And galactic pud sandwich freedom pokers whipped unto the tufts of a long wasted stream of gargoyle puke. The helmet creaked with simplicity from the storm of unintentional processing in my mechanical consciousness. I peered into the cloud of cannibals in the passing dust formation. My mind reels into a childlike fragmentation of interpretation. I feel the cold steel of the playground slide. The harsh paint rotting on the jungle gym. Wearing brick red Toughskins playing German dodgeball after I pissed in them. I think people wanted me on their team. I was always the last one left. Then the tall bully kicking me into the urinals when I was taking a piss. And then reconsiling with him years later when he learned how much beer that I could drink. When the pixels become too strong and I see like I have six hundred eyes and life takes on the feeling of a port city in the thirtieth century with me sitting on a laser beam chewing upholstery. You can never tell what I will write next. You read with your eyes and you think that eventually you will be able to predict what I will talk about next but I have no idea myself scratch my nuts. I used to make Christmas ornaments out of canned rabbit diarreah and I would freeze bite sized squirts of it and Uncle Rambo would go-cart over from Carbinal, Montana. WE ate motorcycles in a purt rescoe bruffelator. I often feel a nightmare where I am going just off the edge of everything and I keep sinking but I believe that the farther that I think the sinking feeling is replaced with a freshness of a lily being whipped onto the nut sack of my brain. Onto which falls a hand sewn sack of rungled saucers from the planet Freeb Freebowtz my stomach rasped an atomic storm skitter pural. I listen hard and you have no idea but you are in for a surprise. And I am shaking perusing the moustache the non-exsistant moustache. When I used to cheat on my homework. Everyone knows when you fail to turn an assignment in when you are alone and everything sort of fits in a rectangle and it has this greenish blue tint. I believe for at least a year that I had a huge rock in my left eye. And I would try and try to trick it out but then one day I was staring into the back of a compact disk and I noticed that that rock was me. So I poked it with a hamstring and, this came as no surprise to the bishop, hiding in my room behind the cabinet structure that had been whitewashed by a train hobo, anyfuck I hid my fuse bomb contraption that I made out of a bunch of model rocket parts and a string of christmas lights hooker hookie hooker hookie. Napalm lunch for the king that lives inside my pud. I can easily recall every single word that my elementary school sweethearts ever said to me. First time for everything. Eh? Pulling on a cigarette and just then my consiousness jumps to the fact that I haven’t shaven in at least a day. The stubble is majestic, I am instantly part of the union of harlo rug’o peek blufjlsdrai’s.

The press against my eyelids as I struggle to let the madness from the tip of my skull seep its way into the cracks of my three dimensional realm. I slouch like a herneaed leprachaun. Mr. Guy the custodian didn’t let us loiter and I remember being scared hiding behind the small bush waiting for that hot little third grader to come out of her room just so that she might notice my new shoes. Did she notice my skills. Sure my parents dressed me like shit and forced me to act like a nerd. Hey I was cool in my own little way, wasn’t I? “You’re ugly and your mom dresses you funny.” Ha! I’ll freeze your shoe with liquid nitrogen. Hey if you just give me a gun I can be a cool beef. Just because some of us pluck chest hair. Hey you humping that salami sandwich! Fuck you! I was in the Indian Guides and we went to Lake Dolores, a popular water theme park and I had a shitty inflatable raft that was fixed with patches made out of beef jerkey tuxedo. Panel camel stack two against the regulation farm turnstall. Bums pissing on the pilons. Traffic on the sandy boardwalk. Ha ha roller skating with your zipper down. Next time carnival hookers.

Gratz meef,
Reverend Speefnarkle

01.13.2003

  

speef@dreamscan.com