It may seem invariably strange to most of the inner sex group but upon receiving word about some very stagnant melancholies i made some perforation in a piece of paper; and much to my delight they materialized. It was a weird feeling to imagine i’d really actuated an unimaginable feat of diabolic regurgitation but unknowingly this is what i’d done to attain this monstrosity. Several moments later a serene alimony of a person happened upon my discovery and queried its existence. I told him sure it (or they, as I have corrected him) was for real and who hadn’t seen this mumbled lottery juxtaposed, but he still didn’t understand. I explained that to truly retain the fixed image that these illusions retaliate, one must over-ride all realities and radiate their intermind to a mesmerized utopia above and beyond the rhetoric and literate dimensions. He pondered but did not comprehend.
Now everyone defeatable I can quintilliate would understand perforations in a piece of paper but none of them would comprehend. And in the mixed mass millions peanut butter brains would see my point but none could understand or remember the feats of remembrance I had attained, but then is it hard not to understand something un-comprehendible. Rhubarb was another comedy that bushy tailed and running wild hid under the back porch and died of stones before alimony and Formosa sprang jeweled and cumming flight birds across the ocean. And they didn’t understand. They rode upon their gilded chariots across the sky, content to picture the universe and the view from their backdoor. With a whore they were happy, with a friend they were content, with themselves they were abominably miserable and they would lie in bed and blank their mind to the loss of love, the hate for life and the death of the age of awareness. When hidden among the bright lights of the city, the meadows of the future, the comedies of the past, it is only then our mistakes are forgiven, and our duty to remember is forgotten, and we shall live in peace, among our brothers and sisters, lame but not wallowed as i make some perforations in a piece of paper.
written early 1970’s