Running Bit
by Mark Amerika

 
 

In special cases, when things suddenly change and you realize that the erotic gum that chews you to death is not your own, that you would not be a spoken-word poet or an always-on-call transhistorical plumber, that should the gas pumps leak their petrol sperm onto her fingers, that you would kiss them and light your mouth on fire, self-immolating arsonist loverman, knowing all along that this was it, the last chance to make sense, someone had to do it, someone had to do it quick or the entire nation would further subdivide and kill itself (this is what we learn in high school), suicidal tendencies, DOOM prodigies compuserving America, online, while facilitating their need, their need to need, those who never seem to fold up and die, out of necessity, the tribe of mutually configured robotic brethren who look like you and talk like you and even crave some mutant form of Otherness like you, you who continue dallying in forms that never really function with any true purpose except to marginalize the mainstream, the mainstream of what's happening in your head as you watch TV and impeach the creep living inside you, so that it (the mainstream: the creep living inside you) flips out on itself, in on itself, the itself inning and outing and then the marketing pitch, the battered swing, the endless web-page hits, the first base of operations, the double play of initializing a unique soft application while sliding into the third reichian orgasm in two weeks, a triple zero debt run afoul yet somehow celebrated with trickle-down parades and negative bunting (WYSIWYG), gotta get home fast now, make your last run, with gas on your fingers and a crankcase full of oblivion operating somewhere between the Spiritual Solitude and Virtual Ubiquity ("all narrative, all the time -- your classic literary channel! "), the road best travailed, and lest you forget the need to document your psychogeographical travels, be sure to encode them in mp3 formatted files that digitally speak for themselves so that YOU, The Totally Connected Gendermorph Riding High On Knowledge-Power, can get back in touch with your sexy DNA, that crazy cousin sisterbrother you used to hide in the playground with, that diabolical Other who gives head better than Mommydaddy could ever dream of giving, even in their most charitable moments.