The Trash Train

There is a sighting off the Anchorage Coast like we all had to keep moving or else face sitting next to the stink train full of trash next to the trains taking you to a more home like place where your comfortable chair awaits to keep you going through this world.

I saw my butchery on screen. Bibles Bashing 1050. The Red Hoods. I realize the part I played in the city's corruption. I don't know how to fight it. I can't specifically detail what is wrong with what is going on. It is not welcoming to me. My conversations are blocked by the presence of acetic people on the stairs. There was something right for me there but Lilli is gone. Piper is the absent queen. The many faced god @madness is currentivism, but maybe currentivism is not for me.

I've been talking a lot about Lestrade lately but when you boil it down I'm really just talking about my need to reevaluate myself. Nothing seems to last but I can't imagine I haven't in some way earned a graduation from ello. It's feeling like I've taken it as far as possible, like a choose your own adventure book just ran out of options.

I saw a gif of the black knight from Monty Python. It was foreboding. This was before I saw Hetaera's post against me. I told Lilli I didn't want to leave the city, but then she posted a possible way to become dynamite. I like to play it as though nothing gets to me, but I am shaking. Having my words attacked is an attack on my person. I feel for myself.

Romeo, with grail blood in his mouth, runs from post to post placing his mark, riding upon the hurricane that he now uses to carry himself, whipping up the friends feed against, poor me, Hamlet kicked from Denmark, Bibles from ello, Batman from Gotham, into this the worst Hell on Earth.

"I've been watching The Dark Knight Rises." said Galaxim, the tape tumbling to the ground with the rest of his 'trash'.

Clues abounding. I can't stop walking through words. The cathartic release would be tough to live without, especially since I weaved my entire life within the writing process. I know there are issues with me, some danger signals, like the time I almost lifted my wife's head into the spinning fan blades, or the time just a couple of days ago when we were cutting into the dog's skin while buzzing his hair off, or the time in Paris when we were walking next to the Diderot statue and Musette's dress blew up over a sewer grate and I wouldn't let her leave the area because I wanted to watch it happen to more girls, or last night, while having sex after celebrating a make-believe prom, wherein I finished a little bit inside of her, and then she finished, but I kept going, because I wanted to get the remaining drops of my sacred soul light out, even though she was telling me to stop because she was starting to chafe.

I am a stupid boy without a job and a without a résumé. I am lazy. All of my previous managers agree. New York is intimidating. I can't imagine myself working anywhere but here behind my computer screen.

Ruth says I contribute a lot more than a lot of people who have stepped away from the daily dulling. It's a good thing I didn't dig any deeper into her with the Dalekian profit/phet machine. She's a keeper. A real winner. Does something that touches you with those words of hers.

I am Iggy Azalea or is it Azealia Banks? Which one was it who revved into innocence, demanding money for his artistic endeavors? Which one was it led the Donner Party to the mountains for a cannibalistic feasting? Which one was it who was the coldest of art gods demanding acceptance and praise in order to adorn himself with further black gold?

Th3 scab that I've been tugging at falls off my arm. I am here left alone, safe from the storming hurricane. It is a new layer of Hell, deeper yet familiar to me, like my old familiar basement. Alone but for the couple of girls whom I let in. Keep me safe, friends, at least for now, as war ravages through another of my corpses.

"Ruth," I said "I am scattered all over the place like a god ripped apart by vultures. I do not know what is wrong with me. I cannot keep my contents contained. I spill and spill. I have made so many blunders. Like those speakers on my desk which I never use anymore because I've got this Bluetooth on my dresser, where the gun sits. The gun that killed the speakers. Isn't that just currentivism for you though?"

"I hope it is not true that you have a gun." she says. "I was shot through the heart sometime back in April by a beautiful black dog who drowned in May."

"Should we book a tour or do you think we will be able to find enough to do without one?"

"Well, I mean there's definitely plenty enough to do here on your own, if you've got the cash, which I know you do. But I see no reason not to do a tour, if you've got the cash, which I know you do."

"Oh well, the whatever it's called then. Ask your father, he has all these things already programmed into his Google Drive."

My wife is so funny, the way she managed to get honey onto our Amazon Prime order even though it was already sent out for delivery. It had a green bag all to itself. It made me so happy, seeing the brand, 'Organic Stinger Honey'. A little bee, reving up to poke some flavor into my sandwhiches, providing me another gift of her love.

"I've got some bags for you." I tell the Amazon guy. "Hold on, let me go and get them."

"I'll be real quick." I say, starting to head up the stairs, barefoot. I'm just glad I've got my shirt buttoned up this time. I almost forgot to tie my pants.

which always makes me feel so much more professional after these encounters. This, the life of the creative genius. No time for shopping. No way am I leaving the apartment. It's hot as hell out there and I've got to be here behind the screen. Plus, I may have diarrhea. The milk I used today was probably old. Musette could taste it but I couldn't. That's what you get when you marry a chef. Poison control.

New Milk Order. All of the old ones have the same expiration date. What is a boy supposed to think but that God has granted him a gift?

What is a writer supposed to do but something great with what she is provided? That seed planted in youth. Is this not school? How many humiliations? How many shifts, swiftches and diversions. Thanks Ruth, for being here with me. I'm that kid left unattended on a midnight pier. The lights of the shopping center bright with Coca Cola.

