10/06/99 -- Memory Game

10/06/99: Memory Game

ONE

Absolutely no one knew what to do. Such things don't usually happen in the monestary. But there she was, naked and screaming. I stood up, too. As far as anyone knew, things don't usually happen in the monetary. There she was, naked and screaming. I thought, "I do." Molly had a thing on her eye. A thing called a Molly. This thing obscured her vision, but by doing so, it helped her become more Molly in her Molliness. She said she was attached to it. Molly had a thing in her heart which we called Molly, though I hadn't know that either, though her eye was as Molly. I'll take the bucket of drool you call breakfast, and unlike other somebodies, may even pay for it with my teeth or the skin of my tongue.

TWO

The stitch in the side of the man who explained, while he ran from the side of the street to the sidewalk, from the cops and after the bus, what had happened before, ached like feet. As far as I knew, things never really happened in the monetary, or the past, or the present neither. As far as I knew, you just waited til the preacher poked you, and then said "I do." As far as I knew, things don't happen in the monetary. But she stood up naked, screamed, and said "I do." Molly had a thing in her heart which we called Molly, although I hadn't known either, and really meant Holly...I think.

THREE

I guess you're wondering where I got this microscope. It's none of your business, but the question of where you got my mother's wig is definitely my business. I guess you're wondering where I got this microscope. Well it's none of your business. As for where you got my mother's wig, you better tell. I guess you're wondering where I got this microscope. None of your business. As for where you got my mother's wig, you better tell. I'll take the overpriced hotel-drool you call breakfast, and like the Aussies and others, I may even pay. Something other than something written by someone. It had been written the same, with the memory of the brain of a small kitten which had written something. Across the bay flew a grocer's plane, filled with grocer's fruit, filled with grocer's worth, which all had the intention of benefitting not just the first grocer, but a second grocer, across the Bay.

FOUR

I'll have a continental breakfast -- except from which continent? I don't know -- Africa or Australia? Do Australians eat potatoes? Do Africans like bagels? I'll have a continental breakfast, only which continent? Australia or Africa? Do Aussies like granola? Do Africans like bagels? Another passing frenzy in the city, smoke-filled entrails exuding something other than what was originally written by someone with the memory skills of a small kitten. Across the bay flew a plane flown by a grocer, containing fruit intended to be sold in Oakland by another grocer. The stitch in the side of the man who was running from the cops hurt like his motherfucking feet hurt, which is to say, hurt like hell. Oh well.

FIVE

Molly had a thing on her eye. A thing called a Molly. Called a Molly by us, that is, because the thing was on Molly's eye. And now, it turns out, Molly had a Molly on her heart. I would never have thought it. Molly had a thing on her eye. It was called a holly, but we called it a Molly cuz it was on Molly's eye. Actually, Molly had a molly on her heart. I never knew that. I'll take the overpriced drool you call breakfast, and unlike other somebodies, may even pay. Something written by someone who had written something. It had been written by someone with the brain of a small kitten that had written something.

SIX

Across the bay, without a warning flew a tiny aircraft with no passengers. Aboard the plane, however, were twenty-three boxes of exotic fruits, intended to be sold somewhere in Oakland by a grocer. The stitch in the side of the man who explained, while running from the cops and towards the bus, what had happened to him, hurt like feet. As far as I know, things never really happen in the present or in the monetary. You just look at the preacher, wait for his indication, and say, "I do." As far as I know, things don't happen monetarily, though nakedly she screamed "I do," as though in her recklessness a monetary wit of detente may be reached.

SEVEN

Another passing frenzy in the stew of the city, ranges of vows and ideals negotiated and plied in ashes and cement; round after round as talismans fell underfoot, entrails of a past, as past and future diverged and what remains is an ever-expanding present. Across the bay, a basket of fruit from Oakland flew to San Francisco to be sold by a grocer who had flown the basket of fruit across the bay, to Oakland. The fruit was to be sold by another, a grocer. The stitch in the side of the man who was running, first, from the cops, and then from the bus, and then from the busstop through the church, down the aisle and around again, hurt like his motherfucking feet hurt, like hell. The stitch in the side of the man who explained. Pain. Running from such truth is agony, each breath more pain than that truth.