The fucker just flew on by. Time is no longer swaying. It gave up singing years ago, now time erupts in an endless thrust. I smoked a bowl. A Damien Jurado song lamented its tale in the chorus: “Tomorrow we will drive/To North California state line/If you call off the guns/I’ll call off the dogs.” I played it three times. A song by Converge screamed out: “In new day dreams a promise gives way to a star struck death and a gold disease.” An old marine told me a joke. I didn’t laugh, he said I looked like a drunk. I  said he looked like the one to pump up the racism. I read a manuscript, thoughts of life’s death and new waves on a train. I rode a train once, through Russia. It smelled of cabbage. Gazpacho soup is Russian for we don’t have enough ingredients to invent something. I realized I have never heard Die Antwoord and as each day passes there is another thing I am to experience and feel in order to stay connected and I’m loosing any concern on what falls through. A man said I was a stand up guy despite never drinking coffee. I smoked a joint. I felt the world spin and it felt nice. There’s no flinching off this rock, I said to my joint. I touched myself in a way not sexual nor of self-examination; it was an action and it happened. At work I smile for the police; it’s my dance that I do. I thought about a girl I tried to get to touch me at a Converge show when I was young. I showed her my tender side, the macho brute force of young punk hidden. “Oh, you like that band too, so do I. I don’t care if they are sensitive. We kissed and my hands were clamped to her side.” I decided to not eat but instead drink B-12 supplements and a few other vitamin cocktails. When I sat down my heart spoke in gibberish and I decided to write all this down. I kept thinking the drunk man riding around the street powered by his rascal scooter must know the obese man who sleeps in his rascal waiting for the Pizza Emporium to open. A wall filled with fliers for DJ parties and sexual yoga. I thought about the time I flew from Michigan to Ohio in first class. I blacked out on the flight as my alcohol was free of charge. I stumbled as a conscious being in an airport massage pallor. Security told me I was demanding a massage “on the cheap.” I said that sounded about right. I missed my connecting flight that night as I slept. On another flight I sat next to LL Cool J, his lips an outline of his biceps. I never said a word. I just finger tapped the beat to Big Ole Butt. Not the conversation starter I hoped for. I applied for three jobs that I can never get, nor should ever have. Business consultant, tax preparer, and a lab technician. For one job I sent them a picture resume of myself holding a resume. My cover letter said suspense brings in the money.  I watched a movie I had already seen and didn’t like.