5 MWE Now, I'm to be mistaked for your mother

I have never seen a kajet so bog. New ones never helped me pull the skin off my hands. I pulled it off like gloves. Glass. Brass. Have one get another a song for some money. I will now pull up my carpet so that I can lie beneath it. Had the habit of breaking into houses and shaving off mustaches. The family lives in a motel. The difference between a motel and a hotel is that you enter your motel room from the outside. You enter your hotel room via your sister's shoulder. She had it operated. Found a nightstick. Found a glowstick. Saw an inappropriate mural--well, I deemed it inappropriate. It could have been fine to some. My job was shaving persian cats. My job was grooming poodles. My job was to split three cords of wood with a hydraulic machine. I put cuarters in the wet concrete. I sucked on quarters. I asked for some red wine with ice cubes in it. I asked for the cheapest vodka--it must have been Popov. I was told to not get fat. I was told not to get fat and to get an agent by Rufus. Rufus drank a rusty nail. He had drunk three of them. I played a game with friends. We were near a jukebox. It got late and we looked at the Old Main--I thought they said Old Maid--from a roof. I was willing to eat off a concrete floor so long as it was shiny.

Tell me where the wet sand is. I would like to lie in it. I would like to see someone tromp across a wet lawn. You never put your words in my mouth. This is what I wanted to say: Leave my methods be. This is what I didn't say: You have never spoken a three-syllable word. I do not care if you took a workshop. I do not care if you've memorized the manual. I do not care if your friend is a Higher Up. What matters is that I have paved over all your friends--and not metaphorically. I have shaved. I have shaved treats down to what's really inside them. I have pulled out the smallest hairs from the smoothest faces. I have razored out cubes of skin. My chances are slim. I was rejected today by a place. I was rejected yesterday by a place. I was jerected. This is what I want: To no longer be called autistic. What I hear are words change. I hear toy boat become toy boyt. But I think memories have the same potential for distortion. The longer I remember something, the stranger it will cebome. Now hear this: I have forgotten my wallet. My wallet is a hat I like to wear. First, I put a banana in my shoe. Then, I put my foot in the shoe just to feel the squish. Dog shit in my shoe--not on it. My head is on the bridge.

St. John. Caravaggio. Surprise me. Let me hold my breath not under water but under petroleum jelly. The Preserves of Oilmen. Eat that and see what happens. Eat a half cup of almonds, an apple, and a pear. Eat the head of a cat. Heat the legs of a dog. A small dog is killed. It's legs are cut off and arranged in a vase. With ease. Fascinate me, why don't you? Try to show me that you can do something I haven't seen. Much of what I've seen lately has no feel to it. It has a hum that can't be hummed. I was not under blankets. I was under plastic. A jacket made of plastic bags. Shoes made of plastic bags. We lived in a motel for 800$ a month. We all slept in it. We spelt in it. We pelts in it. We were children with books and drawings. It was too hard for us to open certain containers. We got frustrated so easily. We made a juice out of what we found outside. I slept in a bed with my other siblings. We each had our own cherished blanket. We knew our father left the room because that's when the smell in our place would go from bad to better. He had nothing on. He had nothing, no. No, he had nothing. I am so old for thirteen. I felt myself sinking tino my yard. After, I had no losses.

dousing
hail
toy boat
skies
get better
uncover
island
vessel
balls

We needed a vessel for all the balls we had. We went outside because we thought it was raining. We did not get doused because, really, it wasn't raining. It was hailing. The sputterer went on and on about how he hates that hail is always the size of something. Walnut-sized. Fist-sized. Baseball-sized. Marble-sized. He went on and on. He grew moustaches on the side of his head.

She made a toy boat for herself. Then she made another one. Then she took the one sky and multiplied it until there were hundreds of them. Smoked dope behind a Dumpster. This is when she uncovered her doll's breast, only to reveal a compartment with balls in it. The doll was a vessel for balls. I went to an island for a medical vacation. I could have had the operation in the States, but, for the same price, I learned I could go to an island--get my operation from someone who was almost a doctor--and get a vacation in the bargain. In the days leading up to my surgery, I would be able to lounge. I would be able to get sand in my crevices. I would be able to backfloat on the ocean and wait for any of my three children to swim up to me. They would want to know if I wanted to come back in. And how long until we get to fly the kites?

