Thursday, September 29, 2011


Some or more or less than some were speaking in general about topics of disinterest to others and themselves on ever increasing occasions during random periods of periods red-faced with seeing red to hide their crimes.  Cigar smoke covers their gonads networking getting to know the right people so right in the head head for their gonads.  

Brain Damaged Chapter from the "Gonadology"

Watch your flight is coming in for a crash landing
Insuring premium quality blends of organs
For the mixing
Insuring upping premiums
Pumping gas for the flames
Shaking legs together
Can't fold that way
People weren't meant to bend that way
Those ways
These ways
Suppose just suppose
For now for later
Way later no way
Those ways
People weren't meant to bend that way
Even though they try to
Suppose just suppose
What is it supposed to?
Run to away from
Running out of runway
Axioms no longer come out 
Dry empty fountain
Extra brittle for the escaping passengers
To scrape their external and internal worlds on
As they give the impression of sliding to safety
Suppose just suppose
People weren't meant to bend that way
Even though they try to
It's bastards all the way up
Run to away from
Eyes on the tarmac

Fetch a taxi fetch a bone hills of bones setting the scene scenery decrepit with turning their backs.  Fetch a taxi fetch a drawing knuckles with paper cuts in the hats without rabbits today tomorrow yesterday deleted with the next paragraph's toilet tissue.  Didn't do enough reps losing speed acceleration from fetching a taxi a bone a bicycle a bimonthly expedition away from providing the same old services just suppose the cycles never halt never break down even with all those stomach contents table of contents just suppose can't dissolve it away even this formic acid trip only shrinking losing speed losing categories squeezing in more categories smaller units and sub-units and sub-sub-units can't decide to go in or come out of the last dream nightmare neither they are all just chasing after people tall people dark people who never turn around even for a second just suppose just suppose never mind never turn around can't turn this thing around.  Fetch a taxi fetch a bone catch a plane catch a cold get over it to catch it again.

Quelk: Are we ever going to taxi toward the runway?  Where are we at in the order now?
Forlapse: #17, I think.
Twimglormo: 19 actually.
Quelk: Crap.
Forlapse: 19?  Did I nod off at some point?  Did anyone notice?
Quelk: I didn't notice.
Bukow: You looked like you might have slipped away there twice.
Twimglormo: Did anyone ask for your opinion?  This is a private conversation.  If we want to drag you into this we'll give the say so.
Bukow: Take it easy.  Just trying to be helpful.
Forlapse: They don't know what I look like when I come to sufficiently and sufficiently for me can take most of the day or half a week sometimes depending on how much I've been drinking.
Bukow: The three of you are recent acquaintances and haven't fulfilled the criteria for a private conversation.
Twimglormo: Someone is paying way too much attention to something that is not their business.  
Bukow: Business.  You keep changing the expectations trying to exclude me you've been working on your latest project of downsizing the carpool one less way of seeing the world at a time.  I get up 15 minutes earlier every morning so I can still catch up to those who brag about moving on so well with their gene pool expelling its noxious gases while I convince myself I'm getting used to its effects as my eyes open less and less getting up earlier and earlier into the past bulldozing into before needing a way to work the wrecking balls knock in walls of composure as better times crumble.
Forlapse: I should observe myself coming to in front of the mirror and see what I really look like.
Quelk: How will you tell especially during weeks when you've been drinking more than usual.
Bukow: When is there a usual?  When is there not a usual?  I think we all nod off between each other's lines.  Between applications between open tabs between thoughts between associations associations hooked along protocols of associations.  Nothing to make note of here.  Move along.  Nothing to make note of here.  Cloud shaped like a frozen ear frozen in a script adapted from a protocol of associations.  Tag you're it.  Tag I'm it.  Tag we're it.

Max Stoltenberg

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