These words are not arsenal, they are lame and badly worded thoughts

I find my future spelled out unevenly on the sleeves of so many records. Look even deeper to the liner notes for it becomes esoteric, to even which I am not privy. Yes absolutions, but our eager, myopic, lives are hard to leave behind, hard to unshackle the shackle, hard to pull the hair off the lollipop. Good Ship Lollipop, never any less than the beautiful Good Shit Trollop. The word ensorcelled used to sound mystical, but then I read the definition, and witchcraft seemed stupid so I stopped saying it. I used to describe heightened sexual awareness in the lunch line, whilst children sipped at boxed milks but I forgot also the meaning, and just ate the potato, didn't even look up what potato mean in the dick-shunned-canary.
I, so very unlike Anais' lover Rene Allendy (do you feel stupid for not knowing the names I've so lovingly just dropped? name bombing if you would... not) believe in the utter disembowelment of precision. Do you too find cheating to lie so shallow in the Thesaurus' meager (oh so close to the word eager, merely a letter to separate hot breaths on earlobes. sex can only sell so far.) breast? No, but if you describe the dew settling on already too fleshy thighs, abstinence will soon become a thing of the past.
OH NO! If only you had tasted the bittersweet Absinthe! OH NO! Christmas Oreos, the red cream filling akin only to that special blood of the womb (visit: once a month)! How utterly appetite inducing (or seducing or reducing or reclosing, meaning of course THE RECLUSE: GRETA GARBO (flash from the past news: Greta the Great (meaning Garbo only and how these parenthesis get confusing) D-E-A-D, with a capital d and e and a and et cetera!) OH NO! Christianity and Chi Row and Catholic school girls with unflattering plaid skirts! And OH NO! Heinz 57, playing ketchup-catsup-catch UP, "duh" and "for real", and OH YES! To the epochal passing of time! Epoch actually doesn't fit there at all, however, having some relation to the word time is appropriate, or so I've felt in the past, and therefore!
Dear God, now I lay me down to sleep, if I should die before I wake (oh to the imaginations of 7 year olds!), I pray the Lord, my undying mistress, my soul to keep? rape? eviscerate? It's been so long since I've prated to anyone, I only hope that I'm being appropriate in my ill-wishing. Or maybe I've mistook the word "inappropriate" to that of "shrapnel", yet one could really never tell the difference.


{In a shift to the more lucid happenings} I "got" coffee with Mrs. Conner the other day, or rather, "Hadley". The shift from a student/teacher relationship to a friend/friend relationship, while not unexpected, seems hard to swallow for me, and the name "Hadley" seems strange on my tongue, even stranger hovering in the air between my lips and her ear. "Hadley". I can only say it lacking serious conviction, while Mrs. Conner, although inappropriate for our relationship change, fits my mouth? like a glove...