I was just standing there one day, no one knows the day, all of them were there, the ones I had fucked, the ones who had fucked me as in orbit you never knew anyone who believed no shit wasn’t going to go crackerjack on that flight from pain. How do we describe pain. Pain was when the land knew the land that was pain and we just took it. Piece by piece. Who wins rules. There are no rules where the narrator walks away from any obvious other twin narrator you had was that fuck narrator with stories by the seat of his pants. God knows. It’s a lot like autism where to get it, you will need to understand that one thing, that one disability is never, ever alone in that starry night, in that universe, in that plethora of what grows here.

Lately, this thing we call autism has been bled to death. You will find a lot of very good stuff on YouTube about autism, and that includes all sides to any argument times ten. There are only two things I can do well. Write. I can if I want to really burn the house down on any platform, any time, that plays the skins off the shirts, I’ll feed you to the blind fish that come along any midnight of any day whose slowwet kiss tasted like a Russian urine sample. I write okay and I can ride a dirt bike. Write and ride. Write and ride, cowboy, and run for your life. I say things that piss people off. I do not mean to do it. Visually, it’s like a photograph after photograph after photograph freeze frame where things happen when any of us are with too many of the normals at any one time, in any one tiny village, don’t get too close, the village has a whore house and other places I do not belong in because they want to hang me for stealing things from myself.

The whores had assisted at the main event. I know every whore off I40 alone. Daddy knew how to make a fire in the desert, the problem about shooting rattlesnakes is that there were no rattlesnakes for four fools to shoot. I have slept in the desert a hundred times. Sleeping in the desert is not to sleep at all. The desert is alive with life, and a lot of it is poisonous. The first vehicle I ever stole was a Ford F150 pickup Sheep Shit smells a ton of bad. We should not have gotten away with it, young and uncomplaining, calls in for warrents, there are none. When we knew the land we were afraid of the land. When we used the head to cram the neck in, it’s when they stick a finger in your hole, it’s such a bitch screaming all the colors are wrong.