February 8, 1985

I put on my ORGANIZER SHOES, curl into a ball and play with my tail. The record scratches and I turn and look.

Letters from the Germanic alphabet walk across our living room — recently gassed for bugs. (The size of your fingernail — These purple glow in the dark creatures crossed the house in huge swarms — flocked together the sameway birds do, coming together in a giant shapely mass, with those little moving parts. The same way tuna swarms together into giant matrice, appearing to attackers as if they were giant whales — all clumped in — synchronized patterns creating the illusion — The letter P smells like pancakes – it stands there, stops right above us— peering through the clear plastic floor.

The man inside operating the letter P sweats, his head turns to the left side of the stage — smiles — his pink makeup gleams wet, sparkling in the fuzzy light — The sound is muffled — because we are underwater apparently — below a swarm of fish, a murder of crows and as the light begins to settle into the corners of the room– shadows fall and the purple bugs hover in the center of our living room — swirling creamer in black coffee — The furniture swirling with it, the windows swirling with its hypnotic pulse —

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Shoes make a forest in which to walk through helicopter made from stacking shoes heartland of the paper stories about the shoes — I heard a story where these paper shoes — fell into the line of a jet, an army swelled in orange chicken with sesame seeds– Kites pass by in my peripheral vision — night turns into a day and blue skies drop on blue skies.

“If it was the end of the world — what would you do?”

[UPSIDE Down — mountain plan — meters / Readers — get a bit slippery nibble Wiggle the twelve a plop sickles Snippery Alabama — Fart tickets. You forgot your yarbles. Meat marbles — sleep slurper. Slip stream –]

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[The snoring sounds like a blender. A bodysick, full of words. A body picks apart the pictures, breaking down the nascar pictures with a dirty snare drum–]

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Caffeine mutants whip whirlwind smash the cruising cookie swords cruising swordfish– were drinking coffee in a metal sword fish we built in a junkyard- were in here- I padded the armchairs with angels the long haired alien- that smells me every five turns- we get the coffee machine all set up together—

“I got a big water pill coming in.” A voice we pick on a sword phone- The big blue pill- Ronald Reagan and Mel Gibson - Benjamin Franklin– watching a movie. The girls carry the pill - they giggle - the pilot is snoring- he runs a blender- falls asleep and the blender stops. The junkyard- earlier we were making the big jelly fish out of shocks, wires, horns, what not-

Found a kids swimming pool the girls wound around in circles from the big O tire shop on the corner, they got it for us to fill it full of white jasmine rice, and George grabbed hold of the soaped up hose, swimming pool full of rice pudding.

Everyone sits in a circle around the junkyard, telling stories and we talked about it, now, we couldn't figure it out, but we situated a slide across the pool, we named each flower we could, and every new kind of Jelly belly flavors we thought about, which town in America we wanted to get off of the map- because it didn't have a place there- so, at first I said America- everyone laughed- so, I laughed along- Then, we discussed Des Moines- Then Xena, Ohio- We thought maybe Chicago- then described against it, went with North Dakota, then Scratched that, the girls were wondering about North Carolina, we were like, no. North Carolina’s Cool- maybe you meant North Dakota? The girls looked around and laughed. Not sure, it looked like- yeah- North Carolina is cool–

The pilot falls asleep and turns the blender on liquify– we float around with the jelly fish– crabs wander sideways over the coral reef–

“Turn that Blender off, dude!” One of the girls shouts– she adjusts her silver thong– that’s riding with her thumb.

“Come on, you're not even blending anything anymore, turn that bullshit off!” Her friend twirls her hair– looks at her nails– black and white. Opposite each finger– she blows a big, pink bubble.

A crab pinches the fin of the metal fish– catches a ride– a sound comes with the look in its eyes– the things eyes lock with one of the cabin girls.

“Did you hear that crab?!” Everyone’s attention locks on the wiggling antenna with eyeballs. The sound comes— A mumble rapper, this crab talks on a vocoder– it sings about its problems using drugs and alcohol and how it will “Fuck your best friend.” It smiles, glued on crustaceans to catch the light. Bling.

The Christmas music comes on in our ship and the crab gets mad, letting go of the pincher. He, or she floats off- rapping gangster in the current. A close up of a heart beating - there are threads pulling- pulleys operating small wooden doors. The door opens, a flood of sewage pours into a wide chamber. Seagulls land around, pecking at the trash. The scientist holds his chest, pulls open the white lab coat and pushes open the white lab coat and pushes on his sternum until it pops. All the sewage pours out of the large chamber– the seagulls fly out. There are lines on the walls where the different colored sewage left its mark.

“Who’s that?” the brunette whispers. Everyone hears. From the outside the fish wobbles side to side– back at the junkyard– three guys weigh out piles of copper wire– the leader twitches. Checking his watch [CU} A broken calculator. The numbers blink on and off.

“What’s wrong with your watch?” The blonde with a purple wig holds up his arm by the wrist, letting his hand go limp. You can see within his eyes as he gazes at her pretty face, that he trusts her– in her face you can see that she's planning some kind of mischief– Inside her mind, rusted wheels as tall as a small man roll– a wooden looking cork squeaks as the thoughts come together. A small man in a glitter wizard costume is handling the crank– The air around him or her is glimmering– a soft, happy light seems to come out from under his cape.

Animations are starting to come out of the wizards hair– The way they are drawn, they drip as they try to float on a string that looks like hair–

A golf cart drives by– The people crane their necks — gold teeth— crustacean teeth— glitter teeth— no teeth—

“What’s that place?!” They drive off. The calculator hangs there blinking. He pulls it to his other hand and begins pressing down on the buttons.

“What are you doing? It’s broken.”

“I gotta do an equation here.” The wingdings fonts cross the screen quickly, triangles, skulls, sailboats, all in focus made of black dots. The brunette starts dancing, turning everything erotic, she looks down her legs at the long black high heels- and starts to rearrange the straps, while he does his equation– He puts on black frame reading glasses, and his tongue sticks out.

They pass a school of yellow fish who scatter, hiding in the glowing purple flowers in the reef–