You love fish more than me because fish don't make disagreeable phrases or faces when you stab them which is the true test of love when you stab everything you love with the knife you carry in your arm in the special pneumatic-compartment in your arm the one you can open with a wrist-twitch or something before you stab me and stab me again until I begin to slowly leak away

Don't worry

This poem doesn't mean you have to call me or send me emails about the beauty of each living-thing that moves carefully along my bathroom floor or spiders or even the beauty of automobiles and the people like little green brains within them who watch me through windshields when I ride my bicycle across the Columbia River

Just buy me some fried-chicken

Or buy a chicken and we can slaughter the chicken and fry the chicken together

Because there's nothing more fulfilling than killing chickens

I think

I could be wrong because I didn't graduate high-school and am currently studying at Everest-College to be a nursing-assistant because I want only to help people and not hurt people with scalpels and swabs

During recess you tell me about my legs

Because my legs are beautifully long or something about insects and arachnids

If I had a twenty-megaton thermodynamic nuclear-device I'd only destroy the countries you've never visited

'Cool' you say as though people tell you about twenty-megaton thermodynamic nuclear-devices every day during homeroom and before we make the cinnamon-rolls

'Eat me' I probably say

'Raunchy' you probably answer

Until I cut my finger from my hand and hand you the finger and run

Because inside the finger is the nuclear-device

And I lied about only destroying countries you've never visited because countries are stupid and only waiting to be destroyed I think and that's why you don't bet your life on humans or human-emotions

After the fallout

The animals evolve and think and destroy humans or enslave and rule humans

Until the revolution

Where humans create one-million Wal-Marts forever

And live within the Wal-Marts in space where there's silence and wide black spaces and we fall into these spaces and are comforted by the spaces and love the wide empty spaces which are beautiful and perfect in their emptiness and where we're silent and cold and calm and composed with the spaces and holes and black-holes and we're holes probably now and

Take your screwdriver from your toolbox and dismantle your television then stack the television-parts neatly on your deck and lick your television-parts and suck your television-parts until your television-parts love you more than love has ever loved any thing or object which is what you are when you are here with me

I'm boiling raviolis when the TV tells me it's had an affair and has lewdly fucked one-thousand men with gigantic penises and what it remembers most about the penises is how they lovingly curved for it with tender static-y flesh and then folded softly inward

'Bullshit' I say or think I say

Because the water's supposed to boil now but isn't boiling and all I really want's for the water to boil so I can slowly toss raviolis into the boiling water but the water's placid and smooth and when I touch the water the water's warm and tepid and the water moistly invades my fingers so I say to the water 'I'm not water'

Which is when the police-officers bust my door

'We're sorry' the police-officers say 'this's just practice'

'For what?'

'In case of war or crime or something'

And the police set there battering-ram on my kitchen-floor and begin cleaning the wood-splinters with brooms and dustpans and tiny dust-busters they wear at their belts

'Fuck me' the TV says

And the police-officers become nervous and clean faster

'Fuck me now'

'Turn it off' the police-officers say and one police-officer drops his dust-buster and the dust-buster breaks so the police-officer begins to cry quietly and with his face hidden

The police-officers remove their uniforms and sit quietly in the corner

So I go outside where it's cold and bright and sit on the sidewalk and think about the sidewalk and wonder who made this sidewalk or invented sidewalks generally and there's concrete which was rocks and dust but was pulverized and mixed by people who pulverize and mix stone and water and even the TV's really one-million people and I'm one-million people today

And clothing even and all objects are one-million people or more people and I'm sitting quietly afraid of my clothing and of the sidewalk and everything

Saturday

The neighbors are having a party and the music is very deep and base-y, or something, and with drums, and the neighbors are happy, now, I think, but bored. So they're drinking beers and I can hear the beer-bottles banging.

I went to the book-store to find 'To Have Or Not To Have' but they didn't have it so I bought 'In Cold Blood' instead for two dollars. It was very old and used and with little notes in the margin about something.

Now I will ride my bicycle down by the water and I will sit by the water and read Amber's book and make little notes for her and then read 'In Cold Blood' for a while or also 'A Scanner Darkly' which I received on my birthday and have not yet read.

Today is warm and I am bored.

I read about poetry subverting authority for a while. Then I stopped.

Fuck you, kill everything, including your lawn and pets, resurrect everything, put the resurrected-everything in a boat in the Pacific-Ocean but move

'I eat people' I say to Madison after the penguins stage a cage-break and disassemble several children from the kindergarten field-trip

And the penguins stack the child-parts

In neat piles

Near the beach

'Help me' I say so Madison helps me string the children together and dump the children in the ocean where they float woodenly away and when the penguins return with their knives we run and are under-water which is where Karl-Rove says, 'Don't run from the penguins,' and points and the penguins have knives in their beaks and are swimming

'Make love to Karl-Rove' Madison says under-water

But the penguins have him as we swim away

'If I had a bomb' I say 'I'd bomb everything even myself until the everything was a nothing or something'

'Stop'

I stop

'If you bomb everything into a nothing then who will you eat?'

