I see the light
I see the cross
I see Jesus
Starring at his spaghetti sauce

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The television set in my bedroom is old as shit. The volume goes up when I want to change the channel and when clicking to channel three it, like a phantom, skips itself to channel five. It's well known that one needs channel three to watch devices hooked into the television. Or so were the days. Is it not reasonable to just get a free fifty inch plasma screened television? There are plenty to go around and I feel like I deserve it. I could watch my favorite movie on my lap top in bed but it feels weird to watch my favorite movie on the same machine I get my seemingly endless supply of pornography. There's so much porn out there we could feed the homeless with it.


Let's face it, the only way I'm going to be able to afford my plasma television set is if I get a promotion at my job. I work in the food service industry. My job is not hard. I put things in places and hand money to people in exchange for product. Sometimes I take the money and make the product right there. I'd ask for a raise for a promotion but one of my five bosses has informed me I am a lazy bones.

There will forever be room for promotion. Out there on the work force I could be the Carl Lewis of washing dishes or the John Wayne of exchanging currency. But let's face it, I'm the Mili Vanili of food preparation and the Vanilla Ice of customer service. I'm there but what's happening? I'll never be a Carl Lewis. My hobbies died with my heroes. Upper management's humanly existence is killing my friends. Everything is fatal. Everyone's getting Titanic'd. Upper management's inadequacies disappeared a long time ago. They have been replaced with formulas, thousands of calculations.

Where's my bad ass T.V.? How am I going to watch season two of the show about the people I can relate to? How am I going to relate to any one? God it's horrible to have only one and half televisions in a world where families put plasma screens in shopping carts. The kids get excited and jump in the car, peer into the back seat and see that big fucking box and think "Fuck Yeah." Who are these people?

Tonight on Channel Eleven:
The Mystery of Why Bill is Such a Bad Employee: Who Left the Rag Out?

There's no hope. Raw despondency. Let's face it, I'm better off fighting with the machines I am already familiarized with around my house. The rice cooker does its job and shuts down. The coffee make turns off to avoid killing my neighbors and me. There's no need to confuse my being with more buttons and lights. There's perpetual time for advancement. I'm insecure I won't interview well for a corporate position. My suit is one sized too big and gives way to a shaggy, careless appearance. It will be as if I was not courteous or intelligent enough to make my clothes fit me as if they were me. As if the clothes were some separate portion of myself that needs to be hidden away. Fuck it. I wear my hat backwards. I wear my pants down to my toes. I've got one glass eye that says "Fuck You" in the pupil. My shoes killed animals and children. The pockets in my pants are huge just in case I see something and really need to steal it. My shirt has a picture of someone I don't even like just so I can display my understanding and appreciation of irony. My belt is a karate belt.My other car is a 2004 Toyota Corolla. Everyone I love will get something cool if I die. At work I'm doing a good job but there's room for improvement. I hope that I improve one day even if I don't know who I am.





Out of the green forest on a sunlit day comes a ragged creature. It is the spring time and a new life comes with a new sun. He drags himself into a clearing and rests his weary being under a lone oak. His shadow is leaking and on the horizon the bugs are dreamless machines bouncing in between invisible matter. The sun pours out its inexhaustible rays of light and is stuck into the sky like a jewel or some alien door. The creature wipes his forehead and feels the chambers of his heart chime neutrally. He imagines the sweet honey suckle. There are coming days of summer, the honey suckle will be wild with insects. He imagines the exhalation of the earth.

I recently read "Brief Interviews With Hideous Men" and loved it. I liked the idea  so much that I decided to try it out for myself. This is the exact same idea as this. So go buy this and know it is not my own original idea.

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Interview #1

23213123

Q.

A. You could say that I’ve thought of killing him. I mean, who the fuck hasn’t? He stands in there in that fucking Mickey Mouse outfit waving at kids all day. Take away the outfit and put him in his human suit and he’ll look like some asshole smiling at kids, huggin’ ‘em and shit, taking pictures with their families.Who the fuck takes pictures with other people's families? Some asshole whose supposed to be a cartoon? That's some creepy shit, man. 

Q.

