WIFE
Chapter First
==============
There was something real here that existed before people starting thinking hard about the rotting soul of jazz, and the luscious soul of blues, and the vile soul of rock and the waxing soul of ASKING WHY. So it leads me to a few stories I know well:
Once, I got lost in the woods for thirteen days. Fuck, my shoes.
Let me interject here. End all your tales with a good slab of bacon and it will keep away the children. Children don't understand bacon. the smell it, they stare it down all the while wondering why. Children are stupid.
Madness! I love nothing! I caress broken bottles and the tips of traitors tongues because trueness only becomes something when it has put you on the last rung of the latter. Bullets are manmade too, you know. You know, I can remember a time when dinosaurs ruled the world.
"Shitty we all had to die from a comet", said the braciosaurus, at Denny's, with his friend, the drunk motorcycle gang, his neck getting tangled into the lamps, his balls getting caressed by the money that humans printed. Everything was great. Then along comes fucking Steven Speilberg. Put on sunglasses, fucked a model and ruined the sun and drove a shining engineer into the last of the terrible lizards. World needs scapegoats. But Speilberg is sex and money and he rides horses made of stupidity and tells children they should be afraid of failure. Who want's to hurt the failure? Why hide the lie?
Why not. Regardless, I'll continue with these stories.
Once I was filthy rich. I held in my hands a million dollars and then some bitch jumped up and flipped out about some things a few uptight doctors said, so I lost all my money on alcohol and gambling and Walmart and whores.
Nevermind all that, really. It taught me how to shutup and not shiver when things got cold and people got old. Time is always so gentle to me, it jerks me off when I sleep and then guilt trips me. Onward, Christian soldier blasting into oblivion. I don't want my lover, I want my baby doll. I don't want my sex and drugs, I want your god to shiver along side me. And another thing: his bridges weren't built to be driven on, they were built to bring down, -- burn down! -- but the last soul who had the fire burned his mind out underground and was forgotten. Lennon got it! God damnit, King got it! But you'd be a fool if you really believed that. That's what my auntie told me. She said, "you'd be a fool! Stay away from the children!" More tales:
Once I saw a child crying and I told it to get a job. No remorse.
Once I pet a dog. Fuck it.
Who wants to dance??!! The fool.
Who wants to fuck!!? The worm. Phallic creature from hell.
Once I was a god. But we was all to busy marinating prime ribs and licking dick, pulling out every eyelash of every virtuous lover that came our way. Auntie says, "Deal with it."
Once you were a god, until you grew arms and started paying taxes. Fuck it.
Once we got so drunk that we all puked up the street, laughing at the color black and weeping when we realized how we were tricked into believing in other colors. The blackouts were sweeter than drunk sex and a swollen ego.
Once we drank so much caffeine that we built cities and pissed them up until the animals had to leave because the smell was ruining their Sunday lounging. We still waddle out, fat and fucked, pissing all over the streets until we can't stand it and throw the retards and the headfucks in it, while we all scatter into the desert and rip up the rocks, putting wood and dandelions all over our bodies so it becomes difficult to bury us when we get hanged by the monsters we made. But this is all neither here nor there. Here is a love story:
Once there were two beautiful people. They were in love and messed with each others minds until they had enough of a chance to disgust. Then time came along and broke their backs and made life a piece of shit and vengeance a second chance. People are people. These two people got ugly and died. So blows the wind.
And where are their children? They are all of us, and we hold in us their genes, and we hold in us, their memories, and we hold in us, their inclinations, and sure enough, we'll take their fate and buy it chocolates and make love to it on valentines day.
Some ugly comedian says, "THERE ARE SOME THINGS IN LIFE THAT ARE SMALL AND GOOD, BUT CAN MAKE YOU MAD AND PISSY IF YOU FORGET ABOUT THEM. IT'S ALL A WASTE OF YOUR WORTHLESS TIME. SO SOME PEOPLE THINK THEY HAVE IT FIGURED OUT, AND THOSE PEOPLE ARE THE FIRST TO START CRYING." I stop laughing.
