In between phone calls from desperate insomniacs in the american night where children starve on christmass day, I been typing away in my sleep. Sick people calling for miracles cures, my best call from an old man hes born on april seventh nineteen hundred and twenyt one, he wants to enter his name in the drawing for a free powered wheel chair, I can hear the defeat in his voice he can hardly utter the word wheel chair. I give him a hand, I call it a something else, the model m-20 powered chair, his tone improves, he can't remember his phone number. I cheerfully say "not a problem" lets go without and see what happens. We end the call on a positive note. More hip old old women then men call in, I suppose old women more important to the survival of our species than old old men. All is well, here comes my mindless somnombulant ramble from the last twou hours, storm coming through got to shut down. My huckleberry friend
Beat, artists and musicians and poets, and comprehension fails, aphasia settles in, words march across the screen on to nebulous meanings between the lines, being beat is next best thing to oblivion, listening for the sound of words echoing across the horizon around the world across the seas, and arrive on a beach near a desert in the near east, we settle down for the siege, the last days are here the believers believe, so they make their self full filling prophecies more bang for the buck, wonderful weapons western technologies return to the east, what is a military secrete do we ever arm ourselves with out arming our enemies, and love the sinner not the sin, the media the message, meanwhile you all speak of miles, and dizzy and byrd, I wouldn’t know, dead silence with your tunes but I know time, which is a melody, and I can hear it silently ticking, and illusion of life, a kid wanders alley ways littered with dead rats with maggots. The ship sails on, the band plays on, nearer my god to thee. Rapture my ass, doctor my seared lungs, it has come and gone, the meek have iheirited the earth, listen to the music, listen, listen. Silence the tappy tap of fingers on keys.in the focus of my field of visual sensation the computer screen in front of me fades in and out, micro bursts of sleep, like a truckers nightmare of falling asleep at the wheel, wake from narcoleptic moment it all becomes real, the sound of the engine the night passes at seventy miles and hour, the truck roars on with no mind in control, pretty much all this is now random firings of a semiconscious typist waiting expectantly for intention, does this mean anything, a trick of the light bouncing photons strike the retina, man I am sure glad I don’t have to read this shit, all I got to do is keep my nose from hitting the keyboard, the night passes any moment the phone will ring and startle me. She had another daughter, I thought I saw her once maybe twenty years ago hitch hiking near Phar Left Texas. Atascadero the kid is cranky, we vie for her mother’s attention whinny kid gets on my nerves, I yell scream at her to shut up, she cries, I die inside. She is an adult now, what does she remember about me. Plenty I bet, did her grandmother go to her grave cursing my name. She dances for her father in her underwear, I am annoyed, what’s the matter, thunder a storm is calling I have head phones, maybe lightning will strike and burn a whole through this brain of mine. She doing a dance of childhood innocence, why did it bother me. Why because that kid could see right through me. I dare you to make sense of that. Let me explain realtime I am waiting for another jphone call in dream time I am thinking of a living room in Wheaton Maryland thirty three years ago. Done all I got to do is post this, the last post I remember was dp and mine, where is the jam now, in anyway does this relate.