I am a communist. I am a criminal. No one taught us how to swim. I have long white hair and a long white beard now. My dick is white and cut and pierced and I am from Krypton the real Krypton and they eat snakes they can have mine. These are the same guys who run garbage trucks that dump it all into the ocean. I am not endorsing anything. I do not endorse James Joyce. His river or his voice. His voice was his river. I am not endorsing anyone. I am not important. I am Just A Guy Who Makes Things. All kinds of different things. I make books that are really sculptures. This goes to the heart of what is identity. Who you are today is who you will be tomorrow well maybe, maybe not. People do not get it but I made my own carving tools and they are as sharp as a fishhook’s mouth. All of this at the same time. A cardiologist souped me up a beat. I hit the ceiling with bloody awesome. Weed would be great with this. Helium and bring on the gummies no gummies oh come on we have to make a gummie run. I like this do not take it away I was was a crazy fuck I still am. All the Crazy Fuck Things at once. Ride the ride. Tilt the Tilt.

I am absolutely positive that I have never once seen or heard of the Black Web’s Black Web whose Black Web is bigger than your little FBI black web what the fuck ever black web, that place you can buy software. I am a criminal. It is a spectrum. How deep do you put it in. I thought so. I guess it’s where everyone is soft and they have a line of swimwear at Walmart. I do not endorse Walmart because that shit skateboard broke day fucking one, dude, five seconds and now I am your friend, what is for sale around here I only want the software. I Want the ATM software. I already paid. But you didn’t — pay — us. Give the man all your cash. But we are only voices, bitch.

You do not want to know me. I loathe saying this, but Sagittarius shoots his arrows off to wherever arrows go, just to see what happens. We are made with electrons. Passing through and packing up substance. Content. Substane interviews on PBS and now we know what their house look like and he real here we know where they live even in New York we fucking know where everyone lives and works and what their phone handle and where do they handle it, follow the money. This is not It Takes a Thief. It takes three engineers. You would be wasting your time. What is it. It’s a cascade it can never be just one thing, it’s all a spectrum, even autism and sex is all on a spectrum, and I know, sex and sexuality should not be like the spectrum of violence in a slaughterhouse although there is one, everyone should be allowed one fetish. One school failure, and yes, you can bring your fetish to school if it makes you feel safe from dragons that fly out from the swamps to behead you there is only one thing to write about. Sex and Death. That’s two words but the same idea. The rest of it is a butterfly family. Only one fetish, not two, or I will have you arrested. Did you hear the one about the guy who walked into the bar. When did she join us when she killed that kid, she’s a cop, and this is the plot device where people chime in all about fucking shit with cops, this is not reader friendly that is kinda the point now, isn’t it. But we are dying like flies out there, too. We are addicted. We die on the street. It’s not that buried deep down into your bowels that the Daddy’s drive over here and beat your brother until he is black and blue and then you have to whip him until the blood spatters around a bit. Like on the basement walls. Why. Because that is daddy’s fetish everyone has a fetish.

Repeat after me — NASTY FETISH — back there. Like flies. You have been ruined in too many pubs, Bub. Falstaff isn’t even Irish. Falstaff is a drunk what did you think he was do you or do you not read your history. How many curbs can you stumble on to get home stumble bumble you should have driven. You have disgraced yourself again. My history is the street. The secrets of the street. The blood, the shit, the cum, and more mescaline than France. Men liked the underpass. I cannot see how under the underpass was anyone’s history until they started to emerge to hit the Copa when the Coked Drones come out out from their lairs. No one knows who they are and it has to end. I will get a cease and desist on that one — cease and desist, always binary, two and two means an electron, a photon, and a parking ticket. They love to race along or be in twenty places all at the same time like witches.

Don’t tell me scientists do not believe in witches. They. Believe. In. God. All of them I know believe in witches. I believe in witches because I am one. It’s such a bitch to be a witch. You knew that was coming. We just didn’t think he would stoop to it and then he did. I saw you jerking off last night on that rock — I am impotent and I do not masturbate, and sex is amusing because it’s kinda like history and the lizard scum that makes it. The question is, why does our brain do this disservice when, in fact, our newer definitions of what is what — disease would be one — conflict (evolution takes advantage of conflict), and it would be vastly interesting to see if we will apply ourselves and our inordinate instruments to our own advantage or will we wage war on the Rich. Bubblebutt, it’s coming. It’s been a while. We gave you a lot of rope, and you fucked it up. Now, we want to be rich. Now. Why. We need stuff. I need new socks. I don’t wear socks in cowboy boots. How Many Voices Do You Have, You Idiot. I have never counted them. They come and go. The Pole Dancer is kinda fun. Big dick. Shows hole for a quarter. Do you become the person. God. No. It’s a conversation with people I do not want to know let alone argue with day and night until my teeth fall out they do not. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. They have an opinion on everything, and they are constantly fucking one another without a whit of care about it.