"Did you though? That's cute." he says, uplifting a plastic panel to another chamber. "Don't you think I am special now? Containing all those powers that we always want to believe I am in possesion of. It's me, the one worhty of your love and affection."

"Bibles, don't you know I don't care about those things? You've got to learn to climb out of here without the rope."

"All I'm saying is that we all need things to feast on. You, me, lilli, galaxim, et, clear, quick, noise, durl, durflurker, budz, cache, mona, mel. It's like that time you walked through the Bellagio with your mother. Just take us with you and you'll be fine."

My weiner is hanging out of my boxer shorts as I tell the dog that he is a good kid for looking at me the way that he is looking at me, with his hair cut short and resembling a mohawk. It's like his red slug that comes out by his butt. Except, he's really packing some heat. He licked my weiner the other day for the first time ever, when we were in the shower getting ready to wash him.

Just read it all really at your own leisure. I am a morphing creature writhing in this puddle of myself, doing my best to be baptized in the grail. It's important, however, that I get in the shower. The party starts in twenty minutes. Being fashionably late is not the worst thing in the world.

We're serving each other our fears around this round table we've constructed. Fears spinning around in our moths to be shot as darts into the other. Round and round we pass the poison. A backwards lyric of grattitude. Swallow the pride of others as a defence against spitting your own. Audrey Horne is in too deep and the owls are not what they seem. Keep it up Coop. Ruth is on Medium. The staff there is a bunch of Doc Meds. Hillary Clinton and Caitlyn Jenner. The emporium cost over forty dollars to get into.

It was a birthday bash. Major success. Double headed babies. Limewire agents beneath every television screen. Offspring flowing through their thoughts.

The internet lines are controlled by the film industry who also control the banks. The founders of the Pirate Bay were imprisoned. I've got a plastic gold coin that says work smoothly, Lifetime Peace. It's a Kai guang Amulet from a namas Guanyin bodhisattva.

Shake idake it shake idake it. Coop Coop. Coop Coop. Coop Coop. Coop Coop. Shake idake it. Shake idake it.

Allen is giving massages to his mother. There are professional trolls on ello and people crafting drafts in Medium.

I've got to clean a toilet. I'm professional. This is my studio. This is my sacred space.

A bird withering in my hand feels like red bush burning in my heart. Freckle butt.

You know who you are little sweet stack. I'm coming for you in your dreams. There is a power there that I am working on finding. Digging within. Unearthing things with furious hands. Nails bleeding. Biting them from behind your window. Watching as the knocking foot comes stepping on your door. Into thy room and into thine head, whispering like a vcr of a signal swapped gameshow as I come in, Mulder with cancer man.

She is killing me. I am so weak. My spiritual core squeezed out as i wrap this Mobius Curve. The job, the network, my image, my self respect. That relationship was all I had left. I'm fading but I have no choice but to continue.

"I don't think he's coming back." they said. "Lilli's departure took all the wind out of his sails."

"Was it Lilli that did it? Could have sworn it was Et."

"Two events both influencing the other."

"Some say it was the Dalekian bonesaw. The day Bibles really became Budnitz. Or at least some pressure cooked enemy of himself. Scared. Greedy. Affected. Trolled.

That's when he sentenced himself to prison. The Bane of his own making. Broken back, The Crookneck Kid. I don't know what he expected to find there. "Just walking the rest ways of the everlong Mobius Strip." he told them.

But everyone was fluttering strange. A Medium publication left floundering just as it was being developed. So many people wanting to tell their stories like he had always told them they could and already were. And him banging his head against the bars, watching the television screen of his enemies overruning of his prized position, a box just beyond outside his cell.

Visitors channel voices through the public sphere. Ain't no Lilly far as the eye can see. She says she's checking up, but she can't get here. And Piper also, gone like the wind. I got these tappings, talking to me now. the answer here, within these scattered W4's. the running of the bowls. Reposado running out. Can you feel the dead crow on the asphalt?

Go for tribal madness. Desperation Break. Two schmiggies. One of them tastes like pure battery acid.

"The poop is coming." Musette says. "You can join me if you want."

"I know that game." I say, already smelling the prelude.

Something was wrong with the stovetop this morning. I go into the kitchen and the kettle is sitting silently atop it. Musette is already out of the shower. The people at the labor department want three forms of id from me. Three! Who has three forms of id? Well, I used to, back before my passport expired. But now they want my birth certificate.

I am reminded of making the website for Exotica Imports where I worked while dating my redheaded girlfriend. The store was near her house. I looked for the website online but could not find it. It appears the store went out of business. I don't think I ever finished making the site. Finding gay porn on the computer that I was working on caused me to quit before its completion.

"You need to be centralized. Can't you see that? That's why I wanted you to build this website in the first place. Maybe you could have the website and be writing a book on the side, I don't know, fiction, sci-fi maybe."

"No coffee?" She says.

"I've got it cooking but I'm behind schedule because of the stovetop."

She is wearing checkered green underpants. I am wearing the same underpants that I wore yesterday. A gray pair of Hanes. There are no more clean ones for me, other than the large text Fruit of the Looms which, as you know, make my Weiner pop out.

My yellow shirt maintains its rest upon the dog kennel. It's time for a change. Blue floral western. Backstreet Boys through Pandora. It's a sing-a-long. Life is a musical.