i sign to the body eclectic:
hardly... anything associated with the zing
and zigzag of electricity:

i have a spare hour in the afternoon
and i made a good enough judgement
call to go to my usual barber
shop without my usual barber:

closed my eyes and sat back:
waiting for a tingle akin to the defrosting
sensation of a dentist putting on
his latex gloves and shoving his
fingers into my mouth:

maybe it was me looking at an old
man bewildered as i was
finding a younger man at a bus stop
choking with impromptu rap
and huh? met a huh?!
by then there was no genius spectacle
just a common cold: case:

of those i love: hmm: slow drilling sensation:
humdrum... humdrum...

why is it that music has become
so: dissatisfying...
i still make quantum leaps of memory
thinking about locking Reyla up
in my "castle"
while me and Edie go out to
conquer and misunderstand London:

highbrow my ***:
if i'm going to a German opera
i expect the opera to be in German...
i don't understand: by now: satire:
of having translatable efforts
and abstract postmodernism blah blah...

you had about 30 odd (impossibly so)
flirting with the stage
holding pieces of paper
running around like headless chickens
insinuating the imitation of:
a flurry of birds...

the phantom did appear:
by the interval while the culturally flabbergasted:
astonished... cooing wows and woos
because that's: about right: the "money's worth"
brigade sat through
the excruciating domain
of... oh... let's say...

google search: algorithm testing:
serial killer with pins in ******* before execution:
Half Berg Fosh...
well: that was me: but i wasn't getting
enough sadomasochistic "flavor"
to want
demand or need to sit through another
let's say: half a penny's worth quarter
of an hour...

something grey and -ish and subtle like
a slug that's not a snail
cannibalizing itself...
but music and cinema:
opera: what is there to be celebrated
with this: vagary:

i used to soothe myself into sleep
(perhaps finding dreams,
it's not like i can, simply, conjure them
with rabbits from top hats)
utilizing music:
now... i'm looking for insomnia and
her snoring
but maybe: justifiably so:
there's...

        i knew the guy sitting next to me:
was going to get a haircut sooner before
i was
a beard trim is an added expense: expanse...
talk of football and how:
well this player didn't do this,
this player was ****
poor result...
and i'm thinking: but there's so much
world and other worldliness out there
there are so many other sports
you can delve into: appreciate:
why succumb to just mere soccer
and get yer ******* hammers or cannons
or cockerel tattoos: like:

i just don't understand
by fault or non-mistaken...
it feels like the glue of society is running
dry and even if a fly should
sit on it: the sticky property of glue
are just not there:
there's this: dystopian: miasma...
this: everything is just dandy
just... reminiscent of the later stages
of the 20th century being:
underdeveloped in preserving continuity:

but the spectacle is still there
while i'm thinking about crowd control
and it's just a base repertoire of
clueless rhetorical venturing to
speak while also doubly-speaking
using sign-language that's imagination
curtailing: nothing cryptic about
it just explaining:

a wall of people vs a sea of people
and focusing on:
creating a river of people...

and to think of how many children i could
have had that could have become
the prodigal sons the bus-drivers
and anatomy specialists of a proper brunch
and some other unspectacular
fractions of my DNA... maybe...
just the right sort of punctuation
to alleviate my otherwise missing
subject matter... since it's of no concern
(by now)
given there's no need to use ink
or paper
and i can just summon the almighty
technology barons to ensure i have
enough democratic space to
leave my spew to fester and wound
and wind up: no wind?
wind up... no whining?

WYND as opposed to winding up:
that why why why is just jitters and hot air
i want to write something delightful
like a:

hmm: quietly in the kimonos...
a Jane Austen saga: compilation of:
everyone introducing each other and themselves
all proper and courteous with
Mr Fethrington: Mrs Allowancekeep...
Mr Jeffrey Juicesor:
Ms Heavenlywait...
Baron Oswald: Herr Fritz...

           so we end up scribbling weaving scribbling
how half-baking dough looks like
but not for any other circumstances
but the allowance of a ****** 100 years from
now:
because by now conversation
without to a saving inkling of intimacy
is just your standard: hello, the weather,
haven't seen you in a while...

lisp doctor: a microcosm of imitation with
the cashier
past the self-checkout she was too busy
so i went to the tobacco stall and that
usually casual: oh i haven't seen you in a while
and in the most detail:
like some 19th century parody of pre-Victorian
stiffness and:
a man will become exasperated:
enamored: by a simple touch of the fingers:

ooh! ooh! so much LGBTqx+z taboo bashing
now i feel like i'm on brain-freeze mode
but if so much is permitted
and there are no restraints: no gravity of ***...
just random bishboshing about
like watching paint dry on the wall
or agonized with plentiful seeing a tumble dryer
spin spin spin O spin spin O spin...

i think by now me and  JILL MCDONOUGH
can talk about *** like everyone talks
about ***
in that *** as this great ambivalent allowance
of testing both sea and lake of
thirsty for more sea *** of heterosexuality
while the supposed calm of sweet water ****-erotica
at least in my mind
the gay intellect is real
rather than stages of fetishes, fiction, daydreaming...
Harlequin novellas my grandmother
used to read:
at least my great-grandmother expected
to be a nun but no nunnery she got...

so this, my meager half *** half want half:
i halve halves and therefore: presto: hey! quarters
because: just: *****-nilly super-Filly...
there's this sense of a long goodbye
while all things electric and plumb are just
fine as long as there are bus drivers
and airplane pilots and cashiers
and as long as death does not overpower
the living with some tumultuous brainstorm fakery
of:
       this decadence all around us:
this hiding of illness and faking: and eventually dying...

then some splendor of the misnomer hyperbolic
comes along and one begins to chant:
that shovel is not a fork
that fork is not a spoon
that black is not black
but is red
and that Eiffel Tower is supposed to be
a glorified scaffold monstrosity
enshrined on the horizon of Kuala Lumpur
in bamboo!

but i can return to the casual, boring,
tongue borrowed from everyday...
or i can savor these impromptu escapades
into semi-nonsense...
but shh... it was hardly the prompt scribble
for some rhetorician to scramble over:
this is not persuasive language:
i've already persuaded myself thus far...
what's a little more, beside the already itching
scalp from the barber's treatment to
make me look civilized and not spooky...

MFA... fine arts...
   seems to me a bit like how men pass laws:
unlike the laws without whims
unwavering like the tall building the ledge
the cartoon of stepping onto air
not falling for a second...
the judgement surrounding: the critique of:
the appreciation of:
then back to the world of laws
and those men constipated themselves:
the sound whimsical ordeal:
best to stay away from the courts and the art
galleries
since you might end up disappointing
by being disappointed by somehow not
being appreciative enough:
not enough: force-feeding turkey before
the advent of the great corruption...

like religion it's always a case of:
i say what you don't say
and that should be best: for both of us...
supposedly not, the, case...
well: it's not even supposedly not
and more a: suppose so...

(i would gladly just delete this
but there's some use, even for something
mediocre as this).