wrangling with word

Maybe if I’d undo these meddling automated features I could let myself channel the fluidity I had. Any excuse to not write. I should vaccuum the car, take care of this headache, wait it off, sit outside. Drink even more. Phone a friend, and say everything I’ve managed not to say. I should stay with me this time, I should I should look that up before it goes down. Anything to avoid writing, anything to stay away from home. I wonder how long that spider plans to stay like that: on the ceiling? Am I thinking too much about him. Would that if it were a her, would a her wait like that? I should feed her, I shouldn’t let her stay there anymore, absorbing climate controlled atmosphere, in comfort, it isn’t fair for the rest of them. What if it makes it into my sheets and bites the inside of my mouth and some dormant allergy comes to life and swells up my tounge and I die. I want desperately to lead a more eventful life. I think I’ll explore the dropbar and take care of this auto-correct business before it starts to ware on me. I wonder what I’ll be driven to do when that spider dissapears from the ceiling. I want the option to misspell I want the choice to bruise to injure and die. Not by my watch we say, not at this angle, not from my house not in my house. Yes in your house and yes from all angles together you have truth and truth can’t live anywhere for long. Dropbars beer and spiders. coffee cigarettes money, and misspelled words. dispelled myth… *pshsst. I went driving drunk last night and found a way to plug both seat belts into the same belt buckle, rather than waiting around for the expansive stretches of time and free thought with which id be provided from hospitalization. Maybe I’d have suffered a brain death and would never have figured it out. Maybe my more or less fortunate passenger wouldn’t have either, the real fucking tragedy. I’m going to get on that dropbar exploration just as soon as I’m able. Three bars and not a soul worth saving. Start to imagine an audience, not just a sea of heavy-footed jumpers trying their best to manage a penetrating stare. I’m stripped to bare nakedness by animals mugging me, they are no different, just a more practiced intent, synthetic patience. They know what will become of their behaviour and draw upon them as if suspended upon their super average avenger belts, over their super mediocre fashion pantsuit, impenetrable and worth ignoring. I guess I must simply get used to the idea that bars arent worth attending and there are people who aren’t worth knowing, and on some nights you’ll see them all, on the other side of the bar. There are those who are being paid to tolerate the noise and bear the frustration of lascivious slop-dripping swineman and there are those who pay for the privelege. a nice girl in this place adopted new meaning for the author. I am simply in the wrong place. There is nothing for me at a bar. Nothing good has ever come from going there. Definitely the capitols. Casual mode on, hey! Fuck. Success. Shit. Success success ha HA! Rats. Jargon colloquilaism cliches wordiness use of first person contractions sentence structure capitolization off off off!

I guess saves any changes you made means does not save any changes you have made.

