a duke's nixie

"harmonica" frank floyd never played a harp, nor this, nor that - but he did play a duke's nixie, more or less - a little bit of rock n roll, a little bit of hillbilly, maybe some rockabilly - maybe some comedy, but in a deadpan falter that only lazy scholars from centuries to come would recognize - the rest, well, they didn't recognize, and they laughed

meanwhile, the self-styled acidic jew decided it was time for a cut - it was kosher, he decided, self-styled - not that that mattered - but it was anyway, it was that way, it was the way - the hair made it to the floor, severed - facial, follicle - the bald spot is young, it makes him yet more acerbic - he lowers himself through the manhole, parts the sewer waters to let the chuds through - pimps hold their tongues above - a window blows outward beside, a bedside crackpipe ground zero - new ways of copulation are being invented - and there's enough tin under the ground to justify a salvage operation

tin fucks grit, not gritty - pink powder, relatively pleasant in the cavities - michael albert used the word "odious" again, in telling an anti-capitalist anecdote the same way as the last seventy-seven lectures - stalin never dreamed of having power over workers, such that they would ask to go to the bathroom, albert says - i would say he dreamed bigger than that - in the neighborhood, you can hear len belzer interviewing a still living legend, who gets paid for holding a sign on forty second street, but he only endorses products that lead to a specific geographical location

he's a blade runner, he runs blades, and he gets paid when he works hard, which he rarely does, but sometimes, for whatever that's worth - some blades he keeps for himself, for the best dissection, the unconventional dissection, to remove organic gifts, fedex presents for the UNconvent, the sisterhood of satanic blond runaways - those girls interviewed in a guitarist's parents' bedroom eight years after sweet girlhood - one of the sisters said "what a freak-a"... a couple of them were briefly overcome with a response that was intended by the sign holder, something no digger could get to - not a freak-a, but a freak - and not a mutation, but a figure, no longer obscured in marble

there was a woman there, a self-styled woman - she's been indexed and cross-referenced in the surviving grey towers of brittanica, crumbled but in tact like the white man's projects, taxed and supported, institutional substitute for gaia, motherly substrate - she figured she could make something from words, certain words, but she never made anything of that figure

kelsey couldn't make it to the story, but the story made it work, made it to work and from work with only sixty car accidents, and two fatalities - a ratio that mirrored the nasdaq, an upswing

metabolites are ripe tonight but it won't do the hungry ghost any good - only provide a picture of personable purpose to a pack of jackals - there's a summer camp game played in the dead of winter: the winner is the one who can wander the furthest from the university and still hold on to his algebra - it's played by boys who will study trees when they move into the valley and become mid-level players in the ponzi scheme

i like the acidic jew because he likes me - but if he didn't like me, i'd still be required to like him - and if i wasn't required to like him, i still would - but in a moment of weakness, i would assert will, and choose to dislike him, and subsequently lose a little bit of respect, seeing him in an unflattering light, a dim set my mind can easily devise, following the waypoints of metabolites, iron filings

it's usually snickers - they don't satisfy on a conscious level, but i'd be worse off, and so would he - he hopes he's not getting political, how could he be, when he's getting into pabst? just kicking back and bullshitting - he could go on like this all day, and possibly long into the night, if the local super-walmart hasn't put his name on the sudafed red flag list yet - hapscomb sets the odds at fifty-fifty:

"fifty-fifty?" whines stuart, "what can you do with that? ain't no good for bettin'"

he be runnin' his mouth like a all-night bus - and the area waitress has a hell of a nice ass on her, he can tell you - i've heard all about it, and it's not a lie - helen keller would vouch for me - and i doubt she'd vouch for you, but i wouldn't hold it against her - you might, and i might cut you some slack