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"December 30th, The Incident of Familial Endeavors"
 in Ginsberg Ramble-o-Vision

A Stream-of-Consciousness Beat rant
by me


I mainly remember that I really needed to piss.
Seatbelt digging in all Iron Maidon-like with pressure to boot in the back back back seat of the SUV when
Damn
says I
I really need to piss.
I didn't get out 30 minutes ago as a form of protest as an immature refusal against this familial ambition, this tri-generational escapade.
Or maybe I just didn't need to piss 30 minutes ago.
Upsy upsy up the mountains we went
and these great feminine curvyswerves of
majarani collarbones is what these look like. I swears,
says I
that this is what the Hindus preach when they a-preach of beauty
 B E A yootee.
And the four wheels drive in AllWheelDrive-ness
up gravelly stone covered paths
with big bald trees that make up these great feminine curvyswerves
of majarani collarbones
and I surveys them
and I try to count all of them encroaching like the English dogs
who kidnapped all those majaranis
and shot pictures of their curvyswerve collarbones for photos in their
english newspapers and their
english pamphlets for
english tourists and I sees all this and
I swears I just go limp around this bend when
there breaks this opening
and all below becomes a burnt-fat-brown buncha
toothpicks naked grappling for bits o' sky to cling to open wide like Godly cereal bowl
(me being some crispy critter milk white girly bit)
all muscles file chptr. 11 and i think i pissed a little outa slow shock outa fascinating outa silent stun gun
face slap.
Not from a devastated knock-ed down-ed forest or a lovely woody wonderland those big cliches
But because I says
We could use this
I says to myself
I see mini-malls I see golf courses I see billboard
all could pile up to my level
all this space we could accomadate It's enough to
make a grown girl cry.
Why can't we uproot these curvyswerves to input graceful flatness
complete with XXX clubs and AA meetings and 36D flight attendants and
BYOB 3D theatres and B minus calculus students who play GTA in PJ's?
Why can't we sterilize the waters to a lovely orange and
frolick in sweet jumpsuits?
All the little junkie hippie couples will fuck by the stream like
3 eyed rabbits and Skip McMannis will tell Ethel LaTonne that she has
the collarbones of an ancient majarani
and she will be alone in all comparison.
And downsy downsy down the mountains we go
Even more tumultuous than beforesies passing
all levels of
ear snapping trotting and
back on Earthy pavement road there's a foggy veneer on the
windows and my grandfather scrapes it off
hurridly as if he cannot stand it
its an impulse from his defibrillator shocks his arm up jolty-like
to clear to mountain spit from sight.
All thinks I is
I left my lip balm.
my balm is back in Gilead
you heard me there IS balm in Gilead
tell me tell me he implored
 and that raven could at least have told the poor man that.
I knew I was in the country
when I finally gets outa the car (to piss)
and I hear *HONK HONK* " bay-bay! " from a grungy cum-white pickup shouted noonoclock shadowed bumpkin saints and alls they saw was my back anyhow
They just don't get the city girls out there do they?
The bathroom in the linoleum establishment was o'er par if I do say
so over frosted texas sticky buns and foil-covered fried chicken and other southern fare
there were two locks on the door and a full canister of soap
the lighting wa'nt florescent but a pale naked light bulb
and I looked better for wear
actually kinda sexy I would say and I could lick my own collarbone if I tried.
Can looked recently cleaned but in the light I couldn't really tell
there weren't those sandpaper safety covers and
there was a mirror behind me and a mirror in front
one big lie lets you think you can see the back of you
But surrounding reruns back and back and back and back and all you
see is just your
actually kinda sexy front
so there's nothing to assure those bumpkin saints' approval.
I'll take their horn for it.
Backsy backsy back in the SUV knees up to chin behind
ancient damnations and they smell.
Empty and cramped-up in layers
outsy outsy out we go to "Almost There" but as
farsy farsy far as I be concerned the day is over.

- end.

I can get used to writing like that. feel natch'al.