the only thing that threw him off this morning suggested that last nights rumbuzz still affected him was that he fumbled the little stinking rubber ball they had him manipulate while he was on apheresis(platelet donation: He was a Fucking Hero)  --  one time  --  he put it on the ground  --  though he made startled eye contact with one of managements staff and she quickly(attractively) scurried around her desk came out through her office doorway fell on it recovering it and returned it into his hand

they tried not to make too much of it

her valiant effort on his behalf provided him face  stoked his reserve of humility

he was on the machine for eightythree minutes

he was trying to trim it to sixty

an interior competition

his rumbuzz had him in a fascinating mindset  it evoked youthful Miami mornings coloured sunrises blushed sand beaches(not sorry to say sand bitches) rushing headlong into the Atlantic surf to help curb whatever high he was negotiating

he was baptised and anointed in its light in the new day in the promise of the coming evening

he lived for nights in those days for their coy shadowed lust blatant apostasy and sensual riot

out of his rumbuzz out his arm his blood flowed

                                      suddenly he found himself recalling The Abominable Dr Phibes

Phibes Rises Again Vincent Price the price Michael Jackson payed  though no Phibes Resurrectus Brides of Phibes

or his Seven Fates followed despite studios then buying lock stock and barrel into monotonous sequels Stallone Rocky Eastwood Dirty Harry which they and their ilk churned out madly like fresh butter hands fast and wrapped about the plunger it tossed into the air like a baseball bat for choosing up sides at a pickup game

Jesushe choked 
he rocked back on his heels tightened his ass cheeks  

he began to think better about not being a judgy sonofabitch

                                                wasnt he doing the same in the ruminduced bloodtapped lalaland behind his eyes

he closed them
             he didnt want the attendants or nurses or anyone else to haphazardly peer in and catch the flickering show  --  inverted  --  projected on the back of his corneas 

he was keen to that trick he learned it one-night-only watching a selection of eight millimetre blue flicks projected on the front windows pull blind of his neighbors house by their idiot boys

he knew they were stupid

he went to school with them

though he didnt understand the depth of their stupidity until then

or their selfishness

had they included him there would never have been the fiasco the lawn chairs setup on their front lawn the bowls of popcorn the quiet chatter others standing on the parkway with their dogs on leash Police squads later angled on the street to block traffic protect the commonweal and lavishly setting up the weasels inside for when their parents returned

fucking lugs

but at the very least they had an original idea

there wasnt a sequel to it

it would have been worth the reams of celluloid to capture(it obviously still spun on his brain reels and coils) but to-days media is muzzled by risk-aversion overseers whose profit-margins are salted away with jingoism yellow-journalism bromides and slick turds uncovered in the aforementioned

this tethered reverie

                 he really dug it

but he dug anything that was unexpected

wafting in and out back and forth he rode pinfeathers of consciousness and then suddenly derived  peeking out from his mud  an obscene sense that tickled his funnybone made him laugh in hiccups 
                                                                 perhaps this donation would also share with whomever was in the unfortunate or dire circumstance to receive it that they would realise these odd snatches he was experiencing as they were surely etched into the facets of his playtelets Faulkner chiding “ all man had was time, all that stood before between him and the death he feared and abhorred was time yet he spent half of it inventing ways of getting the other half past” his “agony of naked inanesthetisable nerve-ends which for lack of a better word (was) called being alive” or Kazins Kazins  why Kazin  his commiseration the high price paid for “the permanent crisis that is the truth of our times, the truth that cannot be fitted in, the jagged edges that would detract from the simple straight frame and the smooth design”

he either hallucinated or they welled-up from some deep subterranean fissure or store or frittered by the wind they punctuated the aether like broken ash

rumbuzzed

          hed have to do this again                    

                   

1320,  Friday,  6  5. 16

 1349, Saturday,  7  5. 16

Seal of Good Practise  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nyrdRo8CQ3w

Painkiller – Buried Secrets --  Guts of a Virgin  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d075v_dl6lc