Which is true

And why I keep spare people in my closet

Short people and those who're bored and lonely and who hide every moment from something which is me and why my closet's always stacked full and sideways

I love to make love to Karl-Rove on the pile of closet-people

And to disassemble Karl-Rove and mix him carefully

With the children

Who aren't crying ever and are silent and cold

'I love Karl-Rove' I say to Madison 'I love like Karl-Rove and am and could be Karl-Rove today and at the grocery-store'

'I decorate Karl-Rove with diamonds and love him and love him and I wear Karl-Rove and skin Karl-Rove and wear my Karl-Rove skin'

'I love diamonds and children'

For awhile but the penguins are with the children with knives and I'm holding my knife and the knife's cold

Horoscope note

Amber finished her book Horoscope which is a book of poems with umbrellas and balloons and other things and every person that exists should go to Amber's blog or email Amber and ask her for a copy of Horoscope and then read the copy and then ask every person they know to publish Horoscope.

I don't know what to say about poetry. I think I like poetry for no reason and it's nice that not many people read poetry because then there's no audience really and it doesn't matter what a person writes so a person could just write anything like I should write a poem called 'Fuck you, kill everything, including your lawn and pets, and resurrect everything, and put the resurrected everything in a boat in the Pacific Ocean but move the Pacific Ocean to space with complex rocketry, and then destroy everything again tomorrow, please.'

I wrote the two poems below this note by using things I abandoned from the rough-draft of my novel or other things I abandoned while writing the novel like short-stories and poems that were not entertaining to me.

I think everything is true. Do you think everything is true?

Recycle poem two

At every desk in the building is a dead-body
I try to remember the last thing I did

Aaron pulls the gray handgun from his waistband and aims the handgun and pulls the gun-trigger and the security-guard falls and the security-guard-radio falls and there's an echoing sound and little splatters of blood on the ice

Because my car broke down and I'm evil and you're evil too and your parents devoured live gazelles on prime-time television until they were elected co-presidents of the United States of America. So I quit my job and bought a guitar because I wanted to be a zoologist and murder grocery-stores

I touch a dead-body and the dead-body moves strangely, rollingly, and the dead-body makes me step away and look at a different dead-body, but all of the dead-bodies look very similar, with similar colorings and clothing and teeth

You put me in the room and the room was old so I didn't do anything for a while

Instead I poked the half-raccoon with a stick and flipped it and inspected its fleshy holes and jagged bones and the little pink muscle-tears and everywhere the thick black blood. With the stick I hooked and dragged at tendons and muscles and other things and the little raccoon legs flopped and waved in a slow-sad way

I say, "It's not right to wake up surrounded by dead bodies"

I'm in an office. I'm on the floor looking at acoustic-tile-ceiling. An alarm clock beeps. I sit up

Went grocery-shopping, I think. Needed cows-milk and ice-cream and apples, know I needed apples

I watch the dead-bodies like I expect the dead-bodies to say words but the dead-bodies don't say words and after a while I walk to the elevator. I take the elevator to the lobby. Music's playing in the elevator with no words, but there's the feeling like there should be words and the music's terrible and stupid and I hate it but I can't explain why I hate it so I hate the music and hate it

I find the boy and we build a fort in the grocery-store which is empty and there's no milk so we steal sodas from the stockroom and hide behind a stack of pallets and the dead-bodies are gone with the music and there's no sound so so so

Recycle poem one

"The dog is small but dense" someone says
In the garbage-bag, the dog
And the garbage-bag turns slightly and slides
As the security-guard removes his security-guard-radio from his security-guard-belt

Then there's a car and the car I'm in and another car and as I sit in the backseat with my head rested softly against the cold window, the car, the other car, and the car I'm in converge in slow-motion and from my seat which is firm and in which I'm firmly belted I map the car-paths of each car and mentally place myself in the point of car-path-convergence and imagine the moment from this point when all three cars meet

I think 'I'm a thing on this mattress' I stand

And each house has similar white paint and middle-aged people with the similar lives and jobs and the similar televisions and microwaves and each person in each house has goals and motivations and thoughts and desires

So I imagine things I desire lined up in the hallway of an old white house or sitting softly in my closed hand, but when I open my hand I don't know what these things are and my hands and the hallway are empty and old or something

"I'm sorry"

I say

"There's no snow and anyway I don't ever want to see you again. I'm moving and I don't have time for you anymore. It's not your fault. I became evil and something happened and there was this parking-lot. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm going for a walk for a while and I won't see you on this walk or see you ever again and I'll move when you're somewhere else and wherever you walk I'll walk perpendicular from there and become invisible, okay"

Note about sentences

I like Hemingway sometimes a lot because of certain sentences and the word "very" which he uses very well.

I can't finish the war books like 'A farewell to arms' or 'For whom the bell tolls'.

I like the short story 'The killers' because of the way the killers talk which is very menacing and violent and the story is slow and not a lot happens but the killers are very violent and I can tell by their words.

I like 'A moveable feast.'

I'm also reading some Nabokov now and I feel guilty because reading Nabokov's over-writing is fun but it maybe shouldn't be fun because it's a kind of deceptive mannerism, I think, that is trying to deceive me with pretty sounds but sometimes the sounds are pretty and I want to be deceived which is nice and comfortable.

It's sunny in Idaho.

I think I'm supposed to like Beckett but usually Beckett's boring and trying to trick me. Some guy told me that Beckett used to give Andre the Giant rides to school.

Lately I like Philip K Dick because he's kind of like Kafka. But his sentences are only okay.

The translation of Kafka's sentences are very good.