10-28-2016, 04:47 AM
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Why does this glass haunt me?
Not only the glass but also what is in it.
I drink her.
Can you hear me?
The only light, where does it all come from?
Can you hear me?
Never listens.
Try my hardest not to.
Look at these hands.
Just look at them.
Very small.
Too small.
Wonder what this line means.
Looks a long one.
I took the bottle from the table and I filled up a glass.
The glass.
It wasn’t just some glass.
I’m sure there is no such thing.
No, wait a moment.
There is such a thing.
There must be.
So, I took the bottle and filled up the glass.
What was in the bottle?
I could see through the glass.
I could.
I saw straight through that glass.
That glass.
That.
Glass.
When it was filled up I couldn’t see through it anymore.
What was in the glass?
It used to be in the bottle.
But what used to be in the bottle?
What was in the glass.
Then.
In.
The.
Glass.
So what was in the bottle; now, that what was in the bottle was then in the glass.
My hands are so small.
Too small.
These are not the hands of a man.
These are little girls hands.
I could never punch anyone out.
My fingernails all bit down.
Just look at the mess I’ve made of these pretty little hands.
Dortmund and all its fundamentalism.
All it’s ichthyoid peoples resemble me.
I can clap my hands together.
Clap! The clap.
O, don’t mention things like that.
Income tax.
Did you ever hear of that?
Income tax.
It’s dark out there.
Do you know what dark is?
Look at it.
Think about it.
Do you see it?
Can you see it?
Of course you can.
I used to play golf back in the old days.
The days when old were the old days.
I always looked into that little hole where my ball would, most of the time, end up.
I looked into that hole and saw it all.
Saw it all at once.
I never wanted to come out of that hole and it lasted forever (Pause.
) until it stopped.
I stood on the tee just thinking about that hole.
O, my god, I just think of her hole.
The fairway was her neck or leg; the green, her mouth, her smile, her face.
Sometimes the tees were her face and sometimes the sky.
And right at the end, her hole.
I only remember it now.
I really try not to any more.
We keep saying any more.
I’m not normal, nor is she.
But she said that to me.
I’m not normal and then some clever sod says: “well, what is normal anyway.
” And then we say that’s the end of the matter.
We all feel better that normality exists as a subjective rather than an objective.
Why?
Why is that better?
It’s because it can be controlled.
It can be beaten down into insignificance.
Stepped on and trod on and squashed and made into something.
It helps, that’s why it’s better.
It helps.
Smelling a bit.
Didn’t notice before, but smelling a little bit.
I get used to it.
I wonder if I smell.
Me smelling some, ma.
Don’t much like being smelly.
Gots to get us a shower.
Water washes this smell right away.
If I do smell.
Can you smell me?
Do I smell?
What is smell anyway?
All these people.
I couldn’t punch anyone out.
Not with these small, stupid, little hands.
Not that I haven’t tried.
I’m always throwing them around.
I do need a shower.
Need to wash all this stink off.
I can’t be bothered.
What for?
Why should I?
Do you know what the best thing about life is?
Kung Fu!
original
Why does this glass haunt me? Not only the glass but also what is in it. I drink her. Can you hear me? The only light , where does it all come from? Can you hear me? Never listens. Try my hardest not to. Look at these hands. Just look at them. Very small. Too small. Wonder what this line means. Looks a long one. I took the bottle from the table and I filled up a glass. The glass. It wasn’t just some glass. I’m sure there is no such thing. No, wait a moment. There is such a thing. There must be. So, I took the bottle and filled up the glass. What was in the bottle? I could see through the glass. I could. I saw straight through that glass. That glass. That. Glass. When it was filled up I couldn’t see through it anymore. What was in the glass? It used to be in the bottle. But what used to be in the bottle? What was in the glass. Then. In. The. Glass. So what was in the bottle; now, that what was in the bottle was then in the glass. My hands are so small. Too small. These are not the hands of a man. These are little girls hands. I could never punch anyone out. My fingernails all bit down. Just look at the mess I’ve made of these pretty little hands. Dortmund and all its fundamentalism. All it’s ichthyoid peoples resemble me. I can clap my hands together. Clap! The clap. O, don’t mention things like that. Income tax. Did you ever hear of that? Income tax. It’s dark out there. Do you know what dark is? Look at it. Think about it. Do you see it? Can you see it? Of course you can. I used to play golf back in the old days. The days when old were the old days. I always looked into that little hole where my ball would, most of the time, end up. I looked into that hole and saw it all. Saw it all at once. I never wanted to come out of that hole and it lasted forever (Pause.) until it stopped. I stood on the tee just thinking about that hole. O, my god, I just think of her hole. The fairway was her neck or leg; the green, her mouth, her smile, her face. Sometimes the tees were her face and sometimes the sky. And right at the end, her hole. I only remember it now. I really try not to anymore. We keep saying anymore. I’m not normal, nor is she. But she said that to me. I’m not normal and then some clever sod says: “well, what is normal anyway.” And then we say that’s the end of the matter. We all feel better that normality exists as a subjective rather than an objective. Why? Why is that better? It’s because it can be controlled. It can be beaten down into insignificance. Stepped on and trod on and squashed and made into something. It helps, that’s why it’s better. It helps. Smelling a bit. Didn’t notice before, but smelling a little bit. I get used to it. I wonder if I smell. Me smelling some, ma. Don’t much like being smelly. Gots to get us a shower. Water washes this smell right away. If I do smell. Can you smell me? Do I smell? What is smell anyway? All these people. I couldn’t punch anyone out. Not with these small, stupid, little hands. Not that I haven’t tried. I’m always throwing them around. I do need a shower. Need to wash all this stink off. I can’t be bothered. What for? Why should I? Do you know what the best thing about life is? Kung Fu!
