This is the height of depths, Klein... publishing an edited piece
of mine which originally ran in the sex classifieds of the Village
Idiot.
This particular piece got me laid.
Three times. I think you even know two of the girls’ mothers. Or maybe they
were thinking of that other Lee Klein. Does he babysit much? Or did he?
ONE WITH
NATURE
by Lao Guardian
wrong! wrong! by Drachen Fliegen
(((((((((((((((((((((+)))))))))))))))))))))
^ ^ ^
This part... I have no idea. This wasn’t in my original. I
don’t work in the abstract. I am a cementist poet: fluid but viscous, gonna
be hard but just at this moment plastic and impressionable.
perhaps this is what postmodern scholars call a “non-referential
signifier”? I don’t use those – rather my every breath screams, “You’re
standing on my bunioned toes, you clod!”
Don’t make me hack your flat feet off. there’s nothing here to
staunch the bleeding ‘cause we’re sure as Hell not using my notebooks or my
silk shirt. yeah, I know it’s unbuttoned at the middle. stop looking at my
chest hairs. wait, look – would you him? it’s Mr. Food, Arturo Ginsburg (né Edna Rosenblatz). not exactly Jesus Christ but I think the
evidence adequately indicates that more american women worship food than they
do JC.
Fuck you. This is a new shirt. I just got it at the thrift
yesterday. bleed all over the sidewalk, you fuck. you’ll probably get a ticket.
Now that I’ve let my fists fly all over your ego and ergo id hole habitus herald, let me get smoove wit’ cho ass tie you down width my charms.
my favorite cereal contains explosions. I pack my bombs with opinions.
sweet perfume. i paint my nails with grime.
vagrant cologne mask. the task at blender. back door h’ors d’oeuvres. kitty with koala in mouth.
increasingly the service will grow weaker. america has a cancer. let’s dance! my cat wont eat anything but dry food and fried chicken thighs. I thought I still had some dryer sheets.
introduction to absorb-ability:
Are you alone? How many are you? Are you together? Do you speak engwish? Where do you wish to go? We will go there. When we get there I’ll clobber the pustulous snot out of you because everyone who’s in the know knows the world’s going metric and – what’s that esperanto word for “shithead”? that’s you, right now, buddy.
Esperanto for buddy.
I am the emperor. I often say, “It is better to be calm than agitated.” When I pick my nose I wipe the boogers on gold. bow down: maybe I’ll wipe a booger on you.
Saying these things is required of me. My spectacular buoyancy should not alarm. I do it, I get it done, not according to specific scheduling.
We will get better if we stop fussing over grammatical trivialities. the forensics team has been to sent mop the floors of the gasthaus.
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I was ill in the head. nothing in the Emperor’s Majestic Medicine Cabinet seemed to help. Or it did seem to, but after about thirty minutes I knew it was The Placebo Effect. I was still sick. Seeing things. Things like Lifetime movies occurring in my kitchens, bathrooms and closets. People would say “I will pray for you” in condescending ways. i would descend a staircase into open silence. nothing is so still as noon in july in alabama. the snakes like it there.
Moderately sized animals -- the beaver and the hog, for example -- enjoy small talk about psychoacoustic experiments involving radio frequencies "microcast" from strategically placed transmittors along the First Amendment. I mean, First Avenue, which is slated be renamed Veterans Bingo Parkway. 1st Ave where I often parade in my litter. No, not litter, papier mâché robot costume. The radio signals could only be received on a bus run by the city. I forget the number of the bus. but Moderately sized animals taste very good. for health reasons, people are typically encouraged to eat animals large and small as well. tom skerritts are good. So are wilma dearings, but they ought be followed by a plate of garnished pickled arch whiting or a skewed newt. skewed? skewered.
As we travel back in time through the tunnel which smells of elephant dung, we cross the line past which old men do not wash their hair often. The Old Republic.
Plastered.
You have been tapped.
I visited a chat room for dungeon fetishists. I was asked to join the pagan knights web community. I am just browsing, thank you, I replied. I sang the theme to the movie Arthur. I was told to shut the fuck up. I was told to shut the fuck up repeatedly. A southern man tapped a .357 magnum against his computer microphone. He pulled the trigger, it clicked, then he gave us memorable advice which he attributed to his grandmother, whose name was Pete. He said not to play russian roulette with an automatic weapon. he advised playing black in other games of chance. This man's name was Willy. His screen name, however, was Nekkid_Turtle. You can e-mail him at nekkid_turtle@yahoo.com.
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That which yields overcomes that which resists. that which speeds up gets to go first at the four-way stop, or at least to act morally superior. do not smile, whatever happens. only smile if you’re sure it’s about to be sex. don’t be passing the potato salad or the black pepper. practice the people’s eyebrow. have a cow and teach her to do sit-ups. the best cure for hiccoughs is a spelling bee, and for hiccups breast milk or either a tall glass of microphone squeezins. that and tournament bridge, in a flooding basement with a slight undertow drawing towards a picaresque bridge. picaresque? quixotic.
pass judgment now on your fellows. if you dont pass it now there wont be an opportunity in the afterlife. i’ve heard the Afterlife is all fishing tournaments.
all the women are wives. very wifey.
