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Unstoppably Superfast Gone

When I do something ultimately a cat gets on it.

So, I have to give up and start something else.

And, this is the day all the galley slaves are liberated all across the kingdom and the big beating drummer at the front of the ship is reassigned someplace else, but his career is pretty much over because after twenty years’ beating, he really can’t learn anything new because he is burnt out on beating and his ass is spread the width of the rough hard wooden seat he leaves behind to be scrapped with the rest of the obsolete leaky rot-wooded warship.

Enough of him though, now this: Noman and Phyllis, as in The Ballad of. You know?

How fast are you moving right now? What is really deeply real, and what is it relative to?

To what? You have been asked, so answer!

Okay. Now. Phyllis manned the snack bar at the only bowling alley in backwoods Tokophopia. The owner had given her the job, when it became apparent that she had no future as a professional bowler. Low was the pay and nearly zero was the workload. Life transformed into a daily dragging ball and chain clanking behind her day after day. The thundering balls being hurled down the dozens of alleys in the huge bright lit building surged at her, punctuated by the crash of flying pins and periodic clapping and cheering from the drinking smoking laughing spectators. One day something happened though that hit her like a hammer. Out of the blue, a clean-cut young bowler with a bulb of a head, came up from the alleys and opened his mouth to speak. Seeing his speech coming, she prepared herself to field whatever flyballs he’d hit to her; ready she was, whether she would grab an order for a hamburger hot dog Coca-Cola, bottle of Schlitz or can of Bud; or to deliver the directions he might need to know how to get from the alley to the Interstate and it was a tricky way to get there; that kind of question came quite often, given the far out place the bowling alley was at; and, he—

How about a date, honey? You’re powerful hot.

Lord! Grammerbad badgrammar grammerbad badgrammar findwhattosaynow—

What’s wrong, honey? Cat got your tongue?

Grammerbad yes badgrammar, How fast are you movingrightnow, Right now

Okay. Okay. Be that way I—

Aroundtheearthturning one thousand miles per hour

No no, don’t go—I’m sorry, I am, I just had something caught in my throat!

Oh! That’s good—well, no I don’t mean it’s good there was something caught, I mean—one thousand miles per hour!

I know what you mean; sure ‘nuff, I would love to dare going out with you!

Dare? What—I didn’t hear you. Dare? What does this mean?

That meant yes.

Great! So, they set date and time and all that boring useless to tell but needs to be known stuff; he goes back to bowl and she counts the balls but spends the rest of the day giving up wasting away melting down into herself.

hamburgers hot dogs Coca-Cola bottles of Schlitz cans of Bud

No, no no, not that; no, they’re waypast and into their first drinking date. They sat on their stools balanced correctly everything correct yes keep it all correct; Want another honey?

another honey what no not another I never had my first honey love badgrammer grammarbad but what you meant I know dove

Sure, why not?

Having fun!

Yah do!

So drink—hey barkeep bartender heyman youthere hey—

Lord can’t you see like I we are shooting along at nineteen miles per second

Hey, right. Another round now. What? Yah runatab!

But listen, please; how can that be important when we’re shooting along at nineteen miles per second? Liquor draining away from the big city sign saying, no, it’s worse; at the same time the solar system’s zipzipping along at forty three thousand miles per hour

The second and third date slid under them and after two mutual orgasms within a certain date he pulled out and lay beside her long legs and all. Ultimately, marriage came in view social convention two look it up; it’s come to stuff them into proper clothes and they swept down the aisle to do it and it was over as quick as the earth speeding sixty-six thousand miles per hour about the sun, so, given that, what standard of rest should be used to approximate their gross net fishy motion in the bright eyes of the moon.

Look at the Moon, at last she says.

What?

Tokophobia equals translates in her, to;

Look up at the Moon. But she did say more too into his state of being, and it ricocheted back, as; What? You sure? You say it so calm, I—but; did you really say that, you are really going to—I mean, we are going to have a baby?

Look at the Moon comes across masking this flood excessively truthful too much yes too truthful and Yes the sun speeds around the milky way at four hundred eighty-three thousand miles an hour, also; yes, no, so how fast we go now how fast are we go within this tangly tentacleation of speeds going in every direction yes, no—here’s where these words plug in, as, Fantastic, honey! I am so proud! Jesus lord, thank you Jesus—

But Jesus I am scared what you bringin’ me

Lord God, you are wonderful, a wonderful wife, praise the lord!

But Jesus I am scared what you givin’ me

God, so proud

God, so scared

Tokophobia

Say hey what

Tokophobia! pulling months out from under one by one one plank at a time out from under the steadily thinning and weakening safe floor of time God never, ages! Closer but still, ages! The moment is visible the child is seen sexed and we know, He is saying lets pick a name but block it because activation of the name will be past death; what honey, I said let’s pick a name but block it because activation of the name will be past death; Honey what’s the matter, why don’t you hear me why won’t you speak what are you afraid of you’re not the same what is there to be afraid of spit it out anger don’t be this way anger this is not who I married anger who am I living with what is this dead thing no not person, thing, what who this thing or person no neither? What, this thing is neither? No what. No.

No.

Listen up and get ready; here come the last laps, no words, it is written that those labeled astronauts by the current culture, sped away from the earth toward the moon twenty-three hundred miles per hour here it comes the blade bullet speeding; month eight, why is it taking all the slow months why? So the last lap no words, it is written that those labeled astronauts by the current culture, sped away from the earth toward the moon twenty three hundred miles per hour here it comes the blade bullet speeding; month nine, why is it taking; no, it is real really real land the moon crash the earth slide the gap take the plate cloud of dust home run no baby big baby girl big, wail, wail, wail; so you see, honey, there was nothing to fear so you see, honey, there was nothing nothing so you see, honey, there was yes there was so you see, honey; life spends a lifetime, piling all on; yes, one day something happened though that hit her like a hammer. Out of the blue, a clean-cut young bowler with a bulb of a head, came up from the alleys and opened his mouth to speak. Seeing his speech coming, she prepared herself to field whatever flyballs he’d hit to her; ready she was, but;

When I do something ultimately a cat gets on it.

So, I have to give up and start something else.

Just go on beating that drum, man.

You are kept alive only to go on beating that drum.

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