ATTN: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

Re: Making Masturbation an Olympic Sport.

I am under the strong suspicion that those around me believe that I in fact have a functioning time machine. This is hard to explain, but my future self told me this in a dream I had last week. Think back to Tuesday. Can anyone remember the orange? We all sat around and talked about it at lunch. It was the best time we ever spent together. Breathing oxygen like a fish that is slowly dying on a beach. I remembered all the clapping, between the forced smiles, eyes locked on the future. Did you notice the bad spelling, and the lowered production value on the reproduction of your YouTube funeral? Did you ever wonder if you were in fact the, and I quote, THE BEST SPERM?, unquote? A sperm that has been manipulated through of years of the genetic deformation of your food stuffs? Building better people, for more years than we would like to admit. But never mind, how was your day?

Some things just ring truer on nights of broken dreams. The sky opens up revealing that it is not wearing panties. On these nights the moon looks down on the best of us. Gypsies and old oaks wondering when the stars will blink out. At times like these I remember being kisses like a long distance trucker. Walking past the shadow of what was once a man I over hear his mumbling to aliens gods in this atmosphere. It’s all a joke, short order souls. We feed them in their image. Succulent sins basses in never thanes whispered into our ears and capped in with a body that is geared for the opposite. Great hunger quantized and regulated, the rules to supply and demand. We no longer wonder about the basic nature of the plastic carrot dangled to and fro. One inch is all we ever need. Look up the definition of never. based on the faults of those who came before us , name that spit that you revolve on. Sweet dreams, schemes, and headaches for the hell of it. Today, I will remove my eyes. Mention magic and “they” will explain it with math. The Human Complex. The apple is iconic for what? Write down the top 10 things off the top of your head. Look around you, and think to yourself,… what would someone around me write down? Find the person who has a completely different list. That person and yourself have things to talk about.

You grow tired scratching at your box. Like a coffin, it smothers you as if it is loved one. Staring at holes, wondering if somehow we could just get out of here. An do what? Dammit! I have the worst luck baking cookies. In his calendar he wrote down… Today, hell froze over. Have you ever looked over while driving on the freeway and wondered if that person is crying because they shit their pants?
So has science fiction caught up to anything that was written in the 40s? I remember being a kid watching the Jetson’s, and thinking to myself, 1995 was gonna be like bad ass! Like the fuckin’ Boba Fett 12 inch figure, the old one. Yeah, the one with the red missile shot out and shit when you were a kid. Dammit! What would the one, two, and three generation kids think about Blade Runner? I have to admit Primer is one of the best sci-fi flicks out there. A few French films have had an interesting spin on some new one trick ponies. A piano cries one chord at a time, and for the most, in time. I am out of touch. Mr. Pink cannot pick up the phone. A destination vibrates and the thought. A clock winding down, the typewriter clicks over.

The wonderment of detection, the little hairs on the back of your neck raise. Not lost or found, a static entity lack of stimulation. Anointed in to the brotherhood of death. One of our oldest fellowships in these parts. So in these wee hours I will you all well out there in internet land. Is TV land like a trailer park off of some nameless freeway? I’m not sure how to deal with the baggage of a silver back ape telling me that he held his mother in his arms while she died. The tears welling up where his face and the cell phone met.Me on the other side. I forget sometimes, it is becoming less that I remember. The eye twitching. The strange desire to rip out my eyes to get the sand off the pack of them. Catching up is never fun. Location undefined, but at the moment… needs a head change. And at the tone it will be late, and this head ache is confusing…

Then this pops into my head… Do people that have Coulrophobia watch clown porn, like racists are most likely to view, slash own, end quote, interracial Boom-Boom all night long movies… So therefore I no longer sync with the gravity of the earth. With this in mind, equals time travel, Best Movie ever.

And hold, please.
(insert hold muzak here, maybe something in general midi)


(February 2, 2010)