A Little Gurgling Stream-of-Consciousness For Any of You "Asking and Wondering"
Context? Context! Has anyone seen a context? He's about one foot in the grave with green skies and last seen without of. He didn't ask me to go; he just up and left the theatre and depressed into the street. No one present testified but, instead, prosecuted me for losing a pant size. I had to explain my pocket for hours until it's ears burned a hole in my jeans. That's when I gave up and came into this shallow end where there is no diving allowed. I believe it was three feet and four toes. I was stricken and sickened and spic-n-spanned across the table when a bootlegger asked my throwing arm if my shaved head and pencil neck knew where to find a barrel chest and bowl of peanuts. "Find?" I said. "Find! I don't even know where to run into a jam, much less spread it over some toasted crabgrass and churned oranges!" I, instead, directed him to the video parlour where he thanked me none-the-less by surf-and-turfing my nom-de-plume to a how-you-say beginning with a "B".
I was still in a haze when the Blonde Bombshell from Brooklyn or Boston or Baton Rouge (beats me) bounced in brandishing a bullet baked in a black box and a bag of the best brushed buckskin the boys could bear. I had never returned her calling cards and certainly wasn't the kind who rewind so imagine my shock-and-awe when she asks if I had change for the better. Unfortunately, I had left my nickels and dimes in the theatre and all I had left was some gumdrops and a few fortunes. So she asked the gentleman standing behind me for a light-and-dark and I knew that he could spare at least a minute or two for the famous Gypsy Rose or Orchid or Petunia (I was never fit for flora).
So this is how I danced upon your two-step looking for some long-lost friend that I thought painted the line in your staircase. "But elevators never interested me and lampshades are either on or off." You explain. "The proof is somewhere in the appendix, though I'm not sure if it is in A, VI, or etched in stone."
I feel a little back-on-track and a little worse-for-wear, so I shower, bathe, and wash up in that order and find a toaster that also pours heavy, excuse me - heavily, and sit back to drain and drag and drug and dream. I almost wonder, "When did the Technicolor fade back to black-and-white?" and just about ask someone if they had seen my striped socks, and I was so close to running-out when the tab came. So I iced it, grabbed my mask-and-bed-sheet and was left wondering if any of this was out-of-context.
I was still in a haze when the Blonde Bombshell from Brooklyn or Boston or Baton Rouge (beats me) bounced in brandishing a bullet baked in a black box and a bag of the best brushed buckskin the boys could bear. I had never returned her calling cards and certainly wasn't the kind who rewind so imagine my shock-and-awe when she asks if I had change for the better. Unfortunately, I had left my nickels and dimes in the theatre and all I had left was some gumdrops and a few fortunes. So she asked the gentleman standing behind me for a light-and-dark and I knew that he could spare at least a minute or two for the famous Gypsy Rose or Orchid or Petunia (I was never fit for flora).
So this is how I danced upon your two-step looking for some long-lost friend that I thought painted the line in your staircase. "But elevators never interested me and lampshades are either on or off." You explain. "The proof is somewhere in the appendix, though I'm not sure if it is in A, VI, or etched in stone."
I feel a little back-on-track and a little worse-for-wear, so I shower, bathe, and wash up in that order and find a toaster that also pours heavy, excuse me - heavily, and sit back to drain and drag and drug and dream. I almost wonder, "When did the Technicolor fade back to black-and-white?" and just about ask someone if they had seen my striped socks, and I was so close to running-out when the tab came. So I iced it, grabbed my mask-and-bed-sheet and was left wondering if any of this was out-of-context.