FUNICULAR → ASKING → VICIOUS UNCONSCIOUS

001

Funicular

            And you wonder if you're on television.
            .
            And you are.
            .
            It's just different now.
            .
            Scene four.
            Cutting room floors.
            Killing rooms.
            Crane angles.
            Pagan temples.
            Casual angels.
            Cursed doors.
            .
            Self-insert.
            Automatic entry.
            .
            You rub your eyes.
            Indescribable.
            .
            Psychobabble surrounds.
            Mutters and moans.
            Ishtar's mounds.
            Lavablown.
            Utterances profane.
            Love's lamps bloom.
            Starlet sound.
            Lies prone.
            Sonorous.
            Planes.
            .
            Gathered in the desert.
            Like wreckage.
            Like.
            Profundity.
            Earth under me.
            .
            Who is the speaker?
            Do they speak of love?
            Do they speak out of love?
            Out, out, do they fall out?
            Do they fall?
            .
            And,
            Given wings.
            And deeds.
            And having taken flight.
            Indeed.
            .
            Unidentified subject.
            Elegant.
            Hi.
            .
            Hijacked re-reality.
            Over-past.
            Done-dash.
            As the syllables clash.
            A mumbling maul.
            The gravity of this tumbling ball.
            .
            Fuzzy dice.
            Redheads.
            Overall.
            Like.
            .
            Zipper impressions on a toned lower back.
            Gloved foxy.
            In.
            Guiltless insanity.
            Glimmering.
            At Matador Beach.
            Mundanity.
            .
            It's every day.
            Done to me.
            Down to me.
            Spun miles.
            Guile.
            Tilted.
            .
            True glitz.
            Guises.
            Ingenious disguises.
            .
            In god we fuck trust's a bust down size it.
            Try-on trials.
            A stranger's relial.
            Girls of all sizes.
            .
            All the best words.
            And only them.
            Broadcast reply-all.
            Textual extinction.
            Sexual flinching.
            Schizofornia.
            Fornication.
            Vermillion capsaicin.
            Acid laugh.
            Goofball bile.
            Test-tube baby.
            Meaningless and vile.
            .
            Mattress waxer.
            Rogue camera.
            Stalled rake.
            Potent kin.
            All fake.
            .
            Your ass is on the line and your head is at stake.
            Stuck in the stocks.
            Beaten with fruit.
            Private applauses at public abuse.
            .
            Death.
            Bloody death.
            Carnival rot.
            Flesh of my flesh and blood of my clot.
            .
            A chiseled style.
            Daughterly shadowed smiles.
            Missiles and objects.
            Sprayed scents.
            Checked ass.
            Tail-ticker.
            Tucked.
            Mothered in fuck.
            .
            Missed bliss.
            Mistress.
            Smothered in mom's best.
            .
            Negligees and apparatuses.
            Invalidated statuses.
            .
            Tragic enamel chipped.
            Captive-bred and path-clipped.
            Dependent serf.
            In mastery majestic.
            Deceptive worth.
            Scorched warmth.
            .
            Pyrite spite and hills ignited.
            Enflamed.
            Fools tensing in tenor.
            False consequences and unwarranted expenditures.
            Out of control.
            Mania.
            Cockpit exits.
            .
            I'll explain to you.
            Whip it out.
            Run a data train or two.
            A day in ether dens.
            Given to either/and.
            Shivering.
            .
            In viper paranoia.
            You have invited your destroyer.
            The ape and the serpent.
            The monkey and the snake.
            .
            Urgency urgent.
            Urgency urgent.
            Urgency urgent.
            .
            Louder and louder.
            Then a quietening.
            A quieting.
            A quiet.
            A quit.
        

002

Asking

Am I the critique or its symptoms? Am I confusing myself with machinery? Does the apparatus convey dissonant ideas in suspension? Are you left in confusion, rightly confused? Have you stepped in shit — is this doggrel-do?

003

Vicious Unconscious

People are always trying to kill me.

With their cars.

And their curses.

Their care.

And their cures.

Withholding.

Unfolding.

Iatrogenic tragedy.

Don't be mad at me.

Look it up.

Be mad with me.

If you don't know.

Be moan.

I don't think it's normal to know.

It's normal to be ignorant.

It's okay to be normal.

Though it's not normal to be okay.

So it's normal to be ignorant.

And might not be ignorant to be okay.

Some horror for your comedy.

The other night about 11 PM out in Hollywood on Fountain a 300-pound guy came at me out of the shadows of an alley with a hammer raised over his head.

Hammer had a bright orange handle and he was dressed in weird dark fatigues.

He stepped with intent and I stuck my hand in his face.

All intuition.

"FUCK THAT SHIT."

Out-of-body speech.

Always dissociation.

But sometimes, more.

Gone ghost to survive.

Out of body and mind.

He mumbled "sorry," and took off on a fat man's jog down Fountain Ave.

Headed toward the 101 overpass.

It'll go unreported.

False census.

A question unasked.

Crime over spilled ink.

Crying over.

Criminal ilk.

The stench and filth.

Beneath class.

The crime — what is the crime, menacing?

(I mean, he didn't hit anything)

I don't know.

(Maybe it was all a dream)

I'll look it up.

(It wasn't)

I'll know.

(This is the last of the real thing)

So —