finally found that pink and fence one more clearly

So, simultaneously fortunately and unfortunately for yours falsely, the step-son arrived (wearing a New York Yankees hat though this fell off once the punishment began in earnest) which means I had no choice but to open up my already strained pocket book.  I understand totally how that lack of responsibility could upset her, despite the fact that she’d only been there for two weeks.  Of course this was all viewed through a humble pane of glass.  These days, things feel much more real through the glass than in person. 

Tom Wait’s Rain Dogs in the sound of New York though I won’t say THE sound of New York because such a thing probably does not exist (or does it?!).  Still, it is masterful, running the gamut of all the mixed and largely nonsensical emotions running through the corroded corridors of my mind.  You know, it’s funny (not really) but it until I read this interpretation I never considered that Scott Walker’s albums Tilt, The Drift and Bish Bosch could actually be something of a Mobius Strip wherein Bish Bosch is just as much entry as it is exit.  I find that to be a most compelling reading, especially if you like to pass the time by blowing up bullfrogs with a straw.  Also, that new Godzilla flick was something else, eh?  Good to have the original G-ster back in action. 

You said you loved that red-head because she was your wife.  What a beautiful connection.  She looked familiar and later on I realized why but she was not the same woman.  It felt safe, right?  Kissing her on the cheek and then on her lips, it somehow felt right even through the tears.  But it’s so hazy now and you’re starting to wonder if it even happened at all.

I so desire for my soul to be stung and to be fucked over.  This January sadness may return along with all the ice but I feel ready this time and I know it has to be this way.  Can I actually take this all literally?  It would be almost impossible not to but would that be doing a grave disservice to…?  There is no form or formula.  There is no establishment.  I think the brass still speaks for this. 

The newest trailer for Star Wars Rogue One was requisitely thrilling and supplied me with sufficient intrigue that I am now excited (albeit mildly) to watch the film.  However, I should add that a huge chunk of my positivity has to do with the footage of one Mads Mikkelsen (swoon) who always makes jump and squeal with girlish glee.  Still, I have repeatedly said that these non-trilogy anthological films have potential in many ways to be more compelling than the new trilogy due to the enhanced freedom in storytelling they are theoretically given. 

I want to give my highest compliments to author Paula Hawkins because The Girl on the Train was a real crackerjack novel!  A real fucking-intense-can’t-put-down-page-turning-corker of a book and I absolutely fucking loved it!  I figuratively and then literally devoured it!  Of course my opinion doesn’t matter because I’m a worthless piece of dogshit but still, what a read!  Boy howdy though, I am now reading Crash (no relation to that horribly contrived early 2000’s film about racism) by J.G. Ballard  and it will surely not be the last Ballard book I scope out though it is surely the first and shall always be remembered as such!  Mayhaps I’ll go on over to Barnes and Noble Booksellers at this very moment and purchase the rest of his bibliography and then dance a Cha Cha in the streets while wearing an inner tube and drinking farm fresh milk!  Or maybe I’ll finally do what needs to be done and employ that most obvious equation of 1 ME + 1 Bottle of Sleeping Pills + 1 Bottle of Wine (white or red, doesn’t matter, but nothing too sweet please) = The World A Better Place. 

Still, it is renewing, rejuvenating and inspiring dare I say.

You know that we are living in a material shit!  And I am a material clit!  Blab forty and flab fifty, am I right?! Oh, what a way with words I have said the magic lamp as it descended gracefully into a room full of peanut butter stuffed pillows.  Let us not battle with raving psychotropic antelopes!  Let us instead savor the fervent fruit of our juicy sexual mounds while we writhe and contort and the delirious wet smacking sounds make a cacophony that wakes up the neighbors, tee hee.  Ah, the stench and sound of bodies during sexual acts; we are quite the repulsive creatures.  How it makes me want to vomit.  Who would be there to lap up the vomit though while jamming fingers into their anal cavity and smiling broadly to show up those expensive and lovingly capped teeth?  I had ribs for dinner last night, don’t you know?! 

Do I want to decode this final transmission?  This is one last parting gift, somewhere from the stars or maybe behind them.  We all want to go out screaming.  I heard this take place in the early morning before anyone else was awake.  I lay in bed and everything was right for a single moment. I was reminded of the great nothing I am and cherished that feeling.  I never want to cease discovery.  There was no plan.  When I met you it all changed.  A word in that last sentence doesn’t quite fit.  There’s nothing here anymore.  You’re weathered and beaten down but never more beautiful.  It echoes still. 

She was wearing a pair of pantyhose on her face and when she kissed me and then stuffed another used pair into my mouth deep enough where I was gagging I explosively ejaculated into my rent trousers, right leg tingling as always happens during my finest orgasms.  She threw banana cream pies at my face before all of course.    

“Feel the power.”  Oh my strained pocketbook!