Why does this glass haunt me?
Not only the glass but also what is in it.
I drink her.
Can you hear me?
The only light, where does it all come from?
Can you hear me?
Never listens.
Try my hardest not to.
Look at these hands.
Just look at them.
Very small.
Too small.
Wonder what this line means.
Looks a long one.
I took the bottle from the table and I filled up a glass.
The glass.
It wasn’t just some glass.
I’m sure there is no such thing.
No, wait a moment.
There is such a thing.
There must be.
So, I took the bottle and filled up the glass.
What was in the bottle?
I could see through the glass.
I could.
I saw straight through that glass.
That glass.
That.
Glass.
When it was filled up I couldn’t see through it anymore.
What was in the glass?
It used to be in the bottle.
But what used to be in the bottle?
What was in the glass.
Then.
In.
The.
Glass.
So what was in the bottle; now, that what was in the bottle was then in the glass.
My hands are so small.
Too small.
These are not the hands of a man.
These are little girls hands.
I could never punch anyone out.
My fingernails all bit down.
Just look at the mess I’ve made of these pretty little hands.
Dortmund and all its fundamentalism.
All it’s ichthyoid peoples resemble me.
I can clap my hands together.
Clap! The clap.
O, don’t mention things like that.
Income tax.
Did you ever hear of that?
Income tax.
It’s dark out there.
Do you know what dark is?
Look at it.
Think about it.
Do you see it?
Can you see it?
Of course you can.
I used to play golf back in the old days.
The days when old were the old days.
I always looked into that little hole where my ball would, most of the time, end up.
I looked into that hole and saw it all.
Saw it all at once.
I never wanted to come out of that hole and it lasted forever (Pause.
) until it stopped.
I stood on the tee just thinking about that hole.
O, my god, I just think of her hole.
The fairway was her neck or leg; the green, her mouth, her smile, her face.
Sometimes the tees were her face and sometimes the sky.
And right at the end, her hole.
I only remember it now.
I really try not to any more.
We keep saying any more.
I’m not normal, nor is she.
But she said that to me.
I’m not normal and then some clever sod says: “well, what is normal anyway.
” And then we say that’s the end of the matter.
We all feel better that normality exists as a subjective rather than an objective.
Why?
Why is that better?
It’s because it can be controlled.
It can be beaten down into insignificance.
Stepped on and trod on and squashed and made into something.
It helps, that’s why it’s better.
It helps.
Smelling a bit.
Didn’t notice before, but smelling a little bit.
I get used to it.
I wonder if I smell.
Me smelling some, ma.
Don’t much like being smelly.
Gots to get us a shower.
Water washes this smell right away.
If I do smell.
Can you smell me?
Do I smell?
What is smell anyway?
All these people.
I couldn’t punch anyone out.
Not with these small, stupid, little hands.
Not that I haven’t tried.
I’m always throwing them around.
I do need a shower.
Need to wash all this stink off.
I can’t be bothered.
What for?
Why should I?
Do you know what the best thing about life is?
Kung Fu!
original
Why does this glass haunt me? Not only the glass but also what is in it. I drink her. Can you hear me? The only light , where does it all come from? Can you hear me? Never listens. Try my hardest not to. Look at these hands. Just look at them. Very small. Too small. Wonder what this line means. Looks a long one. I took the bottle from the table and I filled up a glass. The glass. It wasn’t just some glass. I’m sure there is no such thing. No, wait a moment. There is such a thing. There must be. So, I took the bottle and filled up the glass. What was in the bottle? I could see through the glass. I could. I saw straight through that glass. That glass. That. Glass. When it was filled up I couldn’t see through it anymore. What was in the glass? It used to be in the bottle. But what used to be in the bottle? What was in the glass. Then. In. The. Glass. So what was in the bottle; now, that what was in the bottle was then in the glass. My hands are so small. Too small. These are not the hands of a man. These are little girls hands. I could never punch anyone out. My fingernails all bit down. Just look at the mess I’ve made of these pretty little hands. Dortmund and all its fundamentalism. All it’s ichthyoid peoples resemble me. I can clap my hands together. Clap! The clap. O, don’t mention things like that. Income tax. Did you ever hear of that? Income tax. It’s dark out there. Do you know what dark is? Look at it. Think about it. Do you see it? Can you see it? Of course you can. I used to play golf back in the old days. The days when old were the old days. I always looked into that little hole where my ball would, most of the time, end up. I looked into that hole and saw it all. Saw it all at once. I never wanted to come out of that hole and it lasted forever (Pause.) until it stopped. I stood on the tee just thinking about that hole. O, my god, I just think of her hole. The fairway was her neck or leg; the green, her mouth, her smile, her face. Sometimes the tees were her face and sometimes the sky. And right at the end, her hole. I only remember it now. I really try not to anymore. We keep saying anymore. I’m not normal, nor is she. But she said that to me. I’m not normal and then some clever sod says: “well, what is normal anyway.” And then we say that’s the end of the matter. We all feel better that normality exists as a subjective rather than an objective. Why? Why is that better? It’s because it can be controlled. It can be beaten down into insignificance. Stepped on and trod on and squashed and made into something. It helps, that’s why it’s better. It helps. Smelling a bit. Didn’t notice before, but smelling a little bit. I get used to it. I wonder if I smell. Me smelling some, ma. Don’t much like being smelly. Gots to get us a shower. Water washes this smell right away. If I do smell. Can you smell me? Do I smell? What is smell anyway? All these people. I couldn’t punch anyone out. Not with these small, stupid, little hands. Not that I haven’t tried. I’m always throwing them around. I do need a shower. Need to wash all this stink off. I can’t be bothered. What for? Why should I? Do you know what the best thing about life is? Kung Fu!
