Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

verbal cream in the rationed coffee by typing up, quick as you can, without editing or counting, about 50 words of what you are thinking right now... this minute. doesn't have to make sense, doens't have to mean anything. No peaking or the sugar'll spill:

where's the kill when you need it, and why is it always so sikified and terrifying and whither shall i hope to go with no feet and no eyes, and cigarett burnt lips with a ribbon round my finger and a knack fo spelling out two words like love.

before i head upstairs to do the do and watch the shrek as in wreck ill sing ye a song to move the night along all about never done em wrong and am i pop in me thumb sugar coated bum.........

Whack the sponge gone daddy wig wig wigwam on a graham cracker boogaloo upside the head like a twinky in a pigpen on the bus to the lost caves of the undead uncles of the empire of rats failing to find the burning beaches of memory and insensitivity.

I see heaps of naked bodies everywhere,
entwined and gently swaying;
mounds,
little mountains of flesh,
stacked in natural harmony,
oozing vincents,
whispering love under the
sad agape trees,
hidden, guarded, stolen,
from the ear rattling invasion.
In the distance they looked like
weapons of mass construction.

are blind and trying to find ourselves through predisposed postings on the living room floor where once we fucked we'll fuck no more. I hope that we're all cau-ter-ized, and maybe then we'll breathe.

what else in new that is all i ever dew, my fingers think and my brain types and maybe one day it will make some sense, especailly if I keep my fingers on the home keys and my soul reaches out to me and never fucking occurs to me me more than fucking, it is funny how numb a body can become after twenty five years, but there is joy in the solitude of strangers and I think I am starting tomake too much sense, trying to to think with my spinal cord I been fixeng fixing typos unconsciously, because I get too intimtated by engleish majors
and here we go round the mulberry bush and I s wish I had a porsche again, going to spill guts and sail off into a sunset.
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second thoughts on spontaneous writting added later
and now i think it was contrived cleverness as i look at this an hour later all around the mulbery bush that is out of my vanity because I was thinking of a american pilot shot down over viet nam and being shown in a film clip around nineteen sixty five and there was a julie christie move that I can''t remember except that line comes to mind, and we all fell down, and the it has been almost forty years and for what?