What I Learned From The Preacher on AM 1390

"Two white people don't make pretty people!"
(background hoots & hollers)
"Pretty people don't come from two white people, they got to have some dye in 'em!"

Commemorative JFK Assassination Jello Mold

I hope to win the Rotary Club's blue ribbon for this beautiful mold.

heartbeat =
two newly hooved horses
on cobblestone

7 (the old serial continued)

Speechless Student #2
B.S. Course 101
Professor "I Never Really Wanted To Be A Teacher" Badwinds
February 5, 2006

On Being Full From Hallucination & Sick At Thought Of Eating Dead Bunny, a Self-Reflexive Exploration of My Wild Winter Vacation

I knew from the moment I laid eyes on that bloody rabbit that I would have a hell of a time trying to describe it if anyone ever asked me to, that is, if I ever let on that I'd been through anything quite like I had. I mean if our eyes could take photographs and frame them the way we really see the world. But I'm getting away from the point. (Or am I.) I can't even decipher the meaning of a Shakespearian line. I don't understand e.e. cummings. I don't care for poetry. I can't possibly untangle a wordless vision from my real life. It's even more abstract. There are no labels, only images, and I am not, nor will ever be, a person who is precise enough to name the stuff of my own life. I am one of those wordless masses who will remain faceless throughout their entire existence because I cannot explain myself to anyone, no matter how much I grunt, thrust, or poke about at their ribcages. They never understand.

So what did I feel, you want to know. Write about something that affected you. Why do you ask so many fucking questions? Why do I have to explain myself to you? Why can't you develop intuition like the primitives? Listen to your collective conscious, you sleepwalker. Get out the library and Take A Walk. I'm sick of your kind and you breed like wildfires. Who fucking cares if I can lay out myself in words. I'm laid out already, in memory, in fingerprints, in my DNA.

I Felt. Period. Fuck you.

i felt theres something more than essays i felt theres something more than citystreets i felt theres something more and if I dont get my mind around it itll burst into a million bloodless vessels swarming around a hurricane hub a root of mindless destruction evacuation oh fuck your mixed metaphors oh tell god all i want is to move to hawaii and forget all this catacombs these library texts these paystubchecks and lottery tickets i just need a little lovin and a little bit a listenin i promise i won the World's Best Listener blue ribbon when i was 4 oh just let me prove it and tear out this fuckery tongue that makes me feel strained

wait! that's it!

i felt

Strained.

(& the manic kids hear
"(shh)Trained
TrainTrain
Train
TrainTrainTrain
(shh)Trained
TrainTrain
Train
TrainTrainTrain
(shh)Trained")

Entries For The Scary Ghost Competition

Bill Says Don't Let It Worry Yr Head

Oxymoron: Belief, as portrayed in mass media, is something real (heartwarming tearinducing physicallyelating strong&unrelenting), when in actuality mass culture (advertisingploys corporatenonsense "I Am G.E." (the initials of a trusted friend, not a corporation)) takes the place of traditional belief by personification & dismantling of real & true values. That company is not my friend. It's faceless. My friend's top lip rises to show his gums when he smiles. He's face.

Also. Too much focus on societal constructs = I am this or I am against this. But either way this mass culture takes precedence, meaning that it has been given considerable attention (perhaps more than it deserves).

But then again, I'm an existentialist, not an activist. I'm certainly glad there are multitudes who are very much unlike me. I'm certainly glad there are others very much like me.

My remedy: Fuck mass culture. Live your own way. Localize.
I = my own life, of which I am helmsman.
No one's got me enslaved but my own self & my own self-created contexts.

In which case: Go farm. Go farm. Go farm. Go farm. Go farm. Go farm.
You = your own life, of which you are the helmsman.

Let us dance beatific amidst the ruins. Let us raise children with imaginations intact. Let us let them create their own realities. Let us create a cozy & inspiring space for ourselves. Let us do it soon, before the whole thing crumbles & it becomes a mad rush to be lost in. So let us get a head start. Let us cultivate.
Let us cultivate.
Let us cultivate. (& deal with whatever comes, as we must, as we foot along our own path, unlike those that came before or after because it's filtered through our minds / beings / lives / DNA / hopes / inspirations / love / moments, which makes us ME and YOU and never THEM but sometimes US)