Fuck

Fuck

The Keneally clinic is in an hour and a half. There's no fucking way I can go. Goddammit.

Hendrix has been keeping me company. I had a dream last night that I was standing on an orange cloud with him, with an old Jazz bass, playing All Along The Watchtower with Tony Williams on drums. Then God told us to turn that shit down, he was on the phone.

Fuck.

Dougie
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Later

As hateful and depressed as I feel right now, there's a bright ray of light shining from the CD player - The Grateful Dead's Terrapin Station.
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More later

Magnificent flocks of ebullient ninniness floatfloatfloatflock through backwards drywall. Dripping dog fruit enemas bring salvation to mind. Do you toad the toaster or show the way behind?

Make mine meat, Michael. I'm not fishing in your stove no more. Fuckfuckfunfart is in it's way, quite rare.

Radishwasher clogged with clanky crankshaft, not very ick in Igunanaland, says my mom in non won ton, son. Your terrific tacos shout "Glee!" and i ain't your basket, wickersham nightmare dildo.

Livestock! But I go on without fear. The end is not near. Only the closing, the blowsing, the knowsing of my posing. Goddamn grapefruit gains garkgarkgigaton google grins. And so does that fucking Cheshire cat, in a chat room chafing dish full of charbroiled chainmail, once worn by the almighty sorcerer of your Republican dynasty, no longer in effect these days, but supplanted by the anti-wisdom of the Cross, which crossed me one too many times while I waited patiently for its demise. My eyes!

Neverneverlandoverundersi dewaysfrown.
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For forty hours a weakest link to sausage wisdom, not easily found in your armour, all is a waste of the sanitary nakkin', and does that thing fish in your oily ponderosa, with Barbosa and Blinn, the haberdasher in Muncie, Indiana inn? It's not long before my wong can be drawn out of the wrong lawn while being sprayed by pesticidal homicidal genocidal genetics in ethics that aren't questioned by the cat, whose fat is in a vat of your unholy stew, that you and Farboo are plotting to grew in an epillectic ewe, while the few who flew over the Jew that you once knew in the zoo ain't new but did undo the thing you once knew and threw through the window that appeared before another sixteen ton weight that fell on your comedic plans for this century. Damn you!
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Towards the trying tidewater I flail
Not escaping your jail made of the aforementioned chainmail
But not truly captive in your hellish hailstorm

Born!
Not all it was once cracked egg to be
The overdone omelette with cheese and mushed rooms of purpose

Failing that flailing, I sail those seas
But not without a costly cost of caustic cause, which causes careful reconsideration of the backstory that I dare not reveal

Drained that anole, pissed through his reptillian hole
And dared to refer to it as foreign policy

Irate, I ran, though I wracked my agile mind for the left behinds who did not buy lock stock and burrow into the underlying premise that your revelation johned.

Whisper. Kissed her. Missed her. Frisked her in a mixer full of flowering lentils did I. Did I? Didymus did.
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The essentially esoteric eschatology of the Essenes, estranged from Esther's estuary, ain't got none. Fun, that is. Unless you are. R.