On the Avenue of OH HELL NO.

Heart Drawn in Nailtalics,
Don't forget what Flip said about the cinematic surface of the fingernail. After re-visiting the house of Hair Hearts Flip it seems we were already writing from the nail salon windows of Nail Hearts Clip. I'm ready to soon soak these toes in a bubbling spa down the street on the avenue of OH HELL NO. Tell me what a pair of Virgina Lovers usually talk or not talk about, tell me what they do or say because it doesn't say on Lonely Planet, nor does it in the travel & leisure section of NY Times. I want love beyond a bumper sticker clopping and chugging through the Meadow of Happy Hearts which is where I imagine you are now. "Cut and save this heart of mine but dear god don't delete it" are the lyrics which float through this karaoke afternoon riddled with faces and voices whose names I can't remember, whose names don't stick like rain. It seems I am dragging California across the world like some static shock of rainbow taffy when my hair sticks up from fucked up pillow love in post-historic medialand. I write you with a sense of no history or future and my god it feels weightless and liberating. sometimes. And other times who cares? To drag the sentence out from the body is often like loading a gun one bullet per day, cocks and shoots the thing where I stand in a bare field of red and blue roses for no god, saint, or sinner to come spare the bones of our syntax from rattling. Sometimes I think I am dead and looking at life from the eyes of some angel wandering around without a name. Our imagination is greater than us, don't forget that. To smash and smear nature in Naturalism over the pop-mediascape you get Stephanie Tanner smiling in the trees above Gumby waving his creepy plastic arm. I could do this all day--concoct a remediation of schools of thought for what should be in IQ tests for the sheer cotton shmandy of it.

OH HELL NO

Love, be close or far
As California stretches
From here to there. Love,
Let me talk about you
Without knowing what love is
But with pure faith
In Virginia bumper stickers
And the roads that lead
To other bumper stickers
Let the meadows full of radio
Hit the balloon hours
In happy detachment our lives persist
Remediated, sung and spun, hand me
A lung of this century
To understand where I am.

Heartly,
Clip Talk.