Mood Surgery

I wonder if my love, my desire, my infatuations, predilections, sexual appetites, napkins, abstentions, words I use and don't use, Lifestyle Choices, pining, keening, caterwauling seeming necessities have taken on the aspect of the victim who begins to desire victimization; rape, alonenesssssssss, hiss, shh, goodbye, hello, let me fuck and never know you, let me never begin to know or seed within you or mutual exchange, only on the surface of your face alone, we two, we everyone, every single person alive is dead, dying or trying hard to get there at a discounted rate to face salvation only on its surface, alone alone alone, baloney, it's all in your head so what else? - they say; we all scream for ice cream anyway, to melt down our fists in molten orgies of absolution, never able but always wanting to look it in the eye as it melts and morphs and every single thing outside conforms unstoppably to a lack of understanding, slimes itself like cold gravy, like Cold Turkey, like the unimetric Stuff that always exists but changes so quickly like the Ice Ages we cannot grasp but have a lingering scent upon our fingers, a unified sense of individuality, a wisp of hair clutched, a fingernail clipping, a little pearl of shit hilariously perched upon the tip of nose; man, what the fuck is this stink? - what did I do last night? - who ARE you? - and so on until absolution is never reached--an autonomy of nothing, the future of everything. A lie that is and has always been the truth.
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