This is truly maddening. Misuse of word. You have inadvertently activated 1.5 line spacing, only sometiimes without authorization, you’re word processor reserves the right to revert back to single line spacing without authorization or advance notification. auto correct deactivated. i have this playful image of an android falling slumped in some sprawling and contorted heap over a public picnic table, and his digital propjection of a soul whisked away to the gates of st peter where his likeness will stammer and bumble his way out of good favor at the gates and be cast down to a custom brand of fiery perdition in which he should be forced to serve at the desk-sides of those detractors of structural sanctity who have learned to enjoy hell where at least one is afforded althought burnt stale and only ever lukewarm at best: coffee, free heat, a typewriter, proprietary hat and alarm-clock, and basic cable. (the heat in hell, contrary to popular belief, takes advantage of post-war era dusty ductwork technology -forced air, and the reason hell is really a hell and not just a scare tactic lies in the virtue of the fact that the heat is left on, at full tilt to supplement it's central fiery furnace, all day, and you guesses it all night.) calls sears, it's on the fridge. they clean ducts. certainly one of my most sinister elucidations, but i thought i might clear the air since i've been there and seen the trouble with the region first hand. it truly is like no place on earth, save perhaps, a prolonged stay out of maritally enforced obligtation with another. but i digress, in keeping with the core viscera that i'm keeping with, i'm move, in a fell deft and graceful manuver (that word doesn't look right) to more local issues. my neihbors (that word i will never completely understand the inner workings of) have confiscated the clothespins and i've been relegated to strewing my damp clothing all along the retaining wall on the south side of the house, in addition, i discovered this morning a contractor bag full of putrid ripe and in central stages of decomposted fauna waste garbage in my city garbage bin. the malodorous deposit sent me into a bout of hallucinegenic chills and i nearly lost my footing on the topigraphically neutral slab upon which i stood. i hinged the lid back into the position i had found it, rolled the shit to the front of the house and dumped it onto the patch of mostly dead grass reserved for such things adjacent to the curb, whereupon i was treated to the emergence of a pair of mice that were sent bounding for cover, one across the street and into the tall grass, and the other somewhere in a large field, then another, andd yet anothernmouse four altogether were freed. i entertained the idea of splitting this thing open and performing some forensic tracing to identify a source, but was quickly put off to the idea as soon as a fat maggot pushing and writhing it's way out of one of the holes evidence the bag had been drug some short distance then dropped onto the patch, and all was well. it sets me on a wondering trajectory this garbage in my garbage, the day after garbage day, neybors havve been out for days camping in the grip of the r.v. weekender cookout assembly, these... people, with their sticky-handed children, their calcite-colored and doughy skins smeared in red and green dyes and barbeque sauce matted in dog's fur and salt, leavened and flushed by the unforgiving sun of a foreign land, the shameful brand of a people welcome nowhere. fat and loud they louse about parading their culturelessness so fiercely to force it into being. but it will never live, only amble on in suspended animation. so unwelcome in fact that a new world had to be created to house them and facilitate their wretchedness. these are an unrecognized people. if i could, i would excise this malignant cancerous growth that stangles out my poor fighting soul, surgically and entirely. the hollow that feeds from my breath, that parasitic thrush which dries me out and spends my heat on flickering flourescence. i think this is where i move outside. o for the simple things, dogs and children, cookies and engines, shadows and sunlight. they all understand each other. give yourself over to entropy and disarray, (this is where i get drunk) disorganization an decay, organic composition and fields, seas, look at what nature does despite us, we cannot make a tree fit into a single dimension, it will tear up the sidewalk and drop branches through our windshields in protest. people will listen, when the music is deafening, as their insides are boiling away and separating, they'll continue to listen, we all listen and we all hear sometimes. and some of us, cut out of the likes of us still know, we still pick up and leave, we run yet, we play yet, our lives have meaning goddamn it, for no reason in particular. at least we know what we want, at least we live to live on.

