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THE
RETARD NOTEBOOK _________________________________________________________________
You got bibles in your belt and a "Hell House" to prove it. Beware the dissenter in a black tshirt! Feelings of insignificance often lead to delusions of grandeur. Don't work for yourself, be the sacrificial scam. Defy the power and fry! I'm a ghost child, see right through me. This is the song I've been singing my whole life. So I'm kinda ugly, but I'm profound. Do you think your mother would approve? I wanna be the one to warm your heart. Oh boy, you look pretty from the back. It makes up for all you lack. Let's be romantic. Let's build a stained glass cathedral and pray to ourselves. Forget Huxley and his brothers. I'm the man, we're the gun, the world is a knife in our back. What never was can surely be -- beyond the window pain. It's open for the rain, a shower we take together right before the sacrifice. The calm before... XXXXXXXXX It's all a game, a fantasy. It's the result of our education. Books and papers and pencils are all dyed red with an everlasting liquid. We don't need any mutton on the side, instead we resort to fratricide. This is the naked truth. Dark sarcasm! How can they be surprised that we've destroyed all of it? Let's run away now, I'm ready to go... XXXXXXXXX Ok, so it's only a dream. But it could have been my life. If we can't f**k, then we kill. I go to Sunday school on every day but Sunday. How irresponsible of me. When will I ever learn? It doesn't matter, I'll never know myself, anyway. I say screw it and drink absinthe with Musset, whom I'll soon forget. In my teeth, I grind my sleep. A nightmare knows best. Kiss my dyslexic lips, please. Read between the nines, while I stand here like a Victorian mute. Why do I grieve so much? On the seventh day I detest! The "cult of the child" is a sad excuse for a lost culture. I'm so inarticulate, but I'm only nine years old. The sky scorns and blocks the sun. Am I the chosen one? Cry cry cry real tears. Nevermind the books, each one has a scar to represent it in real life. Grab your lunchbox, make sure it's metal, and skip breakfast. Replace the weird with a rolled eye. Synchronicity with repetitionXXXXX Don't worry dear, it's just a hiccup. You can breathe now. PS - NO! I saw
a clown's mouth divide. I was just a child, awkward, left to my own
defenses. This is not insanity. This is not insanity. This is not
insanity. I'm wide awake the more I speak. He'll make and he'll take
and he'll convince me that I am the "ism"...
I am the retard, a humiliated child with a rock in his head. Don't
keep me after lunch, I may not make it to Algebra. But God knows how
I love geomatria. I can design a house of hearts like the best postmodern
architect, though the fun part is the wrecking ball. Berlin was a
million shards of glass and then I went blank. No emotion is intelligent. (?) Stop for Abraxas, they kiss, and I melt. What a world, full of beauty and illusions. Life is great, really it is. Without it, you'd be dead. Like Robin. So maybe my face is laconic, I can't compete with genius. I'm in love with myself. I like the dark. I like it one way or another. I wait for it to get old so I'll like it better. XXXXXXXXX THE
GRANDFATHER PARADOX Forced
by necessity to feed from another's milk, he's beyond the pale shadows
of his idols. He's kinda awkward and he smells like sweat, but he's
perpetually dry. His inveterate face-fussing proves that he cares,
if not consciously then sub-. He likes to eat water and smell black.
He likes to change his name often. Last week he was Al Jolson, today
he is Macaulay Culkin, and tomorrow he'll be...? He's been struck
by lightning before, and ever since he's been sticking knives
into electrical sockets. He thinks he hears choirs of angels sing
every time he sees his reflection, which scares him. When he sees
fire, he crys. He hopes to be cloned someday. He can't spit far. XXXXXXXXX
How much selfloathing can I survive? They all stared at me, and I
was waiting to trip and fall. If they want inside my head, they have
to look at the stars and shed some blood. xxxxxxxxx Everyone looks
better on the other side of the window pain. It's ok when I'm beyond
the rain. Through
a keyhole I climb into a dimly lit room. I find an open book with
one typed word on the page: COMTE It's
other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people.
It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's
other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people.
It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's
other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people.
It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's
other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people.
It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's
other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people.
It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's
other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people.
