I have heard it all. Be reasonable, you haven’t
yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle. Waiting for something fantastic, but it was a pipe dream. You used to believe it as a kid, then, you learned how to masturbate. Everything changed. Grab the women and the children and the dogs and run.

I am a communist. Too. Fancy that. I hear through friends that men in parks sucking cock in Grozny (not a joke) are executed right there in the park. Shot in the head.

Someone has to venture out to grab the corpse and bring it in. It takes us a while to get it down in the bowels of who you are, and why are you here.

I would like to speak to the you of you. You are not a communist. The universal you of yous. You have never made progress toward numbers running over to our side of joining us in socialism’s pipe dream. Your rich own everything. I do not see much hope for what is coming at you – they are now about – fifteen, and I think they look stunned. Or maybe they’re just high.

I love people who are high as a kites above an Irish pub.

And adventuous. Americans think we’re dead and buried in France with poets. Communism defeated you in Vietnam. Boldly go. You will anyway. We are scatted now like leaves in the diaspora. The Greek sun evaporates Atilla in such vigorous autumns because what feeds us is dying – crops withered. Smells like sand gone mean. Electric in and out. It is hard for us to get that death is over. The snow, hip deep. There were no more animals in death to kill and eat. Religion buries people quicky. It buries abused boys in the ground before they’re dead. Other cultures put their dead into the sun to dry there. Animals took a bit and ran we are all running having put a heart into our mouths. But what about race. Vietnam.

When Marx wrote about the proletariat, class was caste, and the caste was always racial as a warzone. Vietnam. We theorize. Where comrade means comradeship. Americans could learn a lot from us because when opposing Capitalism, we walk the walk. Repression works like a mortage. Cuba, China, Russia, Nicaragua, are wrong. They surrendered. We are the boogey man. Incremental change is what the Capitalists leave us with, as they rearrange the furniture tastefully, to suggest they always know what is best as we stick to the bottom of the patriarchy tar-pits. I hit the streets wherever I am anywhere, and I beg a lot. How many times have you made me up to be the enemy. Sleeping on sidewalks among the very scary people and then, you just don’t don’t care anymore.

On corners. How am I the problem. I am a communist.

You hate your writers because it’s Vegas And Only Vegas Can Be Vegas Because It’s Vegas. I once got paid to jerk off on top of a long, oak formal table, and cum in the salad at a formal Vegas dinner party. Everyone there was eighty-nine. What does the prisoner have to say. I want my bike back and I will leave Dodge this afternoon so I can make Blue Lake to sleep out on the starved of the water ground. He’s a very devil. And think to weed it when you can. Let them hang themselves in that constant unarticulated mouse inside your skull, that revolves around a radiant star of photons. Photons are very tiny little guys who go very fast. They kinda are the speed of light. The political sci-fi academics of America are not unlike the other talking heads who see themselves (surprise) as marginalized like slugs you need them, but you got them under the house because that is what they are. What we need is often information, not rhetoric with a career. We condemn you, the you of you. For Fascism that redefines the bleeding redlines as Public Policy Of The Fiddledeedee the banks are credit cards themselves. Condemn you for murder. Condemn you for privilege. Condemn you for forcing anyone to take the mining shaft elevator. Down. I live in Appalachia. Where are we going to go. Respectfully, we could use that cookie but it crumbles like a famine in our dead old arthritic bones. We will simply whisk away in a massive sandstorm of photons decimating all the chromosomes in your entire body. No hazard pay. In Capitalism, you can only care what stuff costs when you have what is called The Fucking Time. The time of time. Of it remember me. The you and you and you must die of love.