Of Often—

last night i stopped believing Sartre, hell and other people, that way laid shit from before, hell is not other than other people other hell for sod, hell is other people according, other hell—he’s wrong is something i kept repeating around dawn waiting to make love to the fog—i’ve a hell in my pants just hell bent on heading out into the west—

still back to thinking short shrift supper time now—its hell to find a meal in this town, deftly anyone can’t pour soup like my fish—i find the most sentient being between the hours of two and six in the morning—i still don’t believe him—

sitting with the rifle across my lap i light the cigarette and place it squarely in the pearl tipped eight inch cigarette holder i bought at the thrift store—hunter used one of these i think to myself taking a bead on the owner of the pawn shop who sold it to me, he used one,--something like bang now breaks the traffic and rudiment of so many foam lattes whipped into importance—so many broken something or others might i be thanked for taking matters into my own hands —

this is a all a form of disbelief—this is all a form of disbelief—this is all a form of disbelief—this is all formed to disbelieve—this disbelieving forms all—this belief frames us---all forms of disbelief entertain—this isn’t believing the same as disbelief---this different belief is disturbing---this is not what i believe---this isn’t about believing—form me a statement on belief(500wordsorso)—forget about belief---they believed that wife beaters went well with pastel sport coats in the 80s—i’ve never played a lawyer on TV—do you believe in forgetting?—phallic beliefs get me good—first things first lets crack open his belief---what we’ve found true in most case are support structures surrounding the art of disbelief—and then Bob sings about his beliefs: you can fool some people sometime, but you can’t fool all the people all the time and now i see the light—you’ll die if you stand up for your beliefs—different thing making people feel guilty for believing this and that and this or that—not really a matter of choosing between this and that when there’s still this matter of other—there’s still this salty taste in my mouth---you silly rabbit, beliefs are for kids—the monsignor tried to make me believe it was pretend—tra la-la-la-la la-la—hit ‘em where they hurt if they don’t believe—i believe the children are the future, entrenched and well and without choice—i’ve decided that the new black this winter will be all white beliefs—withered now and soon to crumble—where’s the belief?—people are a strange lot, is there commission for this sale?—intangibles generate countless human cycles—where you don’t need proof, you’ll find a kind of resilience—Darwin didn’t disprove himself by admitting he believed just before he died—

hand’s own matters taking and thanked might i be other to something broken—so many times at the corner store being whipped by less than one foam rudiment and traffic breaks bang like something—one used him, sold it to me, one pawn shop owner (7 dinners for 7 boys for 7 meals and 7 bottles of wine seven’d out), the bead takes me to these things i think hunter once said—i smoked out the older and replaced the ash that had fallen from my burning cigarette tipped with mother-of-perl’d homesickness, i gather smoke to myself—

quotes revolve and door way— quotes and door

not to make this thing complicated—not to use the same bag of tricks—she reaches for me against my best concerns—grabs a hold of that thing she’s been eyeballing from across the bed through a cloud of smoke we shared before we got down to sharing—i ask her why she grabs it and hold it and if she really likes hand holding this way—she says she doesn’t know but squeezes just a little bit tighter all the time asking me if i like pressure—sure i do—can you say you’ve ever seen such a fine specimen—i conceded to never having often seen such things as attached to her—and then it hits me that she’s not there for the hell of it—this sort of being there—she’s never been there—and i’m not there—and what is more—maybe my dick fell off somewhere between here and there—gone limp thinking about other people—makes me want to make you more than me baby—makes me want you—more than—other—me—you—more often—you—