It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's other people. It's me. It's
other people. It's me. I bury that and exhume this top hat to refamiliarize it. David is no exile, he just stands back for a better look. He's blind but he sees. He sees the narrow clob and the barbed wire and the pebbles in his shoes. I look but can't see. I cross the country in a zigzag but still can't find God... though I found a great artist and that's good enough. "The second coming of Christ requires more than softcore porn." I watch my mouth with two glass eyes, a pair of narcissistic spies. My vision is usually microscopic. I see the tip of a pin, but fail to make sense of more. Fragmented realities are likely to become a fantasy, with each shard of truth an invective. Shatter the glass, I pray. Climb out and run far far away. Alone with myself, my ego atrophies. But I want praise for the hell I put myself through. Unfortunately audiences aren't interested, no matter how many martyrs they've venerated for prudery. I stick a rusted stigma in my eye and all the groundlings demand stigmatas in my unwoven hands. Bless them as they kneel, for thou pain I feel. The artiface of ages Gilded, sadness all around. Suffer the poetry, modern music. High hat hokum: a polemic to poke 'em. I'm a better impressionist, so don't expect an exegesis; all easy to handle and ticket and buy. MY
GEEK LOVE IS GREEK LOVE. They all think I'm speaking in tongues,
but I'm just having an orgasm. If I lifted all seven veils would you
see? I spent my whole life trying to understand, but never considered
that perhaps that would not help me to be understood. Being vague
doesn't make me sacred or arcane. This is when I loathe myself. I
say screw this world, and sex, drugs, violence and blasphemy become
sugers in my teacup, served on a silver platter next to the putrefied
head of John the Baptist. "I
went to the animal fair, Quentin
Crisp, Oh Quentin Crisp, They're beating up the wrong guy! Wonder if they'll ever know. The workers are on strike again, time for a new putsch. I'm a minority, so I must be a joke. My baptism wasn't valid, but they brought me shit and gold anyway. Now that I'm older, it's time for the trap! Too bad the debraining machine is broken, because now I flog myself like a Christian in the thick of a big black death. "Knowledge comes with death's release." Sweet relief. They say you must be consisten to be anything at all. Well I might be too postmodern for that. My name is Charles. Would you like to touch my Hapsburg jaw? I come from the hills of West Virginia. My brother David knows Shelby Lee. Or wait... Am I from Spain? Maybe I don't know who I really am. Amnesia infinite! Everything all the time is nothing never. An idea, a blank. A SPADE, A PHALLUS, AN ALEMBIC, A BULB, A QUESTION MARK XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Boredom is a unique kind of suffering. Wilde said: To become a spectator of one's own life is to escape the suffering of life. It's a practice I've unwittingly adopted at the cost of becoming a rampant narcissist. When I sit down to write, I light a cigarette and a stick of incense. I wonder who will read what I've written and what they will think of it. But what have I said? The same thing I always say. The void, the void, the void. Boredom. If I had a sense of humor, I'd be writing a comedy. Really it's a tragedy. Because I'm alone. Shhh.
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Squirmin'
in the mud, it's retard boy<-- Dusty still, hot and bothered geek...
cross-mouthed, dyslexic lips. It's HARD sometimes. Smack him around,
trip him down, only violence will do. Tell him it's NOT abuse,
it's education. This is evolution, Lamarckian warfare of one
screwed-up ape. Shoot shoot shoot! Don't stutter, don't skip. When
he's dead everyone will spit on his grave in honor of his education.
But no kisses for all he's unlearned. 
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Waiter! One absomphe with granite, please! From the cafe, everyone
is ugly on the boulevard. Everyone wants a piece of the pie in the
sky, but not everyone is a genius. Water: How can you drink that?
Fish have f**ked in that. APPLESAUCE! Don't choke on your shoelace.
I have an abundance of common nonsense, it's not to everyone's taste.
XXXXXXXXX You've beguiled me with your arrogant cruelty. Force
me to matriculate, but remember that nothing you do will help me to
graduate. Maybe before I'm 29, I will validate. If not, I'll die with
the satisfying knowledge that your perverse eugenics will betray you
as well. 
If
a tree falls and no one is there to witness, does it really happen?
If I slit my wrists and no one watches, will I die? Celebrities are
the only people with an identity, so who am I? I am someone else.
I like to look out the window. The spectator is in space, so all the
world is a stage. Don't crusify the audience, we haven't suffered
enough yet. If space is infinite, the maelstrom is a loop. I deprave
myself to understand. He lost 5 years after he gained 15 minutes,
so why should anyone attempt to comprehend? (The assembly line is
dotted, but I can't cut it there.) XXXXXXXXX Abortions are discounted
today! My nerves are sensitive, so I'm pregnant all the time. "Damn,
I should have gone to your school." This proctor and that professional
need to find a confessional. Don't fret, I never forget. If only I
could get it, but I don't. It's a vain quest, but I still strive.
Am I good enough? Lucky enough to hold your hand? I'll run away and
later say I didn't want to kill the illusion. Let's just communicate
telepathically and burn the backstage pass. Sister man warns of brother
son, and I know I'm stuck in a lovely loop. It's been 5 years and
I remember it all. Nostalgia pulls a string and the top spins, makes
a worm hole fit for an angel. Diamonds and johnnies, flowers and fags.
I
feast on angels and insects, never the wiser. Peace, isolation, and
purity inside a big top hat. I'd sacrifice my mouth for any old illusion.
Fingers and toes are for those who want life. XXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxx