199X: Nineteen Ninety-Ten

January through March

David Thomas Jarecki

199X: January through March

JANUARY 01, 199X

Twelve O’ Pulp I AM

The next hours of your life are about to become engulfed in bundles of enlightened minutes. Your altitude will adventure in the absolute encyclical duty through which I pray explain my ten second concepts but really don’t. The payoff is great—tangible translucent vision discussion for those above nocturnal daytime readiness willing to dissect the rationale via meaningless tales of wisdom emptiness. I’ve become systematic drudgery eminent in anarchistic neutrality—problematic. So I remedy this by thinking against the strain. Irrational with the trees I dwell in spontaneous future ancestry disallowed because it was not typed, outlined, or dated for profit scared sacred. This 199X portrait is today, today as in nothing is new because everything is what everything was old. Sometimes what was is something that is what eleven fifty-nine last year was, what it becomes never again—MIDNIGHT…midnight of nineteen ninety-ten forever before! Never again will this course concord time to become patterned full-force to initiate the pine in your backyard while laughing, sweeping the dawn with cordial fate, the big sky mind and lake for ten seconds at a time—nothing everything celebrations to fulfill the next hours of your life with full hollow creation living through the dawn of nineteen ninety-ten! JANUARY 07, 199X

The Gorilla Incident

It was a gorilla in my yard who informed me that it was friend of mine who put explosives in my car three weeks ago. I laughed because it was last week that my car was destroyed and an out of town Laundromat owner had confessed to the crime. The gorilla was a liar! So I tossed him a banana and shot him with my faith’s bow and arrow. The poor gorilla lay in my yard crying in agony until dawn. In my bed I twisted, turned, and even sobbed along with the ape throughout the course of the evening. When day came I brought him to the corner slushy store to use its ensemble first aid kit to patch him up. The gorilla died in the periodicals section and ambulances flooded the street instantly. I spent about three hours at the police station explaining the incident to the authorities. When I got home my answering machine sung a fetal year’s revelation informing me that a good high

school buddy of mine had just confessed to exploding my car and the Laundromat owner was his instant relative trying to protect him from going to jail for the crime. Apparently he planted the explosives three weeks ago and there was a dealer malfunction that delayed the explosion by two weeks. I cursed myself for not listening to the gorilla and shot myself in the foot with my faith’s bow and arrow. I would’ve committed suicide in an obscure manner but it was only a distant gorilla that I killed. I ended up in a local hospital and healed slowly—paying through my baboon ass for the doctor bill. JANUARY 18, 199X

Perhaps

Perhaps the word “perhaps” means no-thing. Perhaps. What, without my coaxing, would you say? Easy to have your own opinion. Close your vision formed from the form that was formed from the form and so on. Perhaps you should form your thoughts through individualcerebralism with no cue but from the centuries undiscovered! Wilt not ‘less thee bloom beforehand and when the forgotten continue to deplore the human search to find Evermore by using the method referred to as “the will to ignore what makes sense on every door.” Giggle man, giggle in church woman at work! Giggle everybody as you go where I am insane, insane with laughter, perhaps. Perhpahs, ha ha, perhaps perhaps. Perhaps, perhaps, perHaps PERHAPS! Ha ha..ha…. JANUARY 23, 199X

The Secret of Life

To go to the first second of this universe’s existence to understand everything is the easiest thing that one can do as a human being. In the morning take a walk through the nearest alleyway. Turn over each garbage can as you go, strip naked and hop in every family pool you come across. Don’t forget to grab some fruit from the garden display on your way out of the yard. In the afternoon, toss a Frisbee to a banker on his way to his BMW for a thirty minute lunch. If he curses you, run up to him and kiss him on the ear. If he catches it and decides to stick around then stay with him

and play. He is ready to be redeemed! In the evening, go to sleep content that you love yourself humble. JANUARY 27, 199X

Abomination Scribe

A lisp from my tongue made me lie about my jagged history. Now what do I do? Should I start living up to my foregone imitation of myself or should I reveal my alter ego truth. Wiggle is what I do, who I am and what I was. So maybe by lying I told the truth ‘cause I do what I do and that’s nothing new. What do you think about me writing my own Bible? FEBRUARY 14, 199X

She Knew Me Forever

In my favorite location for meditation (the nearest State Park) I found the catacombs of life and left my preconceptions back in my yet to be paid for automobile. The beautiful warmth of a woman found me in the brush, cross-legged. Her breath soft and sweet awoke me so we could internally meet platonic above the soothing flow of the river. She Zen master alive with eccentricity let me be who I was and was likewise interested in the rocks engraved by modern hieroglyphics. We never kissed, exchanged phone #s or revealed our names to each other’s definition perceptions. All of the one hundred and seven minutes we spent sleeping on the softest grass away from reality together. The moment was meant for that moment and that moment only. Its beginning and ending are frozen forever for my well being. All the theory philosophies we spread about the land of lands beneath skies beyond skies prays in my heart for infinite FEBRUARY 15, 199X

Comprehension Lesson

Dozer, bull dozer stampede from shoulder to shoulder in construction of a brand new carpet for the dime that its worth. Little temples are welcome to

me and the dollar amount of the world in contracts and livestock for charity. Tickle me pink, I’m a gopher on the prowl! “For what?” you ask. Maybe just a planet or a palm tree…a secret for my telepathy. So this means that I get what I want when I want what I want and you get no answer because comprehend, you cannot. And for the love of comprehension, why not? FEBRUARY 19, 199X

Razor Meditations Drifted

Bias. Its humanity’s incision to our flesh, the creation of conflict in belief before time grew enough grief to experience the joy of objectivity! The lives of my mind have collided many times over the past. Weather or not it changes anything about my internity is hard to tell. Tonight was no exception as I lay on my bed with a sack of corn chips and intentions of video rental indulgence. That is until I thought of the darkness of objects with multiple uses. I started visualizing smooth razors and their various uses and owners (the sane and insane ones). The model citizen uses them to remove unwanted fur while admiring the flesh that stretches across their bone structure to define them when they come face to face with their stankin’ mug reflector or respectable colleagues. The internal psycho juggles six or seven of them while overlooking the city atop the roof of their hotel only to later expose these metal toys to their wrists right beneath their sleeping relative’s noses. These collisions of character proposed quite an interesting research assignment for my mind as I opened a courtroom for a short trial of debatable magnitude inside my mentally crowded bedroom’s solitude. The first life file withdrawal told the story of a lost young dame of confused generational relationships. She couldn’t recognize the freedom of regulated clown dancing with the absence of obtuse razor accessories. You couldn’t blame her though, for she was misguidedly spunky in her actions and beliefs. This girl’s collection of miniature acorns and exuberant

E Pluribus Unums were on constant exhibit between the sleeves of her shirt. Confused about what generates confidence, she superficially manufactured additional insecurity for her already battered mentality. Her grand finale among hosts of friendly spiders and venom spewing colts were the key relation of her story to my collision of thoughts. She was a ballerina for cement truck drivers despite all the drunken poker games that she attended that were held as charity events by her Church to raise money to buy the holy water that they intended on blessing her with. At first she paid for it with her mind, then her heart and finally her soul. To the universe, her story is nothing more than your average, oddly defensive conservative testimony. (“So some young bitch went psycho and slit her wrists? It happens all the time and why should we give a fuck!”) That’s not right. Everyone is crazy. It’s just a matter of how well your mind is equipped to overcome this inbred insanity. Some people have it and some people don’t and how dare anyone be so belligerent as to condemn those who are not as gifted as they! Before I could blink my “philanthropist” friend became the paid witness for the prosecution. In my (this) book his credibility was debatable before he was dropped down onto this chemical planet because harmonious gardeners and non-conformist dreamers were born to be his employees and a high court of priestesses were foretold to perform his kitchen and bedroom chores for him. Though this should’ve negated his testimony automatically, I gave his file a good look anyway. Oh the Philanthropist........................ He forces his musical lawn mowers to cry out against the use of hair spray due to its defiance of nature while he removes his facial coat with electric razors. He then spreads around the opinion that smooth-edged jugglers are nothing more than sorrow beggars. “Life is Great....’tis a sin to take it from yourself!!” He claims this as he welcomes the suicidal to death because he makes millions from the very church sponsored fund raisers

filled with evil times blanketed by self righteous messages of charity! I don’t care that the “Philanthropist” was just catering to his survival of the fittest fat bank urges when he pumped corrupted blood through the arteries of his community which in turn confused, corrupted and ultimately imploded the cerebellum of my lost young female friend! I honestly don’t care about how the philanthropist played his role in how that horror came about. What makes me sick with tears is when he uses his similar razor on public podiums to display his “sympathy” and then turns right around and double talks his way right into denouncing the memory of a lost soul that lost faith when she sought help from his charitable charade. He stands above her grave in a victory dance that is so hilariously unseen right before our eyes that I wouldn’t feel as if I were wasting a second if I were to spend every minute of the remainder of my life laughing at our trance. HE’S DEMEANING THE MURDERS THAT HE CONSPIRES AND WE ALLOW HIM TO BE THE LEADER OF OUR DESIRES!!!! Don’t you ever wonder why he acts like he cares with such authority? He gets constant pats on the back and donations of hoes and pillows because of his clean teeth and groomed background! And since he wears collegiate suits, his book would’ve been an instant best seller without his opinion that sorrow dwellers are content to live within the depression of evacuated cellars! To the universe, he has a credible motive. Only because everyone that hangs around this planet is so collectively crazy that we label things which are so unbelievably sane more psychotic than some of our most daftly accepted consciousness. This allows the psychotic to create a sanity which mesmerizes the consciousness of the collective to daftly accept questionable advances. That is why I won’t let myself become fooled by his over-informed ignorance—a.k.a. his testimony. All arguments aside, the essence of the two files I pulled on tonight’s case overcame the meaning of what I started thinking about.

I had wandered off. I’m not worried though. Tomorrow, my age will take care of this flaw. My youth is the most plausible excuse at hand for my wandered thought. My psychological remedy for this personal razor would be the resurrection of television. A few minutes later I unexpectedly ran out of corn chips. So I jumped into sleep, forgetting my plans to watch “Citizen Kane” followed up by a Dr. Kevorkian news update. That’s fine because tomorrow, I’ll still have a VCR and the ambition to finish what I had started. I’ll become updated on current events and get another video store membership. Maybe then I can clean up after my own thought collisions and create a hill that my beloved sled can travel down in one direction—driving out my confusion fueled by contradictions solved and overseen by a judge that can fairly analyze the files before him with the utmost discretion. I can do it! I can do all of this without razors and find the information contained in the misunderstood psychopathy—the difference between the fallacies that transform lunacy into accepted reality. I vow that I will attain humble neutrality before the end of my mortality.

FEBRUARY 21, 199X

Meeting Pappy on a Prayer

Crude betrayals and shrewd resistance commence quite coolly. Gut he who boasts to be intelligent in the hidden deception of his own design within the text of the above written line. Global floods might flow the current to avoid it. But God’s complexity is intuitively legitimate despite sophomoric speculation. Incredible? Blur your race with me and become a simple human, value is not the half of it.

Insisting on fertility? Too many generations have been there and done that. Let’s give orphans a chance…at least two dozen. Hurling between the fault line and the ozone layer should be your first clue as to our true purpose to refresh losers in defeat and help winners regret in victory, develop moments and let moments develop, don’t forget whomb you came from, and die truly unbeatable with all your bluffs upon the table. Give thee your mother legitimate proponents that she’s proud to claim, claim a junky’s garbage can toss aways, take self-portraits that lack superimposition and God will give you noogies on your head with His knuckles, shake you with His palm and bounce you on His lap like your Pappy from the past when you get to Heaven! At that point you can tug on his beard in childish admiration. FEBRUARY 28, 199X

Windy Business

There is a windy city to which I traveled to buy some ear cleaners. When they informed me that they were out of them as well as cold medicine I threw a fit as well as the old lady who was waiting behind me in line. They arrested me for disturbance of the pace and assault of the elderly, giving me only one-half of a roll of toilet paper for the three days that I rotted in a jail cell. When I got out I decided to open up an ear swab, toilet paper and cold medicine store in the downtown area of Chicago. At first, I made a heap of dough and gave pounds of it to numerous charities like the Ike Eisenhower Remembrance Organization and the Dick Nixon Revision. After oodles of success, sales eventually dropped off and I sold the business to a neurotic astronomer who turned it into a lunar map shop and made gazillions. Too bad because I had some super sales and fuzzy cartoon character promotions planned for my business only three weeks before it went under. I’m not bitter, though.

