a muffin is no different from a cake.  I think I am going to start making muffin batter, bake it as a cake and see if anyone can tell the difference.  Fucking people will probably make me famous for revolutionizing the cake industry.  I’d be a millionaire and would have overpriced chain stores everywhere.  But no one would know why.  I would never tell.  “Secret Ingredient; Secret Recipe.”  And I’ll call the place something stupid like Cakin’ Here, because I, at the time, would think I was being clever for joining the words Cake and Muffin and tying it in with the subliminal message of entering to get some.  And people would love it.

My neck fucking hurts.  Real stiff.  I should have at least fucked that girl.  Was there a girl?  She seemed real, but now that I think about it, not real enough.  I do not think there was a girl at all.  Should I have fucked her if she was real?  Am I that guy?  I can’t even turn my head left; that is how bad this pain is.  Wait.  DID I fuck her?  Is that why I am sore? Maybe I snapped my head back too far, too fast while I was masturbating during that weed-induced coma the other night.  I’m sure I would have remembered it, though.

Accomplishing tasks is enjoyable.  Make a list, have a goal and achieve it, complete it, succeed, celebrate, feel more confident, make another list with more difficult tasks, higher goals, repeat, life…

Thing is, I spent two years of my life begging and doing nothing else, focusing on nothing else, but finding her.  I think it is time I understand that I get everything I want.  And what of responsibility?  What does THAT mean?

Conceive of love beyond sex.

But I just heard it again, a few minutes ago.  I stopped everything and was looking around, and was thinking, piling thought on top of thought, but none fit together, it all growing too quickly, too high, like tetris, my stomach began to hurt and then I heard it.  It has been some time since I heard it but I heard it:

Do you trust me?

Everything in my body is crunchy.  Everything coated in a creamy layer of fat.  I am stuck in this cocoon, I scream in rage and fury, the volume pressing hardest on the top side of my soft palette just under the inside back of my sinuses and front side of my brain.

Something is about to happen in my life that will make me break free.

Maybe this fly sleeping on my Ferlinghetti book is it.

af