cheeks
visible
flushed
underthings
skilled
red hair
pronouns
sacrifice
which

She might have been unskilled and had red hair. And had red hair. Her shoulders flushed. The chest between her breasts flushed. She saw some mound rising on the horizon. At first, the mound looked to me smaller than a house--but soon it was many stories. She had a hydraulic wood-splitter she could use to chop her wood. She poured a concrete slab and thumbed quarters into it. Those quarters. She sacrificed her lunch for a better dinner. When she looked to one side, she saw a mound. When she looked to another side, she saw a frame with people hanging inside. The largest frame built and people hanging in it. It was my job to say what the structure was and whether or not the story was cliched. My advise was to do a freewrite. Some research. To surprise. To put dough over your eyes and hope something sets in. For some reason, I put a photo of a horse with a long mane in her mailbox. That morning, I saw her coming out of a house. She stepped on a lawn, and, right away, I wished that lawn were aflame and that she was rolling on it. Later, I went to a Red Sox game. Got inebrio on Alize. The point of it was that I read fifty pages and didn't get to a point or a theme. These pieces of writing are small.

You're to find a fucking topic. Melville found a fucking great topic in the whaling industry. You are to write about a topic because--look at you--you have so much torment and turmoil in your life. Look at all the deep pain in your family. Look at how they hit each other with larger and larger branches for generations. Why is it that all your write is so short? It is because you do not have a topic that's as good as the whaling industry or the killing fields or desertification.

So I've decided not to post anymore. I will not post again. Another post, to me, would represent a lapse in what I've already decided. I have decided not to post anymore. I won't post again. I will post,,,but then I won't post. I will post,,,but then I'll erase it. There will not be another post. Another post will not be there. My motivations have to do with my not wanting to post and my not feeling as though I can post. Are you okay? I just read your blog. Why won't you post? What happened to the posting? There will be no more posting. Now, I know you all looked forward to posts--to my posting. But, what had been your looking forward will now have to be your looking back. I have set a record for gerund use. There was a woman once who spoke in gerunds. A gerund is a verbal noun and looks like a participial or the main verb in the present progressive verb formation. I do not know how to play the piano. I do not know how to lay concrete. I do not know how to twist wire into my name. Sometimes, when I have the desire to post, I stop myself by thinking of the things I can't do with my hands.

He saw a clot. I took the train to Vermont. He took the train. He smelled allspice. He would like to see the lake without the reflection of anything in it. The bustle of the house he lives in. The chaos. The clatter. I cannot write much of anything. I do not know how to write. These are not good sentences--sentences that come one out of the other. I took five bags of clothes down into the basement. The landlord had to put an oil heater in the basement. He put it near a pipe that easily froze. In the basement, a person put lots of electrical equipment. This is not good writing. Good writing is not this. It is not easy to write anything. To write anything is not easy. What they say is that sometimes you have to write a page to get to a pages. Sometimes you have to write and erase three paragraphs. Try to have few cohesive ties in the middle of the paragraph--but then put lots of ties between paragraphs. I will try that in my next five minutes. I could never do it in these five minutes. I drove down to Mississippi to sleep in a tent and sell fireworks. I was in a bad neighborhood--but no one tried anything.

I have this knot that I would like to toss off the dock. He threw the lemon into the buoyant hat. I was giddy about the pack that had its arms at its sides. She was defeated because the escapist duped her into thinking he had escaped when he hadn't. When amnesia is the thing that's most on your mind, you should ask yourself if you're being modest and, for the night, forecast your dreams. See them as a whorl in the air near your head. After they had all forgiven me, I was forewarned of a nirvanic trance. This is a world without end. This is the cutter, the biter. These front teeth of mine are the biters. It is unfortunate that they are so thin. That they are so thin is unfortunate. The manslayer found herself, again, at a keyboard. She controlled the boilers. She controlled the answers for the evening's progamme. She had a mother. She wore a tan uniform. This is the plant I cannot eat. I cannot eat this plant.

I have lost all interest in the five minute write. It is not that I am one to launch a freight of mice in the hellbent lambent cry of mania in the tall woman's throat of ventricles. The sycamore is not a tree I would like to write about. Once in a sycamore I was glad and I sang and I would never want to write a line like that. I would like to find an antecedent. I do not know enough about language to use it. Each sentence here is boring. I do not like writing these simple sentences. I do not know how to write sentences that could be otherwise. Got hit by a car. Broke an arm. Writhed on the hardwood. I listened to the floor. I listened to the snow. I listened to what I thought was a peach heyday. I thought I knew where there would be a panmixea. I thought there would be a big breed, but there wasn't one in the micro fission blast fake your madre in the fought brat broken she is not madre she would like to break the window by tossing a crab through it the session was making me giggle in the dramamine skyline dinner final of the montreal vibraphone the vibes on the basketball court they all sound like they are posing a question the pose of the question