MARCH 09, 199X

Palm Funday

I have had a wallpaper man named Solin as a close friend for years. He sometimes comes to my home and gives me free lessons on how to light my fireplace. In return I feed him some food--good food. Then we go out and get liquored up. Solin finds a beer slut and then retreats to a hotel room. I usually don’t hear from him (‘til his next visit) after we separate from the saloon. But yesterday he came back to my house the next morning and had breakfast with me. What a guy, I love Solin like a brother! March 17, 199X

Enter Ogle Knowrman

Slightly past the mid point of March I traveled to Brazil. I met a fellow weekend tourist named Ogle Knowrman who was filled with crunchy scorn within a levitated euphoria. I joined him. Later that evening we became magnificent mountain beer urinators! With doleful zest and mutual curiosity we decided to get arrested and check out the quality of Brazilian jail cells compared to our beloved cages back in the USSA. We got our asses kicked a few times in the process and it took us about three hours to get apprehended. The penitentiary quarters were nice and the lawyers were lovely. We got out two days later and decided to test the Brazilian legislation system. In one weekend Ogle and I got three bills turned into laws and failed on only one attempt. Sunday evening I hopped on my plane and came home, souvenirs of another land in hand. MARCH 19, 199X

Elmo’s Nugget

Love ya Marilyn Monroe—song and dance specialist activist. I have pet Pringles munch able for everyone—as do you. I will meet you on Elmo’s Nugget, an enchanted place where you do not have to scream aloud and become a threat to society to live a life that is (rejected as weird) super…naturally! Elmo doesn’t mind multiple visitors, spiritual or not. His

nugget is an inherited island surrounded by no ocean on no planet except the one you make in your mental privacy. Good ‘ol Elmo drafted a constitution back in ‘76 on hemp paper but forgot where he put it. So fuck it, let’s go and have an anarchistic good time! The one rule is that you must be true! In other words: NO MADONNABES. MARCH 22, 199X

Just my Thoughts

I hold them still as inert Earth un-harmful disease. Who can enter my mind to see these enigmas that I thought lacked existence? Do people have the sense of direction to find my Deuteronomy? No question answered will be forgiven by the supplier of information because this terrain is unfair like that. This makes one wonder if the wishing well is true though water does not cordially seem drawn from it. Either way, I set sail surf on its liquid presence that’s fatality is accompanied by a larger autopsy that requires a team of seaworthy surgeons and an arsenal of Esmeraldas. Coroner Pete never seen such cawhmplikashuns in this berry bush state! Maybe the fair psychic can explain. And maybe my ass can crush a window pane. MARCH 25, 199X

Yo Gigolo! (A Scandalous Description)

Yo gigolo! You want a scandalous description? The envy of simplicity circles around you and cannot penetrate your ego inscription perceived by those among you. Give me liberty or give me your phony corpse-like whimper. Hey Fonzie, the fifties are over and hippies smoked the clover, your mom’s a yuppie and freedom has died from over-exposure! Live and learn—that’s how fire burn and distinction is only fair weather. I could give an ounce about anything else but how things went because everything that happens now is empty in that it will die and everything that was is history discovered to enhance the future! Walk the streets of Dharmakerouac in the hands you were born equipped with the century sack and the fermented jack. With Japhy at the top I feel comfortable about fate and forgive the scandal directed at me. A description of this was inevitable so why must you insist on its creation? Read on, pimp.

MARCH 26, 199X

Beavernaut Asstronomy

There was this bulldog phantom studying beavernaut assstronomy on his hooter mission within my zombie interior. (Consider this an aftershock to all that I see.) Get me some (a magnifying glass?) binoculars! I can barely see the bulldog phantom within my dead bones. I just up and transformed into a hooter hunter in a sexual space shuttle. Give the dog some muff and quit breaking his every urge alive, now dead in everything that has life in it. He's only flaunting it because beavernauts study it. And that gives me probable paws. MARCH 27, 199X

Journey to Avalanche Valley

I disappeared, momentarily, from a tragic truck barreling miles down-hill towards Avalanche Valley (population: ten outcast gnomes visited by the usual occasional wanderer). I leaped out the back of the truck at 50 miles per hour, scraping almost every graph of flesh covering my almost Asiatic bones. I walked for three days to the nearest hospital and bought a bag of munchie crunchie sugar swivels and a bouquet of beautiful artificially scented happy flowers from the convenient gift shop. Then I strode home to my lovely new Lisa to cheer her up. She was suffering from Leukemia and along with the crunchies, the flowers gave her energy and brought her back to life so we could dance on the balcony of her apartment beneath the night, making love outside of her worries. This was much to the pleasure of peeping neighbors, much to the dismay of disgruntled viewers and extremely employing to the untalented police officers waiting for indecent exposure cases. Lisa died in her jail cell and when I got out I enlisted in Avalanche Valley (now population eleven) to become a gnome and live the remainder of my year as a sometimes sadist monk.

199X: Nineteen Ninety-Ten

April through June (Part 2 of 4)

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February 2009

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