Then, some people are the last to know, and they are so blessed with ignorance that it never shows, and people tell them they are a queen and kiss their feet. So the first kinds of people have a right to get jealous, I guess, for no reason except to shine harder and live longer and worry about useless things and wish for fruitful things. It turns out: Anyone can be an intellectual if they breathe hard enough. Allow me to illustrate with another story:
Burtha was a boring sod, she wandered into forests and came to conclusions based on misconception and misdermeaners and moaning she heard coming from the wood. Yeah, I know, it's all pretentious anyway, but keep reading. We humans love ego. Burtha was whipped into a whore, told to drag her ass, pick her ass up, show her ass. So she showed her ass and her lovers played cards on Tuesdays talking about how the sun was square. You know, taxes and secret government things. These were important men. Davey jones came home to find burtha on the floor playing with herself. Davey Jones called the cops and put on smooth jazz. Davey jones drowned himself in the bathtub because his girlfriend was cheating on him with her finger. Davey Jones was another fool and we have all forgotten about him now. Except here he is, once again, immortalized in some sans-serif font from a new generation of shit-eating grinners and bottle spinners. Aunti says, "Welcome to the wonder of nothing!"
Welcome to the wonder of not being able to enjoy some kind of infinity only the mice seem to appreciate anymore. So we die cold and alone, and mickey mouse is tattooed to our arms, and there's alcohol stewing on our rotten livers, and there is a million things melting into the dirt that used to be memories but now they are just another part of a disappearing corpse.
Once there was a way to get back home.
Once there was a way to be genuine.
Once there was a cliché that wasn't spoken so. That was the woman we followed over the cliff, us lemmings who span fifty years and seem like a bag of sagging flesh. And my girlfriend exists to make me smile and their ain't nothing in the world that would bother me about her if she makes all those other fools walk a mile -- because I know that we can speak with our eyes and we move across the world better than any other person can come and attempt to. I invite them to try. Please, come and try. I'm bored and old and my bones are cold anway, and I'll take things violently if I have to act so human.
What was it that you said to me when we first met?
"Nice tricycle. Is it new?"
That rape scene is too intense! It is a bit too intense. Man. Good lord. Walked through a woods once. With my father. We were wearing boots and we were wearing camoflaged clothes. We both had guns.
That rape scene is too intense! Jesus Christ. Swam in a lake once. Tried to see how long I could last. My arms got tired and the lake showed no mercy.
That rape scene was terrible, too! Totally fucked. I started yelling, "SETTLE DOWN, YOU WHALES. YOU DEAD FISHES. YOU ASS! YOU PERSON! YOU MAN WITH A MIND!!! SETTLE THE FUCK DOWN!"
It was a long time ago. We settled.
Chapter 2: The year of the giggling swan.
=========================================
Sexy things are airbrushed on unsightly things, and creepy people spill stuff on them and leave coffee rings and warped edges -- then they don't understand the words they read and so their bodies fall off all the pages of the history we like to write. Everything is so tidy here on earth now. Thank you for the chocolates, fuckface. They were delicious. So here we are, the year of our useless lord 2007, eating like pigs, talking like pigs, swearing like pigs, fucking like pigs, violent like pigs. So here we are, giving pigs a bad name. And giving the swan a new things to loose her pretty feathers about. If she don't cry she tucks her head under her wing and giggles.
Chapert (Rupert Murdock) III: Stupid things gather in small places and suffocate themselves.
============================================================================================
Danny Clementine was a peachy fellow, lived in a yellow log and smoked cigarettes in the sun to look cool and drown out the old age and ugly face. He had a strawberry wife who he didn't like but made good bread and she had a good head, I guess, ask Danny, he'll tell you. One day, they bought a bird and took good care of it until they realized the rest of the world could have been better off. So they let it go but it grew dependent and spent the rest of it's days on the window sill begging for cash and asking for rides to the movies so it could go down on the mailman for biting the dirty god. And love waits around every corner for these kinds of people, just waiting to procreate some more of the beast that rips down forests and fucks the universe in the ass.
Chapter Eight: Timmy Fell Down The Well
=============================================
Timmy is an ass.
Chapter Forty: Cops
=====================
"NOTHING BEATS YOUR HEAD IN LIKE A COP IN JAIL."
Chapter 41: Hatred
====================
Get over it, you fucking morons.
Chapter 42: Violence.
=======================
Man is the devil and has invented violence. Man cannot take it away. Man makes man look like shit. Go to sleep. Sleep, rubber baby.
The End.
