from Primitive State

Instead of marrow my bones are filled with pink lemonade.

My impression of neutrality is way affected because I respond to things gradually over long periods of time.

The company wouldn’t give me a credit card on my own merits, but would give my wife one with my name on it.

Sometimes I feel pinched on the inside.

For years I wanted her to kiss me, and when she finally did her breath reeked of vodka, which is supposedly odorless.

When you allow yourself to feel other people’s desires reality stops being based on tangibility.

That’s a lot of bullshit, actually.

By not thinking I resist prefiguring an arrangement, or so I tell myself.

He called the retired athlete on a televised radio program and reminded him of the time his brother pulled in front of the athlete’s car and asked him to ram his own car in lieu of an autograph.

I knew it was an interesting party when everything went grainy black and white.

I couldn’t put any effort into toys today, so I tied a miniature kitchen to the desk and made a stab at work.

I would not want to be on a raft with a calm elephant, much less one tricked aboard and in a panic.

I wish to send an envoy to the tick embassy and begin peace talks.

Long chambers of gallows mirth draped across the teeth.

As a series of little realms will feed a species of unnatural number, we sing of our own strings being pulled by staring into the light.

I took a personal day without telling anyone.

It was odd to see the sun where the earth should be as we floated by.

One infatuation may drive you mad but dozens will mellow you out.

The secret gains ground on the actual by slowly skewing the data.

Good night no one, good night mush.

I dreamt the ball put in grandma’s hip was secretly a red white and blue mini-ABA basketball.

The giggling audience manner meets the persecution complex.

Good night essay spawn.

As they danced without touching he yelled get away from my asshole and she lost track of time.

The horrible films made him realize the folly in fancying himself beyond taste.

Abe Vigoda Big Country continuity in persecutive lipstick deprival.

You came, you fell on me, you put me in your suitcase

Status: gozzlehead.

I hurl my shoes at thee.

The problem and solution are the same: figuring out when to print money.

I was creeped out by the warmth of the jar I had to carry across several rooms.

There will be falls daily, at times hourly.

Cloth stackable multi-colored rings suddenly before me transducing.

He thought my boundaries were being challenged but I was thinking about something else.

Something like The Reading Channel could help you avoid talking to anyone during the break.

I was just thinking I should tell you its safe to contact me, this fuzzy aftertone clinically trailing the free review of your matches.

I want the bubbles to attack so I can swallow them as they riot.

Liked it, didn’t get it.

In the middle of the day I was informed that I’d recently asked the second stupidest question of all time.

Staid retribution, triumphal delirium, accosting the trapped.

Getting back in touch without seeing anyone.

Natural snacks are ruining their marriage.

In the womb: identical twins.

They nudged each other suggestively.

Seeing instead past personality aspects projected as tone onto brief electronic messages.

I was mugged by the kind of guy who wanted to explain it away while plotting for more.

Results may vary.

The spatter of human blood in representation, a cultural reference designed to make me feel knowing and possibly laugh.

When you said I do, oh, I don’t think you’re you.

She claimed to regret the episode’s lack of cheesy closure.

Basic psychology is one of my sub-routines.

Velveteen steamer’s total value, storewide sting volleys, romp dump crossword hack avoiding letters, an army of drones “chanting it means a lot,” laying waste to all around.

Now resolution sidles up to me, now it weakens as case.

He’s concentrating on the shoe issue.

I’ll set up shop between the depths to eat at our core reserve.

She hugs the floor without command.

I have a so-called volcanic temper that is largely self-directed.

To canteen by shysterville, to ergonomic two’s styrofoam glint, to bathe in the warm dark, to spite a weak devotion to mind.

The thing is I do hear the pauses and don’t hear the silences.

He sang of being in touch with the ground but I didn’t believe him.

Making lists of shit to keep track of shit when not directly handling shit.

It never occurred to her she could make a living working the day shift.

Reduce its access, cut down its ranks, demean its purpose, write its stories, fade it into your mass self-image.