this week i

landed near former tallest building.  mom born eighty years ago, kissinger still making front page news across the strait.  ai and i wrote limericks

 

watched one thousand gestures in person, well-made propaganda navalny: be honest, not afraid, origami rocketry in the james webb space telescope

 

rose exposed.  i remember x's duct taped over her nipples, a traditional (not simplified) caption that translated to "the long-haired man is the truth"


misunderstood.  a traffic camera hid behind the mask of spirited away's no face, falkor apparently daoist dragon, brazilians use enema to say bidet





 

read one flew over the cuckoo's nest by ken kesey

"damn, what a sorry-looking outfit.  you boys don't look so crazy to me."  he's trying to get them to loosen up, the way you see an auctioneer spinning jokes to loosen up the crowd before the bidding starts.  "which one of you claims to be the craziest?  which one is the biggest loony?  who runs these card games?  it's my first day, and what i like to do is make a good impression straight off on the right man if he can prove to me he is the right man. who's the bull goose loony here?"

strapped to a table..like a cross, with a crown of electric sparks in place of thorns

tv-cowboy stoicism

good morning, miss rat-shed!  how's things on the outside?

 she took me to her parlor, and coo-oo-ooled me with her fan..whispered low in her mamma's ear, i luh-uhvvv that gamblin' man

it's getting hard to locate my bed at night, have to crawl around on my hands and knees feeling underneath the springs till i find my gobs of gum stuck there.  nobody complains about all the fog.  i know why, now: as bad as it is, you can slip back in it and feel safe.  that's what mcmurphy can't understand, us wanting to be safe.  he keeps trying to drag us out of the fog, out in the open where we'd be easy to get at

frontal-lobe castration..if she can't cut below the belt she'll do it above the eyes

no, my friend.  we are lunatics from the hospital up the highway, psycho-ceramics, the cracked pots of mankind.  would you like me to decipher a rorschach for you?

when i get out of here the first woman that takes up on ol' red mcmurphy the ten-thousand-watt psychopath, she's gonna light up like a pinball machine and pay off in silver dollars

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