Epilogue:
==================================
One day, a few thousand scoundrels started shouting something like, LETS GO TO ROCHESTER AND DANCE WITH THE DEAD. LETS GO TO ROCHESTER AND DIE WITH THE LOVERS HOLDING HANDS AND SHAKING SHOULDERS WITH AN EMPTY DREAM. Their dream was this:
I STARTED LAUGHING ONCE
AND NEVER STOPPED,
AND PEOPLE STARTED STARING,
BUT THEN NEVER LEARNED
HOW TO STOP.
Pretty, vicious cycles. But, no one knew how to stop back then, when the world was young. And so people just got used to using their tongues in all the wrong ways:
"GET A JOB! GET A FUCKING JOB, YOU FAT MOTHERFUCKER. PLAY YOUR GUITAR! AMBITION, HO! EVERYONE GETS DIZZY, TAKE TIME OFF TO STOP AND THINK ABOUT WHY! TAKE TIME OFF TO THINK ABOUT YOUR EYE! TAKE TIME OFF TO THINK ABOUT THE SKY! TAKE TIME OFF TO LIVE AND DIE! FUCK BRUTALITY. BE BRUTAL."
So now I walk home in the rain and listen to it hitting balloons. The festoons tied to every pretty door on every pretty house. For the love of night, I listen to every god damned drop. AND WHEN I GET HOME, THERE IS NOTHING BUT SWEAT. But I never stop. Why should I? Isn't it so human of me to keep going. Isn't is so human of me to ask everyone to touch all my skin and keep away from all my pretty things!? Isn't it so human of me that I should die alone? So I went to ted.
"Ted, tell me things that I don't already know."
Ted says, "PETER PICKED A HELL OF A DAY TO GROW TITS AND LIFT UP HIS SKIRT TO THE ANIMALS."
So I wondered who Peter is and what Ted does with his day, these days. He drinks himself stupid, of course. Only human. So it goes. So I went to shirley.
"Shirley, why does everything have to dance for the wrong reason, and laugh at the wrong things?"
Shirley says to me, "Mister, AIN'T ONE DAY GONE BY. AIN'T A SHAME? AIN'T IT MY STYLE? HUMANITY NEVER TRIES TO ANSWER QUESTIONS. THEY JUST MAKE MORE."
Shirley and Ted sleep together when they get lonely and don't make any fucking sense. Couldn't be more human the pollution.
==============
There was something real here that existed before people starting thinking hard about the rotting soul of jazz, and the luscious soul of blues, and the vile soul of rock and the waxing soul of ASKING WHY. So it leads me to a few stories I know well:
Once, I got lost in the woods for thirteen days. Fuck, my shoes.
Let me interject here. End all your tales with a good slab of bacon and it will keep away the children. Children don't understand bacon. the smell it, they stare it down all the while wondering why. Children are stupid.
Madness! I love nothing! I caress broken bottles and the tips of traitors tongues because trueness only becomes something when it has put you on the last rung of the latter. Bullets are manmade too, you know. You know, I can remember a time when dinosaurs ruled the world.
"Shitty we all had to die from a comet", said the braciosaurus, at Denny's, with his friend, the drunk motorcycle gang, his neck getting tangled into the lamps, his balls getting caressed by the money that humans printed. Everything was great. Then along comes fucking Steven Speilberg. Put on sunglasses, fucked a model and ruined the sun and drove a shining engineer into the last of the terrible lizards. World needs scapegoats. But Speilberg is sex and money and he rides horses made of stupidity and tells children they should be afraid of failure. Who want's to hurt the failure? Why hide the lie?
Why not. Regardless, I'll continue with these stories.
Once I was filthy rich. I held in my hands a million dollars and then some bitch jumped up and flipped out about some things a few uptight doctors said, so I lost all my money on alcohol and gambling and Walmart and whores.
Nevermind all that, really. It taught me how to shutup and not shiver when things got cold and people got old. Time is always so gentle to me, it jerks me off when I sleep and then guilt trips me. Onward, Christian soldier blasting into oblivion. I don't want my lover, I want my baby doll. I don't want my sex and drugs, I want your god to shiver along side me. And another thing: his bridges weren't built to be driven on, they were built to bring down, -- burn down! -- but the last soul who had the fire burned his mind out underground and was forgotten. Lennon got it! God damnit, King got it! But you'd be a fool if you really believed that. That's what my auntie told me. She said, "you'd be a fool! Stay away from the children!" More tales:
Once I saw a child crying and I told it to get a job. No remorse.
Once I pet a dog. Fuck it.
