it bombed: .....

How about a fistfight? Real casual, after she finishes vacuuming in here. The goddamn buzzing is making me mad. She looks like she just got out of space and then she just got out of the gym and then she just came in here and started yelling. The place is already clean, you know. The place is already god-damn clean. We should just fistfight because, really, after all this time, I think I've slipped. No, I'll get back up, eventually, and re-order this power structure, to start looking like it should, away from this penetrating mold of shit that is coming at my face everyday at about ten billion miles an hour. I used to like to look at them, even when I wasn't thinking that I was looking at them. Now, I am just tired. They are all playing with the same rules and none of them is really playing by any rules that really make sense. I want to run a thousand miles an hour and burn my face on the outer ozone and then come back and say: See, that was space. Way up there, that was fucking space. You goddamn apes still don't get it. At least then I'd have a real burn on my face and when I walked around here, people would say, wow, there goes that man with the burn on his face because he touched heaven. Then recognition would be all about the warring and acting and I could live like a king knowing that I was something, even if I don't think that I want to care what they are thinking. Even if, really, I think I'm pleasing a bunch of goddamn apes who are thinking they are better at finding order and systems and patterns, better at looking at patterns and memorizing colors. No, its horseshit, they are all different color reds. Thats like saying all those people are white. They aren't really white. Some of them are, but not really. I could run one thousand miles an hour, you know.

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