote that fear: your regret might come from a drug-
like relationship. not completely blind but blurry. myopic.

i don't want the experience. i don't like a lie & anyway 'as i've said' has become unimaginable. i don't want to end up in a thing, turning, to be laden with limits and aftereffects and physical sickness.

at the next arm-squeezing opportunity, your dirty headlines. ecstasy: it is, btw, a full one tonight.

an fbi agent but venom doesn't let him know. walked to the bodega and kept going. i guess it looks scarier from out there. it's 5 feet above or 500. even though this might not be the happiest of endings.

8 (am)

cowbox: equally insane is not having this. the can't-stop-
smiling action. i'll remember to get together with you before i pull that stupid shit again.

your automotive mantra tattoo on my hand. your milkbone. good morning. kid koala hugging the pillow.

but there is the nagging urge.  and there  is  the  growing terror. it doesn't feel unmanageable yet. i will work hard. lose myself in girly manners. i mean, will help mute the nagging. polish. skin. scale.

zen arcade: when can i see you again? ass is whose? i am going to eat a lot today. did we come to some dark? hint of lime. box of rain but paced in a syntax issue / sorry.

i'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open. the race was gonna be back on but you've already won. again. i'm going to gracefully sidestep the mention of what is yours. but yes. which even rhymes dammit. mad dog mad scientist.

panic on the mountain: i like your plan. like that test plan & matrix stuff. you might find yourself headlong into things just having the walk-around-the-block option. lookit me! i'm so productive! i'm kicking your ass! yep.








8 (pm)

or cede to the insanity of normality. ass whipped, i am butter. i am cream. sticking to our guns but her boss doesn't particularly care. as if you have a curfew. i could help with south brooklyn. i could hand-hold in scary laundromat. i could wait till everything's done.

i want. i want at least a moment.

cells are staging body politic revolt and their placards say "15 minutes is not enough!" scale back. it is the laundry that is the horror, not the laundromat. because i drip-dry. it's a volume issue.

dripping. not dropping.

sleep loose and sunken and perfect. pacing around on the stove, for once, reason rules and i am going to force a rest. esp since i am now committed to the 4am alarm.

here's the part where i sheepishly ask about rip van


i'll put on the headphones all peaceful & sugar pilgrim, nestled in the moon & in the all-stars. there is an 8-year-old looking out for me. having crawled, accomplished, calm, & welcomed. peace rules. spin cycle.








9 (am)

6:05 sitting on a bench outside the laundromat, hear a voice some feet away say "good morning general!" and look up to meet a salute shuffling my way. me "good morning" [smile], he "how are you?" [smile], me "good how are you?" [smile].

he "i don't want no more food, i'm stuffed!" [laugh] me "good for you" [laugh]. he [raises arms straight up to the sky while making a pppssssshhhhhwwww airplane-take-off sound, shuffles twice in circles]  [smile]  [smile]  [stops]. he "have a good day boss ha ha ha ha!" [shuffles away]








9 (pm)

keeper of copper writing to cut phone lines. these repairs are never quick.

and here we are. in my plan.

washing for sunrise resembled a little kid playing dress up. slammed into a wall. he'll survive, more or less. whatever's good for you. he's rarely specific.

work for 2 minutes and then die. satan loves me / shine of junkie. i'm having a hard time imagining food consumption during science fiction. and then i realized this is the kind of thing that gets me into trouble -- running around like a lunatic.

facilitate, moment of mutual calm is a nice by-product.

less chaos more furniture. smashing news! the imposed repress might be the only way we're getting it. watching (but not eating) a carrot they've suspended from the ceiling of her cage. (if that's not too intrusive?)

which brings me to pressure -- i'm glad your hands didn't work when you got home because otherwise i think i'd be concerned. donut in distress, man, this is chump change. you are always free to unpack. save shrink for flesh. sparkle of sidewalk = goddamn calm. dashing out soon.

first, in doorway, then, in doorway, i almost, i almost, what's the title, call 911?

not to mistake tone please.