Wednesday, April 18, 2007

An Ode-damnit

It would be better to simply admit my various self-inflicted difficulties and then, with a wave of the hand and even maybe a bobbing of the neck, run straight into whoever I happen to be addressing right now. I bet you thought I'd never post again. We'll, you were probably write. This, after all, is hardly a post, just of few thoughts, with a not-so-clever title, jotted down, run-on sentences especially, and, of course, but also rather uncharateristically, no spell check (too lazy). I'd probably be a better writer in German. As it stands now, it would be better simply to admit my various self-inflictions, and do so, without the ordinary hesitation, as a way out of the quiet all-pervasiveness of an ordinary, ordinary future career. It is fast impossible to write, what could one write anyway; what, and still BE right? They were, we all, I suppose, would agree, but not any more; about what now could they be right? Or wrong? About town? Or the world about Harmon Industrial Park? A shanty, that last one, and full of truck-keys, but don't call them so to their face. Anyway, hard drugs, I've always said, would be the perfect excuse, but I forgot to take them, and so cannot make sense of the present, another sad mistake of the past, which, if you follow me, might suppose a messiah, who would come, in the future I suppose, and redeem even my choice, sad choice, not to take hard drugs, in the past. OR just take 'em later.

Anyway, I, like you, am endowed with the capacity to understand deeply this specific world of mine. Today, I prefer to pretend, but it is all on the way to an in-fact deeper understanding. One must simply overcome those all too common deceits, the one by which we fool ourselves, and become either happy or sad. But a new difficulty has arisen: language. You see when I say to-do I mean Grand ol' USA, and when I say about I mean bad-habits, futher a serpent represents a unicorn in all cases no better than say a commodity-exchange or harp would, and again vice versa. So that if he had so much to-do, and what he did was a unicorn, I'd be saying just about nothing. It's a bad example, but I'm really not putting too much thought into any of this. Notice, however, that there are still spaces between the words, making them all half un-words, and each one individually is really not worth much more than the next, so we have quite a system, but also a broken one, having but with few exceptions no room for art in science, etc, etc, etc.

I'll leave you with some really great poetry:

Give that whore a buck, and she'll suck you Chuck,
It's not worth more, 'cause that dirty 'ol whore
she's got fuckin' herpes.

See her standing there, just like a model airplane in a hobby shop with no more customers, ever.
And that's because I have a toothache, no matter what, it's mine.

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