The human ashtray

Astray.
Almond drink. Real almond. Shared. Used the housemates milk.
No worries. Nobody will ever know. No stress, this is best. Creature of habit. Paradise lost. Illiterate and blind. Fruit fly. Born to die. No brains, no spine.
Commonly divine. Reflex. With each muscle a brain.
And here we are. Here we are in Ottawa. “I’m over it” I said.
Edouard looking at me with his creepy eyes.
Flushed below are his cheeks- to the bridge of his nose. Like some sort of sunglasses tan line.
Adrenaline kicks in. Stomach stretched.
music blurts. Maracas.

And the introduction to a standup show. With the etereal intro of vibing music. Ambient. Guitar, electric piano. Distorted sound. Patient and torn.
Changed in a swirl. Rising and falling away. Washing over you. Your eyes close as the audience and the recognition from the man in charge of his craft is as follows:

Hello all.
Self aware from start to finish.
And the critics would write “very amusing”.
To muse, and be interesting. to make you think, is what this person’s craft entails.
And so he would go on… after a brief pause.
-I was thinking recently, how strange it is, when you stand out… Stand out infront of people, a group or just an individual and you think to yourself: kinda quantify to yourself just how everyone else is crazy. So I tell you guys now, for safety and clapping’s sake. I AM FUNNY. but you don’t know it. And i’m only coming to terms with this myself. So don’t clap if you think a joke has happened. You have no fucking idea. No idea. I’ll tell you. I’ll laugh, you guys will just react accordingly. ok. Let that wash over you.
Like when you’ve in a group of people’s company and the conversation drys up. Isn’t that great. When there is a pause? Is it not? That’s a queer question. And aptly named a queery, buy someone, I think it was the “inventor” shall we say of gravity.
Not Albert Einstein. No. But the other guy. Adam. No standing, no sitting under a tree. For ten points.
-Isaac Newton? He’d say.
and I would point… ten times, 5 on each hand. POINT POINT POINT POINT ETC ETC.

And still I’d be thinking of the milk i’d borrowed and the interruption of this person upon my life and how I look and tight fitting clothes. Corrupt of me.
Almost broken and unhinged, sickly with desire. Which is strange for me. Out of my lowly window. Staring. Not quite agape or lolling. But noticing, surely.
that would be me. Yes. Attentive. There’s that double ‘T’
I’ve changed how I write my double T’s. But nobody really cares, and I don’t save much time. It’s just a style change.
Anyway as I was saying isn’t it great when you’re in a group and conversation dies. And then someone brings something up and you realize in that moment of CREATION.
The conversation. The vibration in that person’s neck that they THOUGHT THAT. And whether or not its politeness or curiousness, a statement, anything. Any one of those modes of conversing. They have chosen a direction. You could thank them, be surprised. The myriad of emotions, the cause and effect. And if you are affected. Your follow on thoughts from this. -are you even keeping pace?

Probably not. I hear a lot of people don’t. And those that do, well they wear themselves out and in turn don’t recall what the other person said most of the time, unless there is some sort of strong resonating emotion. Alas, sandy beaches.
So, what i’m trying to say. Isn’t it great sitting silently in a group of people.
And if someone says something, then you just stay quiet. Everyone stuck in a silent loop. Just thinking, but with company. Sharing eye contact. Smiles. Gremlin like.
Google eyes. Goggles off. Obvious. Thoughtful, devilish, unveiled, vile, true, smiling, watching, intense, poignant, impressive, animal, vermin, wanting, looking, lustful.
Like me out the window, silently watching people go by. If they look good to me I stare. What denotes them looking good?> I don’t for the life of me know.
Subconsious? maybe, maybe not? Maybe we’re not honest with ourselves.
I think i’m a liar. To myself. But when I play sport I’m honest with myself.
Honest and angry. Moving, and hating and wanting. And thats me. And I don’t want to focus on anything else. I have no alterior motives. Just angry energy, and a following eye. Smiling, evil, and destructive. But not untoward. Just and honest.
Finally the veil lifts. I my own corpse bride, lifting myself from the grave, only to dance in circle. Clutching myself in the shower. Scrubbing until red, but always disgusting. Mutilated, yet somehow accepted. Looked over.

Like a groom, cum mannequin. Each and every person, beguiled. Spellstruck, down turned smiles to follow the gravity of the situation. Pulled to their graves, matching their expression. Clones. Morbid, hive mind zombification of 4pm. The cold sinks in. Sloppy, washed out souls. Upon the open seas, arms outspread upon the whitewash surf. Pushed in towards the rocks. Brains to be dashed, smashed, crushed and wrecked. Their ships, vessels betorn. Born to be poked holes in and questioned. Caught in their world that is not their own. Phones out or wayward. Starfish, no survival backstroke, or be it facedown will save you or show you favour. Nor free you from your bubbling, bubblind demise. Self despised, plucked and bleeding eyes. Limbs boil, and the sea of acid destroys every living thing. Turning brown, to yellow to green and finally evaporating leaving naught but bones and the disouraging sign of a godless, eternity of something bigger and uncomprehending of what you might call suffering, but I willingly and gaily admitt to being a moment of self aware. Instead of the basic desire of tight clothes and their happening. The need to provide, sustain and relive. To delve inside another and preceed yourself with a mixture of them. Not that but a sight of yourself. Eyeballs hanging, red reflecting the coldness of the day and your fed middle. Spicy and sick. Gullet wobbelling and your advice ringing hollow. Torture yourself, the women and children. But for what? For want of what? What control.
Beyond that there is only the pointless. So if you haven’t stood up and left which- hehe. You could and maybe should have. Oh bittersweet digress is my end.
But I jest. But do I? Indeed.
Then I know. I know this matters to you, and I can tell you I find it particularly funny. Which is grand. Oh yeas, yes yes yes, grand. Grande. Like the upsize. To escalate. Quickly. Ascend to more. And more. Because that’s what we’ve grown to want. To ask for, desire. Predict and fight over. Because of the fear of one-day/. Something will come. But don’t worry. That hopefully will be you and you into mean, with mean to little ones. With plenty comes your worth and maybe that’s the best lot you can ask. But fate and the time and culture will pray and influence. Oh yes, yes sir. Sit, look up. Look to your wife. Put out your hands. Smack.
yes turkey.
A slap.
What else goes with cranberry sauce. What a mundane question.
man. Mun. Mundance. Allow your head to balance evenly at the top of your spine.
Experience the present moment. If you find your attention has wandered off. Bring it back. I know that sounds abstract but its not. Focus.
Smell this. Do you know what this is? It’s Cloves.
CLOVES children. You don’t know the smell. You don’t remember it all.
You certainly don’t know everything, or anything. Yet. So i’ll give you some time, to muse and amuse, and rebel and refuse. And fuse thought a light a fire. Tinder and twigs. And horses and tails and pianos and sticks. And hitting and wood. And erections and hands. And plans and flans. And pancakes and milk sugar eggs. At all.
it not going on at all. What is going on is above all transformation of mental states.
Gurp hurp hurp grup.
Excel, gum chew chew chew.
I know its tough but if what you’re doing is brilliant then what i’ve put in has got to be something, doesn’t it? It’s not on a scroll or ingained or carved. Its semi permanent at best. I must print. SCARF

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