You †think You're Funny? I Do.
Iím a big funny underdrunk woman in a
big black straw hat.
†This is a line, Iím tossin it into the lake, babe.
You are too, come on, admit it,
you dig me, ok?
Let's trade shovels already, I need something new to beat my computer with.
See, goofin is not a question of ability or even perception, that comes next, after the
†Liberation is what happens when you allow
yourself a sense of humor.
you must know that, you're old, fat, what happened? Same thing that happened to all your other back-peddlin, bohemian-denying, newly insensible, monetized, avaricious but strangely laid-off dot.com bank billboards.
You gave up.
†begins, I repeat myself: what happened? Invisible, that's you, un-bleedin disgrace, invisible, soured and disempowered, plenty of time for that shit after you're gong, meanwhile lots of stuff can use some funny underdrunk drag queens kickin shit over
I been askin questions in Austin, Texas. Remindin the police that Janis Joplin once lived here, at least they had the balls to be ashamed of themselves, things worked out well for me that time, but the sad fact of the matter is you people could be the whole problem,
†to whatever's wrong with me. How do you know
Iím not what's wrong with you?
Feelin romantic, loner? Aren't you tired of being lone hungry wolf, you know you're always the smartest person in every room
you walk into
(empty house, works every time)
where's the arrogance?
†Hostility, self-pity, whining, bullshit, bad sex, her fault, internet (your mirror), we were kids once, lets go back, waste all the teevee time we have left to make no difference whatsoever.
†We stay together, this is enough.
Otherwise: come on over everyone, big funeral party on my front lawn tonight, thanks, cry real hard now, this is no way to go out; haldol-shufflin bathos, come on, skip along, sure we are lost,
†but they are the void,
†not at fault!
† must be my fault
my fault, not my fault,
excuse me, where's the drugs?
here's the good people:
†You know how I am livin, I know how you are livin;
†blood in the bathroom sink, Bob Dylan abdication, isolation, solitary benders, sanitarium, pining for Bukowski, uh-oh, Bukowski: crematorium. Every time you step out the door walk straight into open-air American psych ward, is it fucked up enough yet? Hey really, someone's bound
to show up tomorrow to take care of us.
†Robert Downey Jr. template, cool!
Yo, we are someone!
There is much to come, and I will do it alone, on mission see, don't mind dyin, so whatever it takes no more funerals on my front lawn. By the way, does anyone remember I am a girl? Thanks, sorry,
We now stop blaming ourselves. Our psychiatric diagnoses are insults.
Sticks and stones may break their bones, really.
We have wreckers who fix us, how's that for a
pair a docs, professor?
†All that's missin: one and only proper perspective,
But, too many friends are dead or missin, must be my fault, hang head in abject servility, 6 psych labels, must be piece of shit, sorry, please be civil, the nurse said so: all these other patients are suffering too but you're the only one makin
†(awareness junkie-desperate- get used to it)
please be civil, please behave, please hurry up and go to sleep now.
We are on our own, but didn't know it. Now we do.
Good news: we have what we need.
this is the fun part,
All right, enough, let's switch gears now, come back to this later, we'll test each other, Iíll make you feel bad, wait til you see what happens when I get my period, that's when you open troublewaits and then do this:
Come back in four days, ok?
Meanwhile have fun and stand up: why not create a stunningly unforgettable sophisticated mindfuck of a persona and quote Oscar Wilde to the people who hanged him in the first place? Ridicule is top weapon in pretend it doesn't exist and maybe she will disappear (we tried that, remember?) American tribal cultural battle and you sir, do not have to be fallin down drunk to be tragic-comic figure of epic proportions,
out of their reach.
Come on psychopharmacological generation, do we not represent the times we live in pretty fuckin well,
†good morning heartache-scholars, let's give you what you want, let's all hold hands and speed up the historical process, we're here now motherfuckers, we have a moratorium on all but empty caskets, study us now or
we study you,
either way it's our terms or silver bullets all around.
This is what you get when you mess with us!!!!
(God Loves His Children.)
†Imagine the possibilites when all my stoic friends regain their sense of humor,
it is anti-social, frowned upon, very bad element,
vacations in Amsterdam, but website imagination is
serves Lotties lice krispies for breakfast, served up by scorn flake, hey, what? Don't look at
†no, no never never ever look at me, hithcin up my skirt,
Being kooky funny un-apologetic insane is so much fun, you are missing it!!!
Too bad the mundanes are not. They know you are saying stuff they are too witless to get, and since they have so much more money than you ever will this seems very wrong, somehow, second thing they get: if you see things that make you double over with laughter, you might see something in them too, and double over with laughter again.
I don't see the problem, do you?
Are we supposed to
who we are for the sake of
†Why not put upon instead huh,
big black straw hats create
intrusive (???????) arousal
in the good people, she looks expectantly for the slightest fuckin sign of assimilation, laughing uproariously when they don't get the
joke, they are the joke, vile, don't lets be lost
like them, we are the virtued, you, me, us, truly godly sacred community for an unbelieving world.
I work with Alzheimer's patients, they have taught me to cling to the absurdity inherent in every bad thing. Alzheimerís is the devil on the planet, is not fun for senior citizens, they grew up squares, were straight shooters, played by the rules, then very slowly, and, horribly slowly, they lose their minds, knowing all along that something's happening here, but they don't know what it is, do you Mr. Jones?
No one will tell them what is happening
to them, why ???!!!???
Social Violation: 75 year old woman.
She is pure poetics.
Raises 3 kids on her own and is now wandering standing up and rummaging thru drawers, doesn't know why, everyone says: sit down, why are you in the cabinets again, why are you getting up again, you just sat down, don't make me take the remote away, don't make me lock the cabinets, don't make me call social researcher Mr. Jones, he will say this:
fuckin loonies, do whatever you want, they're gongo, don't know what's goin on,
researcher too goddamn clueless to gain trust of a single Alzheimer's victim, assumes: well fuck, must mean there's nothin in there, do we knock on his door, or blow it off the hinges?
Fuckin expensive restaurafnt family celebration including dear old demented Dad, why don't we call him Dr. Bomb, ok, atomosphre reeking of decorum, dr-bomb grabs handful of mashed potatoes and spreads them on his face, picks up butter knife and starts shaving.
You know who laughs at this? Social researcher Mr. Jones humorless imbeciles who need contextualization of every unfamiliar experience or they laugh like baboons, they have no sense of humor, humor is a skill, not a senseless compulsion- sense, sensibility, feel, sensitivity, come on, sentinence, see? See?! †How can they see, they'd have to be alive first; am I pissed, are we set? Fuck off, I live by example now, all set for every absurdity, hey hey no prob dr.bomb, I just picked up a brand new razor for you today, why don't we go to the restroom and give it a test-drive?
(Don't worry about restroom or shaver or nothin, he has 8 second attention span, fuckin sad but convenient)
just clean him up, rub his back, rub, don't pat, now make eye contact and ask an intelligent question about his childhood, the one thing no one, including dr. bombs ever forget. Do this, we help same world what calls us useless eaters,
ha ha ha ha ha ha
vicious, you hit me with a snore-
Copyright 2002 Robin Plan and troublewaits.com.† All rights reserved.