Who wants to dance??!! The fool.
Who wants to fuck!!? The worm. Phallic creature from hell.
Once I was a god. But we was all to busy marinating prime ribs and licking dick, pulling out every eyelash of every virtuous lover that came our way. Auntie says, "Deal with it."
Once you were a god, until you grew arms and started paying taxes. Fuck it.
Once we got so drunk that we all puked up the street, laughing at the color black and weeping when we realized how we were tricked into believing in other colors. The blackouts were sweeter than drunk sex and a swollen ego.
Once we drank so much caffeine that we built cities and pissed them up until the animals had to leave because the smell was ruining their Sunday lounging. We still waddle out, fat and fucked, pissing all over the streets until we can't stand it and throw the retards and the headfucks in it, while we all scatter into the desert and rip up the rocks, putting wood and dandelions all over our bodies so it becomes difficult to bury us when we get hanged by the monsters we made. But this is all neither here nor there. Here is a love story:
Once there were two beautiful people. They were in love and messed with each others minds until they had enough of a chance to disgust. Then time came along and broke their backs and made life a piece of shit and vengeance a second chance. People are people. These two people got ugly and died. So blows the wind.
And where are their children? They are all of us, and we hold in us their genes, and we hold in us, their memories, and we hold in us, their inclinations, and sure enough, we'll take their fate and buy it chocolates and make love to it on valentines day.
Some ugly comedian says, "THERE ARE SOME THINGS IN LIFE THAT ARE SMALL AND GOOD, BUT CAN MAKE YOU MAD AND PISSY IF YOU FORGET ABOUT THEM. IT'S ALL A WASTE OF YOUR WORTHLESS TIME. SO SOME PEOPLE THINK THEY HAVE IT FIGURED OUT, AND THOSE PEOPLE ARE THE FIRST TO START CRYING." I stop laughing.
Then, some people are the last to know, and they are so blessed with ignorance that it never shows, and people tell them they are a queen and kiss their feet. So the first kinds of people have a right to get jealous, I guess, for no reason except to shine harder and live longer and worry about useless things and wish for fruitful things. It turns out: Anyone can be an intellectual if they breathe hard enough. Allow me to illustrate with another story:
Burtha was a boring sod, she wandered into forests and came to conclusions based on misconception and misdermeaners and moaning she heard coming from the wood. Yeah, I know, it's all pretentious anyway, but keep reading. We humans love ego. Burtha was whipped into a whore, told to drag her ass, pick her ass up, show her ass. So she showed her ass and her lovers played cards on Tuesdays talking about how the sun was square. You know, taxes and secret government things. These were important men. Davey jones came home to find burtha on the floor playing with herself. Davey Jones called the cops and put on smooth jazz. Davey jones drowned himself in the bathtub because his girlfriend was cheating on him with her finger. Davey Jones was another fool and we have all forgotten about him now. Except here he is, once again, immortalized in some sans-serif font from a new generation of shit-eating grinners and bottle spinners. Aunti says, "Welcome to the wonder of nothing!"
Welcome to the wonder of not being able to enjoy some kind of infinity only the mice seem to appreciate anymore. So we die cold and alone, and mickey mouse is tattooed to our arms, and there's alcohol stewing on our rotten livers, and there is a million things melting into the dirt that used to be memories but now they are just another part of a disappearing corpse.
Once there was a way to get back home.
Once there was a way to be genuine.
Once there was a cliché that wasn't spoken so. That was the woman we followed over the cliff, us lemmings who span fifty years and seem like a bag of sagging flesh. And my girlfriend exists to make me smile and their ain't nothing in the world that would bother me about her if she makes all those other fools walk a mile -- because I know that we can speak with our eyes and we move across the world better than any other person can come and attempt to. I invite them to try. Please, come and try. I'm bored and old and my bones are cold anway, and I'll take things violently if I have to act so human.
What was it that you said to me when we first met?
"Nice tricycle. Is it new?"
That rape scene is too intense! It is a bit too intense. Man. Good lord. Walked through a woods once. With my father. We were wearing boots and we were wearing camoflaged clothes. We both had guns.
That rape scene is too intense! Jesus Christ. Swam in a lake once. Tried to see how long I could last. My arms got tired and the lake showed no mercy.