These epigrams are expected of me. It's what I do. forgive me my foibles. The Steve Guttenberg foundation for the advancement of literature, scrambled eggs, b-cup bra male models and other mediocrities. very wifey.
burp and then tell them that “to air is human.” you are a train. plow thru cows. carouse in a field of daisies or room of brunette virginity.
Steve Guttenberg is a hit in Tokyo. that’s cause they’re mean.
pass that fucked up potato salad.
I have lost my baggage.
I have lost my coat.
I have lost my passport.
I have lost my wife.
I have lost my husband, my child, my dog.
Cutting off is one mark of wisdom. two marks to me, says bill cullen, one for each of your feet.
Mark Wisdom is just another honkie on the city transit.
Such simple truths are hard to understand.
these are the Days of our Lives.
Uprightness is proof of insolence. I swear, judge lady, I did not do it and what’s more, I wont ever do it again so long as I live. by christ!
the County Jail has the better breakfasts.
I am a horny slut. Please cum in my hair.
bent overness is the way of the world. eventually.
(((((((((((((((((((((savage
fluttering!)))))))))))))))))))))
Smells linger longer in small confines. like coffins. I like coffins. sorta. this one is no smoking.
Painful. pitious. intuitive. drunk girls. haircare. memorial dress-up.
Is Steve Guttenberg jewish? How will this affect my libido powers?
Some things are going up while others are going down.
this is no doll show, no pretend.
Trivialities are the pills of scholarly world. quick. long-lasting. effervescent when soaked in gins.
Any married couples want a threesome? my cock is quite wholesome some say. a tat label of nutrition information signed by the surgeon general and his seminal clone on the underside. opinions are temps; dispositions last like glaciers.
We dive into the earth and out of it. I like you very much. Do you like me? May I see you tomorrow? May I see you this evening. I would like to give you four presents:
See all you need to see without looking elsewhere.
Joy and gladness leap and sway together in a joyous dance.
Tiger’s claws never act unnaturally.
I love you, big dummy.
(((((((((((((((((((((susurration)))))))))))))))))))))
Before my operation, which I put off for a long time, I used to get these painballs in my head and pass out. I was obnoxious to my persecutors. I was intimate with refrigerated morsels of chocolate. I thought you would pay my medical bills.
Have I time to buy a newspaper? Please open the window. May I smoke, madame? Please call me at six.
1-917-327-2284
How much is this? How much is that? I like this one. I like that one more. I do not like this color. I want it in green. It is too expensive. But I will buy it. I shall take it with me. Please pack it. I want a hat. I figured it was time to go to the doctor when I passed out and fell down the basement steps.
(((((((((((((((((((((mumbling peg-legged court reporters)))))))))))))))))))))
Alone without my army, I was besieged by the greatest people. No one will attack a person unless he appears to be an enemy. Believe it?
I have a headache. I have a bad cough. I have a pain here. I have a stomach ache. My legs hurt. My back hurts. My ear hurts. I have chills. I have had an accident. Please examine this wound.
Can I watch?
I can hardly stand elevators between 7:45 and 9 AM.
I bow before the mistresses. I kiss their feet. I worship at their temples which have these tight little ringlets which remind me of the lines at roller coasters.
The things I’m saying are very easy to understand.
another flag. another F on a geometry exam.
we take exams here! my PE teacher was Moshe Dayan. he wasn’t happy when we fucked with the substitute, that time he was out for six days fighting some war.
I cannot breathe. Is it necessary to stay here? Is it necessary to go to the hospital? I cant be expected to breath with this pillow my face. Will you hurry up and propose? an alternative to the fuel crisis. within ten years of his passing, Jesse Helms will turn to peat moss.
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There was wet and wild erotic action. It was kinky, nasty, back-scratching, hair-grabbing, knee-buckling, body-tingling, lip-biting, tongue-sucking, and crotch-grinding. It ended with soft, lip-sucking kisses. But the ceremony caused a schism. Influence was temp- orarily shaken. I went home. Someone else was left to clean up the mess left by the schism.
I have a cold. I have indigestion. I am nauseated. I have broken my glasses. I cannot see. Open your mouth. Show me your tongue.
(((((((((((((((((((((hisses)))))))))))))))))))))
More bread, please. More beer, please. More water, please. Please bring me another fork. Bring me the check, please. Is the tip included? Here, this is for you.
Perfume
advertisements
kill
children.
I used to make stores rip those ads out.
Now I am as unconcerned as the rolling ocean. and equally as effective, as long as you are not looking.
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^
press a bellybutton here
(preferably yours)
