s T r E A M # 4 3

When you don’t want any bananas but there are nothing but bananas what do you want to do with the time of the next after simple joy of living in the mountains by the sea in the while I meant to write white sunshine of the darn I meant to write dark days of noon in the sun I meant to write sun why are you not eating that sugar cookie? How come the apples don’t want to sing in the while I meant to write white sunshine of your life? Is this going to be another one of your brilliant disguises? No? Why or why not? No? Why are the trees not eating the mixed berries? Are they all rotten? I think that they are all rotten. I think Theatre needs a new lease on life. Oh, are you going to eat that seaweed? Because it’s supposed to be good for apples. Yes, apples are good from tomatoes. And when the child in the box is not ready to dine in the basement why not set him up at the table upstairs? I won’t taste that pie. I will taste that cake. My mother smooshed – that’s a word. I could’ve sworn that “smooshed” was a word and remains a word to this day. But my computer(s) beg to differ. But you know what I mean when I write, “smooshed,” don’t you? It means to smoosh. I’ve probably just got the spelling wrong. Anyway, my mother smooshed the rest of Pop’s cake after I said that if it was left here in the house it would be gone before midnight. Which was the truth. So she smooshed it. That was very good of her. I don’t know what color the time is not in the April sun when you weather the trees and don’t eat the cheese and sat in the shade of the mice. I don’t know why I am not the same pineapple. I wish I could be the same pineapple. No, I don’t. I don’t want to be the same pineapple. I want to be an entirely different variety of pineapple. I don’t want to dine at the table. I want to dine in the street. I want to “do it in the road.” The Abbey Road. Times were simpler then but they did not seem simpler to those who lived through them. Years from now they’ll say that times where simpler now. And they’ll be correct. Because times only get more complex over time. Nobody cares about the pineapple in the road while we’re doing it. Hey, why don’t we sample the next rice patty? I want to each you the bottom rung of the ladder. If that makes any sense to the pineapple. I want to not seek the four men who whisk the time away whilst whistling tunes from Saturday Night Fever. But that was not my point. That was not my point in the downward spiral of events. That was not the single topic I wanted to rob. So. So. Sop. So. Sop. Spell. Speed. Sprocket. Soppy. Sale this now the time is not the speeding in the fast lane of jaws. Because I aim not to be cohearatnt. I meant to write cohearant. I meant to write cohearant. NO. I mew12nt 2to wrie coherent. Bottom reached? 

16 July 2008