A. Well of course I never killed the fucker. Right there in broad day light? God I wanted to but you gotta be kidding me if you think I’d kill anyone in broad day light. I call the dagger in the planetarium. It's clue, dude? So I stretched out the bounds, what are you going to do? Anyway, you can’t smoke a joint in broad day light in this country without some fucking lady or asshole dude snatching it out of your mouth and calling the cops. You murder a six foot five community college student named Ron dressed as Mickey Mouse and you sure as hell are going to do some time for that one. 

Q.

A. Everything pisses me off. Just yesterday I was at the grocery store, the real big one on 7^th St., and some bitch was on her cell phone, talking to her mom about her own father’s death like it was a thing to plan. Like they were planning fucking Christmas. Can you believe that shit? Get the egg nog, Dad's dead! I may want to jab an ice pick up Mickey Mouse’s ass just to see his ears and eyes fade over to death but at least I never used my cell phone while grocery store to plan my father’s funeral; save some time like that, you know?

Interview #2

12312312412

Q.

A. I don’t think it’s that weird of a thing to do, you know, how often do you get to come across a tank filled with dolphins? I think anyone with the combination of variables that have added up to my current state of mind, you know all of the times I went to the bathroom or the way I drank my orange juice or the earliest years of my masturbation career and how my Dad talked to me and that shit, would have done the same damn thing. And it’s a hell of a rush because all of the families are looking at you and there’s that one brown haired kid who says “Mommy, what’s that man doing?” and the hot mom, who I have at this point zero chance in ever nailing or even speaking to, says “Oh my fuck, Billy, turn around.” And at that point the shit is already hanging out of my asshole and some dolphin is looking at me like “What the fuck is this?” and boom, there’s my shit floating in the tank and the dolphins are all freaking the fuck out and I’m high tailing it out of there.

Interview #3

L44134

Q.

A. Sure as hell I masturbate to as many different things as possible. You don’t have sex for eighteen years and see if your masturbation material changes. It used to just be magazines and the videos. These were great for a good long while but after a while one gets bored with the same shit. Same routine, same lotion, same interchangeable porn stars.

Q.

A. Sure I have masturbated to anything. I one time had a sex dream where I had sex with a coffin and then got in the coffin and had a cigarette. The coffin told me that it had had better but I just laughed and said coffins would say that. And then we both laughed. It was weird, I felt truly in love with that coffin in that dream.

Q.

A. The weirdest would easily be the time I masturbated to my dog. I mean, that took a real long time to get going. And you want to feel something weird then you try and masturbate to your dog and then the next morning you try looking her in the face. She’s going to tell you with her eyes to take her out and your just thinking, I just jerked off to Cupcake last night, holy fuck. And then you’re going to walk her down the street and some other dog is going to be checking her out, thinking the same shit you had been thinking the night before and that’s when you really, really lose your humanity

Last night I found myself examining the toaster

Smooth tin reflecting the colossal moon, some dead memory, that shot through our little window

You put it back in the box and left to return it this morning

I was left to ponder:

The machines are eating each other

I returned the computer just yesterday

 I had a proof of purchase but it was for a taco

So I said "Our computer's operating system put two hundred hallways in my head and now I'm all out of maps."


I was escorted away

You returned and the door swung open and you walked in like a wall

You dropped the same kitchen toaster on the kitchen table so that it was like a dead animal ready to be prepared for a feast

I said, like an idiot, "Did they let you return it?"

 You said, trembling, getting out your easel,"I could have exchanged it for store credit but I couldn't be returned the money. The only other thing I wanted was one of those toasters with a pancake compartment built into the side but it was the price of two of this one right here. Did you have a good day? There was commotion down on 345th street."

I pressed my head against our little window and looked over the city, out at the fat moon

If the fat moon had always been swinging I'd believe just as much

I finally remembered to reply, "I watered the plants but I couldn't talk to the neighbor about quieting down his records. Paper thin walls and you know his wife is having problems? She's experienced a water park disaster with her kids. Turns out you have to be seven feet tall to ride on slide G143. Her kids are only 6' 4"."

She forgot to pay attention

She was painting and wouldn't be able to be bothered or stop for some time

This went on all night:

My head pressed against window

The skyscrapers swaying

Their shadows wobbling 

And then the moon bobbing carelessly up and down in black space, black water

The window opened and I stretched my neck out for a better look, to believe this moon was floating

Cold wind up high

And down below the dark reckonings of a city closing, concrete maze field

And to my amazement: the moon was still in water

Still, long, infinite black water

My world sought an even surface

About its prominent projection 

And broke