Can the Maker Repair What He Makes?

     I would like to extend to you my warmest appendage, which is of course my highly erectile penis, and beat the shit out of every one of you ugly buggers.

     I am wandering in my own lair, picking up pieces of incendiary furniture and items of highly unlikely decoration with wires attached, and I am picking these up and turning them around in my antlered hands and shaking them in my hairy paws and then returning them to their original stations in this whorehouse of the mind which is my own abode and after I have done all this I do not feel the slightest bit further informed about anything than previously.

     I can't figure out what all of you are doing here, but I have noticed that you are all incredibly ugly. I am thinking about beating you very hard with my salamander feet and tiger claws. Or at least giving you all a god damned good glare from the lamps which are my eyes. Something in the wrapped-up sausage links of my mind tells me this should all be occurring underwater, in a green grotto slimy with bioluminescense. I smell fish biting my skinny bony hide. I am charged with epileptic fury, surging with mighty seasickness to blast you out of the sky with my lips of fire. "Eat this!" I might say before slapping back my elbows and ripping into you with my explosive teeth shell cartridges. You've all seen too many movies, and I'm one of them. Monochrome, slouching in a narrow hawk-shaped shadow, cigarette, dame, heater. But now I've left my cavernous domain and stumbled with my rhino hooves into a celluloid wet dream, and you are all still crowding around me with magnifying eyeglasses like chips of stars on your eyes and your bodies are encapsulated in meter-thick overcoats built of plaster.

     And my meteor eyes rain down on you, pissing bullets, and we all fall into the maelstrom, and I do not feel the slightest bit further informed about anything, except I know I hate all you motherfucking sons of bitches. And even that is a matter of opinion. Anyway, what do you guys think?

8/9/97, 2/17/98, 2/18/98

Jim Genzano