by Jeffrey Grunthaner
1. And out we go into the reckless night, junkie mystics with our eyes sown shut.
2. We see that we see television celebrities in the constellations of the ancients, and we eat of life like a cake of fools.
3. Transparent Thom happens along. He’s carrying a bird cage and mumbling nonsensically to his inner child.
4. And what have we here!
5. Inside the cage is a canary, Penitentiary Pete.
6. Pete is high on birdseed, and one of his wings is bandaged by a strip of torn white handkerchief.
7. Droplets of blood have pooled into a red coagulation.
8. A tongue depressor, cut to his exact wing-span, has melted into his feathers and flesh, like splintered metal.
9. “Do you read me?”
10. He talks into a tiny walkie-talkie, bobbing on his perch like a maniac on a tire swing.
11. “Do you copy?”
12. “The eagle has landed.”
13. “I repeat.”
14. “The eagle has landed.”
16. His squawking cough is the sound of the world’s soul trying to escape from existence.
17. But there’s a Mutant bar that we can go to, bothered by neither Thom nor his crazy canary.
18. Here, a woman masturbates on a bar table.
19. It is unsettling, but is known as “masturbatory chic,” and all of the hippest blogs have made a currency of the phrase.
20. “Oh, well, I’ve never been there. Have you?”
21. If sanity is considered a virus by some, then the people who think such things are probably here, high on birdseed perhaps, or else molesting their consciousness with pills.
22. Surely they’re not fucking, drinking, smoking.
23. Those things are outlawed in NYC, enforced by the Liberation Sheriff, a proud defender of democracy, and thug custodian to the propertied and rich: cocksuckers and cunts who write the laws, and live in grand manors to glorify their privilege.
24. Oh, shit on them!
25. And the course of history that has provided their right!
26. Burn it!
27. Set fire to their mansions!
28. Let’s murder their laws!
29. It’s only fair…
30. You’ve drowned kittens, haven’t you?
31. Well, can you imagine giving a cat speed? It would probably run about all over the house, zonked & witless.
32. These fools would probably do the same thing.
33. “Which fools?” I forget. The moral majority, maybe.
34. Television is their witness! The Emmey Awards are idols which make the legends foisted on a witless public three-dimensional, like stained glass windows LIVE ON SATURDAY NITE.
35. Can’t you feel their talons reaching towards your limp dick, like anagrams plaited in your pubic hair?
36. The screaming in the next room reaches into this one here, like starlight stabbing your inner eyelids when you sleep.
37. I feel like the body is a useless object, libidinous in that casual way a pocket might empty a thimbleful of dust.
38. You have to live up to your good as well as your bad intentions, become a role-model for potential suicides—that’s the difficulty.
39. Cult fame will only provide you with the usual suspects—the girls who walk away, a mouth that kisses itself on the lips, the glorious signage which declares:
*~Believe In Yourself Until You Transcend That Self~*
40. Do you not see the terminal expansion? It’s uplifting, like scissors held to the throat of twilight.
41. And in the recklessness of drunken sighs, you nakedly kissed her eye where one would expect her nipple.
42. Well, tell your mother she’s dead to me (now).
43. When she broke up with me, I was sad for about a year.
44. But I’m always sad. I’m what they call a “sad case.”
45. I pictured her as the milk cousin of Aunt Jamima, a slick Oreo cookie serving me mascara.
46. It doesn’t happen anyway, reimagining the known circumference of the universe, your mouth hammering in the dirt. heh.
47. Do you really think that objects could fall into place like that?
48. Any jackass who sits in a butterfly chair can pretend that he’s flying, although a cacophony of muscled spheres cancel his flight with the sound of atonal static.
49. Got up in the nude, the philosopher thinks of the degree by which he missed finding himself couched in the heavenly lap of the sun, darkened by clouds coagulating in the gridlocked sky, like tampons of numerical sheep.
50. Were the heroes of our world made famous by their fabulous clothes, then Spider-Man would have devoted his career to the intoxications of dentistry, casually accepting defeat with a kitschy phrase.
51. “I’m all grits & giggles tonight!”
52. You have 2 not party 2 party, an excess of modesty made possible by the fact that so much of our existence is defined by not always being able hear what other people are saying about us.