Calumny of the soul. Crudities of a whore-night. Curious cat. Filched canary from gilded cage. The bell tolls three. Dance, local yokel. Woolly eyes, blanket stares on hybrid highway of melding rubies and yellowed tar. Calamity to the whore spirit. Ethereal doubts, guilt, wishes, hopes, on hairpin turn. Hark, a telegram!! Charles Bukowski of Ghost Past:
ASSISTANCE NEEDED.STOP.STUCK IN BUTT CRACK OF B.H.ASS. STOP.
Aid to be rendered says plastic statue on dashboard rung: "Tortelli to Chinanski, alter-ego we'll be. Smoky fighter of ghost imperil"
cul de sac
1 month ago
1 comment:
SC,
your on a roll. Some kind of Kerouacian stream of thought that throws out of you onto a newspaper roll hung on a paper towel holder above your type-writer. I can't keep up with these generous posts. The last one had me audibly chuckling in my office chair. These visions of a glistening, well-massaged B.H.A$$! Somewhere between pleasure and pain?
HP
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