double space please. i just lost it on my neiyghbhourse, it felt great. i haven't screamed like that since i was a baby. full throat damaging splendor. my dog keeps rinking their bathwater, and I;m missing the "" key. d key. it's in its way along with soup and 3a batteries. people that love me. i'm loved, i am. but the neighbors, i love them, but i don't care for them. i kindov wish they would surprise me one day and leave each other. one at the house and one out shopping for green products. what a sad joke. we've got nature tied to the whipping post dousing her all over in environmentally-friendly lighter fluid. she'll manage a way out of her bonds and shank us all in the neck with a toothbrush before we can get our hands in our pockets to rifle for our matches. what a design that car. wow. it shouts subtlety. so sick of my lexicon, my contracted vocabulary, my high school english teachers and their curricular limitation, my stubborness and avoiding university. I wanted instead universality. losing it for love. american cars rattle their bolts loose. i need new friends, my hands are dry. they look old and my wounds won't heal up fast enough, or completely. im sorry if im not sympathetic enough to the plight but i don't have a washer or dryer, and you took the clothespins inside and don't use the dry line. what's that all about. am i on something, no i'm off something. sometimes i like to write a sentence and then push it along with another sentence behind it,, like make get out of my way sentence, i'm on to something and you're like the last sentence, antiquated, obsolete if not for your purpose in holding together some semblancedfffdddddddddddddddffffffeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeedddddddddd of continuity within this lodddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd xfeeeeeeeeeeffdddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.lllllll,ose stucture, just filler, success d,d,d, thats comma d comma d has been missing from my keyboard 21% battery life to computer death i'd better be quick and do something. more beer more vodka, new keys and an ac adapter. i had to harvest off the press action silicon thing from the function key. what is the function of that key? it must be the most useless key on the keyboard which is why it has been labeled as such, to throw us all off, to confound our spirits and try our faith. the wife stays home today, while the husband takes the chevy out. that flightless bird, wind-swept dynamic american kitch, fits best parked in an overgrown lot next to the house among unstackable brittle plastic lawn furniture. two coats of cheap paint and caulk around the jambs to lower the road noise. 99cent vodka 50ml burning down the hatch, i'll be back for more today. i'll drop my coins all over the fucking counter, a penny will roll off, and some legitimate person will come in right then. not much shorter than me, stocky in a white shirt and i'll still be counting out change substandardly. "one two.. so that's 2 and here's three" and it's just us three. and i'll say something like "heh... why don't you help this guy while i finish this" and they'll just wait instead. something about their wife at home they can say: this guy at the circle k, this guy is me. that guy is me. no place for anything and nothing in it's place, just disarray and socks where they shouldnt be. we buried a gopher marcello and i. today at 4:15. i watched him die, marcello probobaly killed him in his teeth, it's beautiful what he doesn't know or can't care about. he'd trade it all in for a sunnier spot, if he knew what it was. i shouldve let him just eat the gopher and have been done with it. but we let the gopher die and sat there to shepard er into the afterlife. i thought about my cat, and how this creature had died so peacefully. just surely slipped away. my cat max, oh max, left in so much fear, he had to leave his pride and dignity here, and go off without us. he waited until i left to start dying, then realizing what a mistake the choice to die had been, waited until i came back to do actually see the end. down to the hour he waited. he was so afraid of what he had gotten himself into. in health, it's easy enough to face death, and in the throes of surrender, the pale uniform light of no more, were all just as vulnerable as a dog in traffic. the engine in the crx lived long enough to bring me reliably to that moment, when i saw my impresario of moxy and poise, max my cat for as long as my life had count, wishing himself out of bed. when i came in i didn't want to go near him. i couldn't bear it, agent of frailty and impermanence, and he was in no condition to assure me. i knew it would not be allright, we've all been lied to. max had been intelligent at least enough to know he wanted to live a few more days in health if it were possible. he shoved at the shawl in which he was enconsced, and faught to his feet determined to live. ultimately, he lost in a state of emaciation, shaken in terror, and ravaged by the reality of death. his attunement to me in this most transitionary instance, had profited him nothing. I have lost near all sight of matters of consequence, and found enough to trane upon, track and hold in laudable admiration and plain detestment and contempt. i am reactive and cannot contain much in apparent composure. I have little in the way of foresight and rely almost exclusively upon my cache of innate talent and endlowment. i strive for nothing. am easily dissuaded persuaded and thrown from course. i have nothing in the way of belief, faith, or trust in myself or of anyone or anything else. I elicit the worst in others purposefully. i capitolize on their good faith and exploit their good nature. i am prone to fits of unimaginable laziness. i am easily disheartened, and will often cite fear of letigious retribution for my actions or inaction. i will invent reasons if i have to, often even if i do not. i am sedentary. i do not forgive children for their childishness. i upset readily, and am lying in ambush for an opportunity to "make it clear" instead of cultivating clarity from the gates. i lie. i drink and i swear. i hate. i scorn. i have added insult to injury. i am judgemental, capitally so. i assume. i covet. i have little in the way of self control. i do not believe myself to be terrible, but generally undeserving of fortune. i give up before i try. i get away with what i can. i drive drunk, and excuse it on basis of the preceding maxim. i no longer brush my teeth at regular intervals. showering is spotty. my diet consists of many nutritionally-deficient substances. the world has more to offer me than me to this world. i'm a poor listener. i should stand next to the microwave or involve myself in a horrific traffic accident. i drink coffee without a filter. i underestimate people but only because i'm a drunk and a sore loser. I'm an avid tv watcher but i hate your favorite show. i didn't want children with any of my exs. i eat meat raw. i contrast and compare. criticise and judge. i'm petty and trite. steal from box stores and wait for things to get worse.

