thousandword ramble (unedited)

I am going to explain by the thousandth word:




‘It’s been a while’

He is home, and there is no Christmas in February. Moto moto motot motot

Leave me alone and everywhere it is such as that we receive and the only thing I ever tied to the back of the bus was the ribbon that said I was alive. So che guarirei. Non dire no non dire no. Non dire no. nonoreree
I have the best of me locked up inside your rapid glance. Don’t do that to me with your smile. Don’t take me apart when walking through the room. Mi basta il tempo di morire. I need to get the backdoor open, to expunge the last thing I ever wanted

why do we get so, y’now? Where does it go? Why not stop and ring the bell. And why not discover what is there inside you. Fearful and twitching inside the only thing ever thrown to the bone the dogs unknowing. It is a heartless city. A city that has nothing of permanence, Come in, make your money, get out, drive to Oakville with your SUV. You don’t even know how to throw a party. WE are desperate to get out. WE are desperate to leave the last the only the withered bankrupt condominium. The truth in advertising was the last thing ever expected to throw the knockout cops below. I will be cynical and you will trash the hotel room. cYNICAL overused and oversued developed and renovated and into thrown rugs it is the last of the overran citizens denizens of the complete utter unfinished symphony of the mind the regal cutlass in the open field strip mine, strip tease the collar for the fleas, in ceasing the pleases from ecclesiastical heritage. I need to accept the room I need to expect nothing more than less than zero. I need the last open rung on the ladder of living livery the liver that purifies the blood or maybe that is kidneys. I need the bile it is the while over miles and miles of thoughtless trials and the beacon outer inner the threat of Acadian simianism. Devised and rethought impossible to excise, I renege the violin in the thighs open to closure the last big whining cloak was cut to ribbons with an elementary school pair of plastic scissors. Hey little woman I can’t see you in the rain, I can’t eat through the cord, my how the ropes are thick and you try to escape, well you will have to use your own teeth to bite through the rope. I am the last and loneliest oven dweller, the cave Osama hides in to gives the lessons to mainstream Islam. She is so young she is so old, and we look around the house with the alarm ringing to wake you up before dawn to get to catch the subway and the flu on the way to work. I enjoy the soy bean sandwiches, the healthy snacks proferred by the overweight receptionist in a bid to save face, how disingenuous and the word it is new and unlooked up in the dictionary. The diction fairy visits to offer advice on a quatrain and the .. you you the man of fire in a room of chalk and the men of Saturdays ponder the latest example of utter Lysol-like insincerity. Don’t don’t don’t we walk away we want to stay but we don’t. WE hold on to this we want to kiss and we will always fear the bliss we could have had. Yodel the open fodder to roadkill the latest desired women to walk on the catwalk eager for the media embrace the chase of the latest the lace translucent and beckoning to the hairy snatch between you and her face. The flu derived from the toxic bug that hides sweptunder the epidemiological rug the sluggish start to the winter disimbues the red wagon the walter cronkite news network, that show that starts you at seven and continues past ten. Legal illegal beagles excrete theological blather the baiter in the cage defies description the transcription ellipsis the theological nexus of thought the unblocked un thought stomach rotting polyglottic truth can’t be bought, not even in a pawn shop. Jasper woods is good with his hands, the only supple sweet hands to touch the flute and finger the holes through which wind blown breath pipes and shows musical metronomic sensitivity. More words to go to finish the thousandth word the indicator of an accomplishment the four pages per diem necessary to meet the quota you set on yourself the decision to stick to a regimented attitude toward art. And after all this time we continue to sing to john and Paul and George et alii. Is it the classics that conspire to keep us infants to keep from growing to stop to hinder to hand the world to our parents and their totalitarian nostalgia? The Beowulf pushers in their first year lectures, don’t worry if you don’t get it, just copy notes off a mate and then copulate years hence in a bid to make good the friendship that just didn’t suffice the thin ice we walk on the chance never taken because of the law of statistical averages that dictates that all relationships end in either breakup or marriage. Ack the pessimism of life the half glass empty the truth about mortality so we write write write miles before we die. We maek a make mark we need to piss on the trees around us to keep away the dogs, Cerberus I see your red eyes, stay away from my house and home. I’ll throw you a bone if you let me pop these pills to stay awake for a few more years, to stave off Acheron the crossing with Charon at my side laughing and reassuring and adding another notch to his grim ledger. Five more words to go.

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