I was naked on the Fantome, a Windjammer, full sails, hard-driving, climbing nets whatever the fuck you do to let the canvas out. You gotta untie it. I didn’t remember how to do it right like on a balmy But the ship is rolling like a soccer ball. Listen Up. Bahia Honda was not a dream or maybe it was a morphine dream from Mars where in five minutes it all has to be rolled back up because the waves are bigger than a tornado and yer gonna die you told them if they do this you are jesus going to fucking die and then, they die. I don’t care what anyone tells you. Do. Not. Look. Down. Why. Because you might see sharks, yes, probably you’ll see sharks. It’s overload. If it’s a hurricane, yer gonna die. We’ll sniffle and have a memorial. I can’t even count the memorials. I spent my life going to memorials. Death fucking stinks. Get over it. Yer dead yer dead. All of this was before the black masks which I love because when I wear my bike helmet with the visor that plays vides, and takes them, and edits them, and posts them to le sex tube before you pull out. It’s about the pulling out. Like from a morphine coca. Why are all these medical people pissed off. It is like being hit by baseball bats.

Then, it’s back to a hospital bed you have now occupied on morphine for the past three months. It’s a bad idea. I should have been on the Fantome when she went down. But I was in Key West, sick as a dog’s hangover, standing in the wind on Dick Dock when Dick Dock hit a rock. To see if I could touch at least Guatemala, and I could. Mescaline will cure anything. And if it doesn’t, you won’t know or care. Hurricane Mitch sunk the Fantome, blew off the shutters on my house, turned my big civil war oak tree into a missive, and blew the roof off. I had never been post-hurricane anywhere. The most bizarro of it all was the dead lizards. Nothing could save them, but the ones, the few, the brave who survived, oh, my, fucking god, have you ever heard the lizards scream. All. Night. Long. Screaming reptiles. Lizards have no rights. People would shoot them I would shoot them — bring on the chicken band — the Doom of Duval, Fantasy Fest as old as the fall of Rome. And I do not care about their Lizard Newspaper. They have to go back to wherever they came from.

It’s not been a good year for lizards. They came from here. If I see one, I will squish it with my shoe. These dreams were more disabling than the fentanyl burning up my veins. I was addicted the minute I opened my eyes. But I was alive. I forgot to tell them about the mescaline. Whoops. I collected a dozen lizard corpses so we could scrape off the slime with a fish fillet knife I don’t really want to talk about it no one is curious and I see there are no questions from the media. Lizard Slime is bababoomboom. I’m on a ventilator. ICU. Dreaming Nightclubs. Make it stop. I don’t remember much of it except for the drowning and the drifting corpses like death took a horrifying, screaming shit in the middle of Duval. Another Country, Duval. Pass that last shaker of salt. Only one drug dealer sold mescaline. Only five sold LSD. The drug dealers want a union. It’s a good idea. Go for it. I have to stop writing about Key West.

I wrote a piece in the paper and called Key West a filthy, ugly town. It is a filthy and ugly town. Have you ever heard of the turd called Organized Crime. Not much because publicity is a touchy thing to fling around although the message to the Inevitable Enemies Group was Look At What I can Afford to do. Please, don’t involve me in this. I was only looking to buy fireworks. You know, I will pay you US cash ten thousand dollars if you can deliver to me in Bend, Oregon, where we have a bangup year celebration boomboom to salutation, a feast of community activity, signs. Antifa is ready for a fight and I am ready for a fight, too. You mean, you’re going to take all of us into the jaws of a riot. Yes. That is exactly what I am going to fucking do. So get with the program or go home. The cops will be waiting for the young men in trucks impregnating other men in trucks. Or a Tshirt shop. Take five. Reinvention is a reckoning of what to do with the art of artists with one leg. Morally compromised artists as a complicated challenge even when the stuff you buy was made by an artist with the other one leg. There are real human beings who do not make it. It’s too late. Where are the challenging folks who don’t in reality stand an ice cream bar’s odds dropped and dripped chance onto the sidewalk. To marginalize you. Punish you. Been there, done that, I still have stalkers, but if we can’t break the cycle of moral debate, it does so at the cost of cherry-picking your very own forms of deafness. The crazy people do not have the answers. They are in pain but you filter it out because you can. This is Appalachia. Don’t come here. It’s a bad idea. The voice is still his river. There is nothing faster than the guy up in the rigging and the sails let loose.