''...nothing in particular"

[bennie2]

with a lip in your head and a tongue in the gravel and a sore waste of time in the mud slinging dirt for fun in unused sterile homes with packaging intact and covered-over couches and a black book with a white hand clasping it and gold words and gold leaf and vacant stares and prepackaged truths fit to burst with questions and lies and the decaffeinated birds pecking at apples still growing on trees and dogs still learning to bark with frozen over eyes and the pond that bubbles and throws off the sweet smell of butane and meaningless gravestones lie next to railway tracks, tracks the colour of rust, trying to mingle with the earth again
as if man played no part in the rape,
as if man played no part in the slicing,
as if man played no part in the digging,
as if man played no part in the gouging,
as if man played no part in the stripping,
as if man played no part in the laying over of the innocent dirt with iron - moulded - and drove spikes into the iron and fastened it down and all secrets hidden underneath where the grass slowly grew back, but not fully over, and trains whizz by... slowly at first but with electricity faster and the grass, too frightened, retreats, retreats into the hills where Zarathustra still sits in his cave dwelling with sky and earth animals and thoughts all alone and cut back to the future and there's wine in your glass, wine you don't even like the taste of but it was a gift so you drink it because there's no beer in the fridge and you've taken your vitamins because you're afraid of spots and want to be healthy even though cooking and eating is slowly a chore and the grey clouds, the grey clouds as though someone has turned the mirror to the wall... my palms are sweating now in this darkness (i turned off the fairy lights) and they're slipping off the wrist rest on this keyboard and there's a candle in a wine bottle that I used to light but now it's low and too close to this tft screen to risk lighting... small found object i found at the beach sitting next to the wine bottle candle stick but then a pause...did I take my sleeping pill? so I take another anyway... i'm probably just confused between vitamin and sleeping... i haven't worn my wrist watch since I got laid off... time seems less important when you have nowhere to go... he's a real nowhere man sitting in his nowhere land making all his nowhere plans for nobody doesn't have a point of view lives inside a blind man's shoe taking all the dirt to sew his medicine... you know the dry taste of old wine that you get in your mouth... the sticky corners of your lips smack and you run the sweetness with your pointed tongue and you look back up at the alter and all the words are appearing and you know the delete button is a pinkie stretch away and the pinkies never won anyway and even if they did we'd still have nothing to show, we worker bees with our stings in clingfilm. bees die when they sting you. that always made me sad. i was stung once as a boy. through my shoe. i was playing football. i've always been sort of lazy and would much rather "chill" than chase a ball... so I decided to sit and face the flowers with my back to my friends. let them sweat and run, i thought. I'm not joining the army. all that sand? so the flowers and the bees. i like bees so long as i can see them. and one stung me. on my right hand toe. through my right hand shoe. my left hand swooped down to grab and pull. i had a hole in that shoe and the bee found it... maybe digging subconscious holes in the dirt with my toes in my shoes irritated this one suicidal bee. he put his life on the line to defend the dirt from my toes... and now he's dead. that always made me sad... i cried a lot at beauty, even as a child. i'm the only person i know who will cry at the simpsons when there's a moment of sweetness or tenderness between bart and lisa or marge and homer... and don't even get me star diddly arted on the episode where they all chipped in and built ned a new house... lousy beatniks... i haven't read trainspotting but i've watched the film a few times and one of my favourite things from the film is that the narator (renton) reads out the ellipsis... dot, dot, dot... whenever I write like this one thing always bothers me... not punctuation, clearly I don't bother with that convention - not properly anyway. electricity. what if there happened to be a power cut right now. what if my pc decided to quit on me. finally? what if i got another of those twitches and yanked the socket from the wall? lost it all? it's hardly the unabridged Ulysses, but hey, it's all I've got and I'll write it... it's my unpublished verse and I'll write if I want to... but now I've lost the thread, so I'm stopping.

[stilltrucking]

Slippery silicon documents that crash and burn at the click of a mouse.
yabyum wrote one that I must have read a dozen times, I remember it was to firecracker on litkicks,
it was an amazing poem, I never could find it again.
I kept asking him to repost it
He said he never saved a copy
everything he wrote on litkicks was spontaneous he said.

I saved a copy of this one to my hard drive bennie
I don't know why I like reading about nothing in particular
but I do.

thanks for writing.

The old news reels from world war one always brought tears to my eyes, and I would be embarassed for any one to see them.

the miracles are in the mundane details of my daily life, I miss so many of them because I am too busy trying to figure out why I am trying so hard to be happy.

I hope you got some unemployment insurace coming. It was a life saver for me a couple of times when I was out of work for a while.

[Arcadia]

great, bennie!!! Once I sat on an avispa in a swimming pool border (no idea the name for that in english). I guess they are smarter.