Vitriol Ya'll Peeps

People are scary, boring, humiliating, exhausting, fascinating and I want nothing to do with them.  
This from the guy who can't make phone calls without freaking out.  Yes you heard me right.  Hello?  Hello?  June Bay 850 please.

  Speaking as a 59 year old man who is not a virgin, I say, check your bird resume and submit your references at the bore.  Champagne and cigars for lunch, I say. 
Let's all go to the lobby and get ourselves some snark, people. (Shark people?) No, People please.  

Stop.  espp. americans, at the PTA meeting. Their industriousness, their infernal humility (not even making a show of modesty to highlight wit either, gah!), their schoolmarmish sincerity, their earnest interest in you, their clichés falling like clockwork — it can be tiring to be around, and that was before me 5 broken ribs and me lost teeths. I can't finish this story for you.  
My story can't help you.  
Honey comes from within, says the guru.  
I cannot stay where the people are.


Exercise the mind
exercise the body.
Exercise the heart.
Exercise the fear.

She said to manoever so he did and that's when she cried fowl foul. 
 It's a hell of a 21st century you've got here, guv.  Be a shame is sumfing should 'appen toit.
Girls in tanks.  Shack el'd men.
Create the road, erode the road, he rode da road, and that's when she cried f— that's where we came in.  
When we going home again? 

The clouds are massed together.  The birds tigers in the zoo warm their haunches en mass in a massive ceramic cave.  People are best left apart. 
their puzzling beliefs, late-at-night terrors and lady dreams, their backwards deals, their saran-wrapped lunchables.
Sack 'em, lads.
Nine kids in foster care and now going see a movie starring Liam Neeson. Purify your putrid soul in popcorn.  
Don't you scowl at me. Yarr.

  I am biting my lip in suspicion that all my expectations become resentments.
Do you know how much smoke and whiskey it takes to fill the void in my gut, because my dentist totally low-balled the estimate.

I have a good feeling that advocating for banana rights is the warrior move.
What precipice do rituals bridge? Deep ones. (Ha!) What precipitates come? (?) Recuse me, human.

  But listen serious now Paulo, I'm no a pessimist, nor grumbler.  Moody, yeah sure, but that's because I ware wear a bird masque that stifles my stoicism. Let emotion rain reign, I say, err, would say, if I let anyone alight into the room without ringing or knocking. Too bright. Don't knock it till you try it.  Done red is done right, says the guru.  

Beck baked a score of scones, Lot loosed a flock of goose.
Are you too also a wandering butterfly in search of that, wink wink, special something?
  What exactly is that special something you are looking for, wink wink —because I gots a coupon book for Hy-Vee.

  It's no good, my friend, the birds... The hopelessness of the Greyhound Bus Station downtown puts me in mind to scribble fake answers in the sudoku book. 
Who wants to join me in erecting public statues of this county's most famous streakers?  They're all approaching retirement age now, we ought to DO IT NOW before the world forgets.  Put up statues for the bird streaks! 
Sing, oh sneakered streaker angel, sing!


I think these thoughts while walking the whole night round and round the empty ball park fence, the empty strip mall, smoking hoarse, weeping—sobbing heaves actua lee—like a mad man I suppose. I bring me own madness, don't worry 'bout me.  Who needs the bonhomie other crazies, other normals, othersatall, whenone is enough.  Om manipadme hum.


And all in favor say ‘aye.’
All oposed?>




 “Here's cheers to twelve more beers!”
  - d m bird  m