how bout it. triumphant bossa nova in bed. how long does it take us to eat our own weight in food? where is the future of music, the end of experimental fusion blends and a renniasance of revival. i just need a shower and some decent clothes. that spider is in a corner now. closing in on my paranoia. i need a shower, and a haircut.. i'd better throw the locks and fire up the generator. 200ml $2 the gas game. anything is better than this. a steady death, a controlled descent slowly ratcheting the webbing loose, while the dog sleeps under a transient shade. hi to the neibor, hey from the neighbor but not in that order. the dogs interest is apparently piqued, enoujgh to rouse a heavy head. should he be fitted for a brace? 50/200ml working itself behind my frontal lobe, swelling it slightly, the lights dim a shade, my eyes get heavy. ocho wants to know if he should investigate. damnation. he gets around the corner to lick his butt. big yawn and sleepy eyes. he gives up. how could any printable type come out of this slurry of gingerly prodding about out of this wrecked and besotted head. run aground in a placid shoal. motored into the dog. fell in and drowned in a foot of water stuckfast in a mucky mud. redemption and brisk mornings layed up and mostly abandoned. but not forgotten. the part of your mind available for reasessment maliciously remains intact while the rest of your faculties fail. a bad relay, switch or a sensor, position sensor, what a cruel gift life and will. i've been corrupted become drunk and paralyzed with all these options. crippled and stripped of my capacity to reign my own self. given over to dissatisfaction, opportunism and crime. i wish for conditions to worsen. i want the cold, the disparity of seasons, these forces to penetrate me, to animate me. i'm fading like a desert wind in this causeless coordinate. this latitudinal temperance drives nothing, a land as fragile and dry, as brittle as it's inhabitants. signs and noise dates and regulations another faithful soul poised to generate scandal that they might suffer a cooler gust and feel their hairs raise off their skin. might fan their itchy fungal growths. might moisten their lichenous living death. more windows and less sunshine. more work and less play. a raft to keep us afloat. and smelly arcelli is paid by the state. maloko marchocho is checked for his weight. i'm destined to become a lecherous womanizer i just know it. praise to marchoochoo who ate all the bait. i swore to myself i'df drink it all at once. honk hoink. i need and want a train horn on my car. good boy choked it all down. 200/200ml life in prison, and i'm officially out of money. i still have a dollar in the bank, say it with me: a dollar in the bank o my brothers. i'm officially convinced that dogs are holding it all together. berzerk wife, petulant children for a man, but men don't hold everything together, that's not what im saying what i'm slipping into narritive and t4rying to say, is that the shady spots move around throughout the day, and if we kept better track we;d have an easier time. i should really consider looking into working for someone with something useful to impart. i'm not too old to learn something. you couldn't press me an extract anything made of these substances, learned stock. i was however made here domestically produced. US made. cut from a corner of the iron curtain. lost everything you lost. forced our ways through the same thicket but not together, o not together, you cut through the jungle, an i, less deserving that i am, crashed about in a thicket, and steadily stripped my skin off. paranoid and delusional. jumping at knocks and cowering crouched and wide-eyed. listening out for you coming, to get me, to show me the way to the edge of the jungle, put a knife in my hand, and asked me to rape the sanctity out of her right alongside you. asked me to displace my heart and write off my love, (it's a write off you know) to plunge directly in like a pool of assorted foam shapes and live, like you live, like you try. i cannot live in seafoam, i wonder about to my detriment. what lies beyond the shore, the lapping breaking shorline, beyond there runs the sea, i know, i can't be shielded from that fact, OIL WELLS SHIPPING AND REAL ESTATE. one day live in the shape of detritus scattered upon the earth, penetrating slightly, and like a fine dust in most cases, to be dredged up and sifted by hand of god and turned again and over again into the depths of the earth. foollish are those that wile in the myth of significance, self-deception and torture in which we willfully partake: loving no one other than us, thinking of no one else in the best case. if god were truly great, he'd take from us our heroin our heroism, our simplicity, our self-governance, our radiance, and remove infatuation. and replace them with true freedom. true faithless vast and vaccuous afterthought. then we would be free to wonder truly wonder for once, while our god swiftly forsakes us for another more alluring and promising venture. and if i were i and god were god, and all things were as they were, it need not be considered an insurmountable impossibility of a task. creak*

and the earth shifted underfoot, and some among us were cast down over escarpments of risk, and self reliance to our dooms and taght to love the inside of the earth and not fear it and consider it hell. spooky aliens from above to beam us into tragic and complete ephemeral deletion and raging plasmic theatrics from below that upend us and carry us away in a sepultric-tectonic splendor. maybe this taste will dissapate, perhaps this rooted shroud of suffering and intangible removed pain has plans to aquiesce. Bo ho, iget a gizmally and beretchen in the starkedtude of the party be3at. If I was female I’d trhhrow off my fettering gown and disrobe in front of everyone to show them who I really was. Trade myself over for anything other than me. Beef beep this music disagrees with me, if it doesn’t end at ten, I’m going to the police I'm sure of all that. and so it follows:

lucia:

Stoch:

Ley:

Eoro:

Fonto:

Oishe:

George:

Exposition: