there is nothing more real then real real
or I wouldn't have come here; driving or flying, unless to add or subtract earned travel miles or accumulate karma credits. anyway you slice it, for a few dollars more, you’re either worse than arriving or you’re waiting at the big transfer corner; coming in before as a different other feeling, like a replicant on repeat.
so, what else is there to do? get a get away car from the other elvis almighty horace greeley cowpoke show; find that displaced dream highlighted in brilliant florescent orange on the map with the big bold arrow pointing to; this is where you will be; impermanent as a nagasaki flash, here today then the rest is just stupid marching orders in the dust, under the dead; neatly trimmed and in a proper place.
true, on occasions, some high-banking glove or metaoffical will scuttle another rhapsody in blue:
-folkz, what we are dealing with is something never seen before . . .
and then after a long greasy spoon pause,
-we might even be talking about one-in-a-million odds . . . but we know they will play it every time. it’s like the old adage - I’ll run a mile for a logo.
so, what else is there to do? flirt with suffocation, brace for a pregnant immobile thought drop, sink a life savings into video russian roulette.
the problem is, my permanent expandable mobile home’s hydraulics are busted and the vinyl expansion is in tatters, letting in radiation particles, constantly ruining my, this is the rest of day and these are my feelings.
so, I decided to move; truthfully I just didn’t like sharing my toilet seat and I wanted my own call button. and even though humans are just duplicate purchasing machines . . . nothing deserves to be a hernia probability reduced to a sentence or less. so, I ask you, wouldn't you pull up the stakes and undo the bolts?
a few head murders later we all look the same in preparation to disembark. I call a stranger’s home in prisoner pronouns, I didn’t get an answer. we are close to before, over tulsa montezuma madison maryville melrosepark, merry-go this way and some of the merry-go that way tra la tra la, montana. someone said, everyone under 5 and those with at least two functioning organs is mad, truly mad. I say lets weave the raw into a regardless dream, turn the faucet to summer, bmw, medusa, and sisyphus.
in reality this are it, the end, or maybe a deep understanding that two good fucks is worth one hundred thousand, one hundred thousand dollars and change. still, the one writing this woke up furious at existence . . . there was nothing to shoot. this was happening just as a thought moment mounted its high horse . . . maybe . . . just maybe . . . there is another way to wake up to this and face the world.
