My wife is so funny, the way she managed to get honey onto our Amazon Prime order even though it was already sent out for delivery. It had a green bag all to itself. It made me so happy, seeing the brand, 'Organic Stinger Honey'. A little bee, reving up to poke some flavor into my sandwhiches, providing me another gift of her love.

Piper is napping in her car because Skunk is napping in the car.

Skunk is the name I gave her son when she asked me to give him one because she wouldn't give me his birth name.

"I've got some bags for you." I tell the Amazon guy. "Hold on, let me go and get them."

"Okay, but make it quick. I'm running late."

"I'll be real quick." I say, starting to head up the stairs, barefoot. I'm just glad I've got my shirt buttoned up this time. I almost forgot to tie my pants.

"Wait, he says. "Will you sign this."

"Sure thing." I say, heading back down the stairs.

"It's been giving me trouble all day." he says.

"What, my door?"

"No. This pad."

"Oh, shoot. Let me go get you those bags."

"Thank you, sir." he says when I return.

which always makes me feel so much more professional after these encounters. This, the life of the creative genius. No time for shopping. No way am I leaving the apartment. It's hot as hell out there and I've got to be here behind the screen. Plus, I may have diarrhea. The milk I used today was probably old. Musette could taste it but I couldn't. That's what you get when you marry a chef. Poison control.

New Milk Order. All of the old ones have the same expiration date. What is a boy supposed to think but that God has granted him a gift?

What is a writer supposed to do but something great with what she is provided? That seed planted in youth. Is this not school? How many humiliations? How many shifts, swiftches and diversions. Thanks Ruth, for being here with me. I'm that kid left unattended on a midnight pier. The lights of the shopping center bright with Coca Cola.

"I read what you wrote." says Piper.

"Did you though? That's cute." he says, uplifting a plastic panel to another chamber. "Don't you think I am special now? Containing all those powers that we always want to believe I am in possesion of. It's me, the one worhty of your love and affection."

"Bibles, don't you know I don't care about those things? You've got to learn to climb out of here without the rope."

"Are you saying I need to go to the party?"

"All I'm saying is that we all need things to feast on. You, me, lilli, galaxim, et, clear, quick, noise, durl, durflurker, budz, cache, mona, mel. It's like that time you walked through the Bellagio with your mother. Just take us with you and you'll be fine."

My weiner is hanging out of my boxer shorts as I tell the dog that he is a good kid for looking at me the way that he is looking at me, with his hair cut short and resembling a mohawk. It's like his red slug that comes out by his butt. Except, he's really packing some heat. He licked my weiner the other day for the first time ever, when we were in the shower getting ready to wash him.

"Don't do that." I said.

Just read it all really at your own leisure. I am a morphing creature writhing in this puddle of myself, doing my best to be baptized in the grail. It's important, however, that I get in the shower. The party starts in twenty minutes. Being fashionably late is not the worst thing in the world.

We're serving each other our fears around this round table we've constructed. Fears spinning around in our moths to be shot as darts into the other. Round and round we pass the poison. A backwards lyric of grattitude. Swallow the pride of others as a defence against spitting your own. Audrey Horne is in too deep and the owls are not what they seem. Keep it up Coop. Ruth is on Medium. The staff there is a bunch of Doc Meds. Hillary Clinton and Caitlyn Jenner. The emporium cost over forty dollars to get into.

"You mean the museum?" asked my brother in law.

It was a birthday bash. Major success. Double headed babies. Limewire agents beneath every television screen. Offspring flowing through their thoughts.

The internet lines are controlled by the film industry who also control the banks. The founders of the Pirate Bay were imprisoned. I've got a plastic gold coin that says work smoothly, Lifetime Peace. It's a Kai guang Amulet from a namas Guanyin bodhisattva.

Her other brother comes into town tomorrow. My other brother in law.

Shake idake it shake idake it. Coop Coop. Coop Coop. Coop Coop. Coop Coop. Shake idake it. Shake idake it.

Allen is giving massages to his mother. There are professional trolls on ello and people crafting drafts in Medium.

"How does that help our bottom line?" asks Hillary.

The bottom line is are you better than Trump?

Shake it Coop. Shake it Coop. Shake idake adake it Coop.

I've got to clean a toilet. I'm professional. This is my studio. This is my sacred space.

Musette's brother is coming into town tomorrow. He's part of an entourage.

A bird withering in my hand feels like red bush burning in my heart. Freckle butt.

You know who you are little sweet stack. I'm coming for you in your dreams. There is a power there that I am working on finding. Digging within. Unearthing things with furious hands. Nails bleeding. Biting them from behind your window. Watching as the knocking foot comes stepping on your door. Into thy room and into thine head, whispering like a vcr of a signal swapped gameshow as I come in, Mulder with cancer man.

She is killing me. I am so weak. My spiritual core squeezed out as i wrap this Mobius Curve. The job, the network, my image, my self respect. That relationship was all I had left. I'm fading but I have no choice but to continue.

"I don't think he's coming back." they said. "Lilli's departure took all the wind out of his sails."

"Was it Lilli that did it? Could have sworn it was Et."

"Two events both influencing the other."

"Some say it was the Dalekian bonesaw. The day Bibles really became Budnitz. Or at least some pressure cooked enemy of himself. Scared. Greedy. Affected. Trolled.

That's when he sentenced himself to prison. The Bane of his own making. Broken back, The Crookneck Kid. I don't know what he expected to find there. "Just walking the rest ways of the everlong Mobius Strip." he told them.

But everyone was fluttering strange. A Medium publication left floundering just as it was being developed. So many people wanting to tell their stories like he had always told them they could and already were. And him banging his head against the bars, watching the television screen of his enemies overruning of his prized position, a box just beyond outside his cell.

Visitors channel voices through the public sphere. Ain't no Lilly far as the eye can see. She says she's checking up, but she can't get here. And Piper also, gone like the wind. I got these tappings, talking to me now. the answer here, within these scattered W4's. the running of the bowls. Reposado running out. Can you feel the dead crow on the asphalt?

Go for tribal madness. Desperation Break. Two schmiggies. One of them tastes like pure battery acid.

"The poop is coming." Musette says. "You can join me if you want."

"I know that game." I say, already smelling the prelude.

Something was wrong with the stovetop this morning. I go into the kitchen and the kettle is sitting silently atop it. Musette is already out of the shower. The people at the labor department want three forms of id from me. Three! Who has three forms of id? Well, I used to, back before my passport expired. But now they want my birth certificate.

I am reminded of making the website for Exotica Imports where I worked while dating my redheaded girlfriend. The store was near her house. I looked for the website online but could not find it. It appears the store went out of business. I don't think I ever finished making the site. Finding gay porn on the computer that I was working on caused me to quit before its completion.

"You need to be centralized. Can't you see that? That's why I wanted you to build this website in the first place. Maybe you could have the website and be writing a book on the side, I don't know, fiction, sci-fi maybe."

"No coffee?" She says.

"I've got it cooking but I'm behind schedule because of the stovetop."

She is wearing checkered green underpants. I am wearing the same underpants that I wore yesterday. A gray pair of Hanes. There are no more clean ones for me, other than the large text Fruit of the Looms which, as you know, make my weiner pop out.

My yellow shirt maintains its rest upon the dog kennel. It's time for a change. Blue floral western. Backstreet Boys through Pandora. It's a sing-a-long. Life is a musical.