That rape scene was terrible, too! Totally fucked. I started yelling, "SETTLE DOWN, YOU WHALES. YOU DEAD FISHES. YOU ASS! YOU PERSON! YOU MAN WITH A MIND!!! SETTLE THE FUCK DOWN!"
It was a long time ago. We settled.
Chapter 2: The year of the giggling swan.
=========================================
Sexy things are airbrushed on unsightly things, and creepy people spill stuff on them and leave coffee rings and warped edges -- then they don't understand the words they read and so their bodies fall off all the pages of the history we like to write. Everything is so tidy here on earth now. Thank you for the chocolates, fuckface. They were delicious. So here we are, the year of our useless lord 2007, eating like pigs, talking like pigs, swearing like pigs, fucking like pigs, violent like pigs. So here we are, giving pigs a bad name. And giving the swan a new things to loose her pretty feathers about. If she don't cry she tucks her head under her wing and giggles.
Chapert (Rupert Murdock) III: Stupid things gather in small places and suffocate themselves.
============================================================================================
Danny Clementine was a peachy fellow, lived in a yellow log and smoked cigarettes in the sun to look cool and drown out the old age and ugly face. He had a strawberry wife who he didn't like but made good bread and she had a good head, I guess, ask Danny, he'll tell you. One day, they bought a bird and took good care of it until they realized the rest of the world could have been better off. So they let it go but it grew dependent and spent the rest of it's days on the window sill begging for cash and asking for rides to the movies so it could go down on the mailman for biting the dirty god. And love waits around every corner for these kinds of people, just waiting to procreate some more of the beast that rips down forests and fucks the universe in the ass.
Chapter Eight: Timmy Fell Down The Well
=============================================
Timmy is an ass.
Chapter Forty: Cops
=====================
"NOTHING BEATS YOUR HEAD IN LIKE A COP IN JAIL."
Chapter 41: Hatred
====================
Get over it, you fucking morons.
Chapter 42: Violence.
=======================
Man is the devil and has invented violence. Man cannot take it away. Man makes man look like shit. Go to sleep. Sleep, rubber baby.
The End.
Epilogue:
==================================
One day, a few thousand scoundrels started shouting something like, LETS GO TO ROCHESTER AND DANCE WITH THE DEAD. LETS GO TO ROCHESTER AND DIE WITH THE LOVERS HOLDING HANDS AND SHAKING SHOULDERS WITH AN EMPTY DREAM. Their dream was this:
I STARTED LAUGHING ONCE
AND NEVER STOPPED,
AND PEOPLE STARTED STARING,
BUT THEN NEVER LEARNED
HOW TO STOP.
Pretty, vicious cycles. But, no one knew how to stop back then, when the world was young. And so people just got used to using their tongues in all the wrong ways:
"GET A JOB! GET A FUCKING JOB, YOU FAT MOTHERFUCKER. PLAY YOUR GUITAR! AMBITION, HO! EVERYONE GETS DIZZY, TAKE TIME OFF TO STOP AND THINK ABOUT WHY! TAKE TIME OFF TO THINK ABOUT YOUR EYE! TAKE TIME OFF TO THINK ABOUT THE SKY! TAKE TIME OFF TO LIVE AND DIE! FUCK BRUTALITY. BE BRUTAL."
So now I walk home in the rain and listen to it hitting balloons. The festoons tied to every pretty door on every pretty house. For the love of night, I listen to every god damned drop. AND WHEN I GET HOME, THERE IS NOTHING BUT SWEAT. But I never stop. Why should I? Isn't it so human of me to keep going. Isn't is so human of me to ask everyone to touch all my skin and keep away from all my pretty things!? Isn't it so human of me that I should die alone? So I went to ted.
"Ted, tell me things that I don't already know."
Ted says, "PETER PICKED A HELL OF A DAY TO GROW TITS AND LIFT UP HIS SKIRT TO THE ANIMALS."
So I wondered who Peter is and what Ted does with his day, these days. He drinks himself stupid, of course. Only human. So it goes. So I went to shirley.
"Shirley, why does everything have to dance for the wrong reason, and laugh at the wrong things?"
Shirley says to me, "Mister, AIN'T ONE DAY GONE BY. AIN'T A SHAME? AIN'T IT MY STYLE? HUMANITY NEVER TRIES TO ANSWER QUESTIONS. THEY JUST MAKE MORE."
Shirley and Ted sleep together when they get lonely and don't make any fucking sense. Couldn't be more human the pollution.