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If you don’t know the film, check it out, it drifts along nicely with not much in the way of morality. But at the same time Ryan seems like a nice guy. Or a human pumice stone.

Is it comparable to Homer’s Odyssey? No idea, never read the book, never seen the film adaptations. But that is what people say.

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Couldn’t give a fuck about her really.

Nice carnosaur.

Proper steep or child steep?

Glib in dumpster.

Ryan ‘static’ Delon.

Nothing but clothes and a few bucks on his back.

Real static?

I am debt itself, impossible to be indebted to.

Novella consequence.

Gunpoint horror then ease my way back into things.

Exterior to 11.

Platonic background tree.

Crackpipe of-

Connie? Cannie?

If her dad calls, acid bath the phone. E-mail the bar. Sorry, Sir, but she slipped in the tub. Cut her wrist instead of pineapple. Too keen to eat that pineapple. She loved pineapple. Loves. Mistook pineapple for thief then missed pineapple and cut her wrist. Dressed as pineapple while reading next day bicycle scene. Felt redundant. Scissors and a bottle of wine. Swapped scissors for sleeping pills. Countdown in Arabic. Got confused. Don’t know what I’m saying. Only my fault if you know it’s my fault. What I should do is flee.

Like the double in Kagemusha, I’m humanism.

Was humanism.

Now it’s dusty.

Each time HE kills, more dusty. Because…although…since…so…even if…

Yeah, no one’s dead, dude.

No one can die.

Connie’s wrapped in bandages, last I heard. Sore wrists, common fatigue etc.

And her father.

Her father is a decisive keg of violence foam, heavily into ADR, and that’s why I’m fleeing the State in my lovely rented car on this perfect sunny day.

But sometimes I forget.

Is he the father?

Of who?

The pineapple thief?

Was she-

Did we know each other?

Am I married?

Don’t remember.

No idea.

Can’t think with all these cafes racing by.

Is that a job?

A white event trying to provoke me?

No, it’s a job.

This is non-belonging, a spectre of it.

I think.

I don’t know, dude.

All I’m looking for is-

College girls at ten o clock, needle in the ass, hand job, throat job, Buffy IRA.

Fear?

My abduction was prepared long before I came to occupy it and that’s fine cos the décor is sterile spacious no used condoms lying around showroom bed at least one girl with dungeon eyes nice scent generally.

If I had to get my dick lopped off anywhere-

Highway highest it’s ever been. Sun shining on me personally cos I have yet to watch Ishtar. Situation of the duel? Bitch, I’m a noosign. Man of the Hamletian trail, the guy who doesn’t do anything think anything need anything dwarf anything reverse any-

Name?

Ryan if you’ve got a bicycle, Ryan’s Daughter if you’re afraid. Don’t abbreviate, we’re not going anywhere. This is a road trip through spatio-temporal something. Bicycle to bicycle to tricycle sex I’ve forgotten about.

Castration scene?

I love this new version of Wisconsin. Chronic Syndrome Hero With One Pyrrhic Face. I’m all eyes Babs Connie Krista Ryan wait that’s me at least it was a minute ago.

Yup yup.

Working hard on the sensorial, which the director calls framing.

I am Ryan of Herzog.

There’s a drink and I’m drinking it.

A bed and I’m-

Well, I probably would’ve fucked the grandma anyway but now that she’s raped me, fine, what are you doing today, leather face? All trick shots permitted. Each hotdog-

Bleak in euphemism.

Dysphemism.

One of the two.

According to the black hole inside the face of my ex, I’m a blank slate but a blank slate with propulsive milieu.

Tragic director in Hawaiian shirt.

Today life is bountiful, tonight…

Metaphysics via gas station via infinite CV.

You say she’s in the hospital but to what degree?

Rhyming disgusts me.

The tread of the unnameable.

I’m Ryan.

Ryan’s Daughter if you’re-

Fuck.

My brain is Kelowna.

Prostitute as pimp, pimp as blinding hypnotic greyness.

Greyness as-

Where do I head when I no longer have hair?

Wisconsin’s a prison, man.

Man cos I’m sick of dude.

Mate too Bavarian.

Shit.

The father’s back.

Master of the forest disguise.

Begs me outside toilet to watch Freaks with near death daughter the pineapple girl but I’m not into that colour film anymore. Witch looks tired. Too much stabbing. Characters die and react to said dying. You don’t deserve a fourth. Is this good parenting? Guy feels like a Jim but moves like a bartender.

Should I go on?

I can’t go on.

Ah my favourite hotel resort.

Big Tony as Prosperous, me as Cali Bun.

Thou most lying slave, I’ll rack thee with the worst fucking cramps. I will plague them al-

Moon’s out.

Pool giallo green.

Stripper friend as visual slogan on the verge of blackest form.

Form and deviancy.

Husband as organisational misery shape, kid as psychic cliché.

Hey, that’s not a gun it’s a water pistol but let’s pretend it’s a gun I love you baby see you around which girl what clinic where?

There’s a situation around here someplace.

Try the pool.

Water feels elderly, soothing.

Bad things were actually good things or just things really in this milieu.

Dude.

Poor grandma bear.

That rape was beyond you.

And now it’s not.

Cos I’ve undone the space, swarmed it with microbe-level characters, slaughtered thirdness firstness idleness newness, reverted my own self into equal self with hotel room façade, phased the elliptical into the unorganised, collapsed our lived-in empty frame to pinhole impotence, assuming you’re not a pin, pirouetted face-first into the circle of-

Yeah.

Let’s not understand.

I’m pissing on my knees for old time’s sake.

Trashing someone else’s car.

Looking for a bike.

In volcano, museum state, hospital, morgue, blonde vagin-

Connie-chan.

Connie the rebuilt.

Connie the trauma sponge.

Connie the cum-

There is a line that is a vector that is incessant sunlight linking me to the sweetest ever psychopath gods I miss her smile her autonomy. Hope her dad’s okay. Ready to contribute to victory, ready to be suffocated by-

Hmm, nice bike.

Nice gun.

Nice morality drop.

Nice hair.

This must be the second time I’ve been absorbed by the master.

Serious.

Not your fault, comrade. Take everything, I don’t care. I’ve got millennia to live. The road is pancreatic. Enzymes Hitchcockian. Let me watch you while I piss. King who? I’m building a playground in a slumlord. My truer state is shadow. Connie’s teeth on my ankles, my crucifix. Sex when she’s got a headache. Future slit on my throat. Sketchy death of all female colleagues. Endless cups of tea. Cauterised father hands. Shotgun too low for him to reach. Hospital fuck. If I’m quick. If I don’t stop to pick up any more sexy bitc-

Listen.

He who does not understand he who is in a hurry to act will perish by a wretched death but not this Ryan girl I’m golden.

Babe?