Friday, June 14, 2013

A Mouth Full from the Curmudgeon’s Tossed-Salad

One Futility is This: One Cannot Avoid Being Noticed nor Avoid that Desire to be Noticed.---àSo I Swallowed the Revolver. ---àSuddenly. ---àAnd Slipping Myself up to my Nose, into a Deep and Shivering Bucket of Scrutiny---ài.e. “Girl,” I Say: i.e. “Nipple” I Say: i.e. “Snow || ow” I Say: i.e. “Apple” I Say;---àOh Dear, how Bewildered we are, to be Named this Name and then Proceeding in this Way. ---à As A Pornographic Joke of its own Making. ---à“I want to Cut-Through the Traffic, Wild, Cackling and raw, on my own Sociopathic Terms.” ---àOne Day, I Will Write a Symphony for your Clear Complexion.---àThe Deconstruction and Fall of Armsy the Pigeon”.---àAnd After all: I was Always the Handsomest of Pearls.---àClimbing-Up the Catalogue of my Mother’s Nerves. ---àThe Radical thump of Studying My Face Becoming a Father. ---àI Reach-Into my Pissing-Stream. ---àBof or bruise. ---àMy Heart Wads a Root in Hooliganism and Depantsing.---àAnd Then Allegory: Speaking-up while my Mouth is Full from the Curmudgeon’s Tossed-Salad. ---àThe Sun-Shafted Drill and the History of the Self-Satisfied Chorus.---àErasing the Mess (Subject) that We got Ourself in, would be a Great Idea. ---àThere will be so many Scenes to Come in which I Come. ---àThe Deeply Startled roar of the Pompous Pumped-Up Ass. ---àSadly, we are Entering the Age of “Hush…”---àI Could Turn-Off the Coming Fireworks, but instead, I will just Stand in the Unseasonably Cool June Air and Careen until it Feel like I am Floating in the Hairs of my own Cluttered Tramp-Stamp.