The Flight of the Silver Ship. Pt1

1946. To Vallon. From Mon. Dooby.





Moonbean out of the hangar.

beanies. wore them. they were
t-shirt sleeves decorated
with magic marker.

Around the world, just like a stripper,
aboard a giant dirigible.

prep school drop-out.

a tall weird boy touched my curly hair
and said.

"head"

I felt like I knew it all
in a dirigible
full of strippers.

"You know I live in Denver
with my mother and two sisters.
They're all strippers."

"Why, you big stiff."

Blood for the bell.
It's good if you want it.
Is everything okay with you in bed.

With me?

I visit specialty shops in one of the
most brilliant cities in America.

Is it "World Class"?

who cares. strippers and me share
celibate coffee jokes
under a wane sun
looking up

to the GIANT DIRTIGIBLE.

I am not fake.
In fact, I am kind of a super-hero
of the NOT-FAKE.

Most of these dudes,
are really dirt story evil,
they don't visit
Mother's shop.

The bras
are forlorn.
french.

the pavement.
is a scorn of japanese tears.
old guitars
wading through dirigibles.

Tidens Gang.

I am so much more scando
than you'll ever be.

So I'm a secret friend of Simon Winder.
We're hanging out laughing at small timers.
I'm taking him out for beers in my Beamer.
We're genuinely interested in Scout Niblett.
I think she look like my first girl friend.
A ballet scholar. I'm dead. The noise I make
with my fingers gets me nowhere, and other dead
people visit me in a fishbowl with no
address. The dark color of my lips alarms
young boys who dance phrenetically with
twenty dollar bills their mothers give them.
Singing like little girls. They are

actually more

candid and feminine than girls at that age,
and cuter by far.

A dirigible comes out of the guitar that is the world.
It is full of black haired boys, whose hair
suddenly all turns blonde.

Then they are girls.

Then.

They are all

dirigible robot people.

I am GOD. I am dead.

Frederich Mietzche.

Pleased too.

So how do you like talk to a stripper.
You remain perfectly still.

Push your Ray-bans up onto your forehead.

and make the ink of your blood
rise into your nostrils.

If your nostrils
look like much shagged asses
of porno

Borneo.

If you kiss the final match
sequencing
our solar system

a complete organ
with all the original documentation.

I would smile at you,
but you are dead.

If I can't increase my wealth
I will not like you.

Let's watch some buoys fugue-ing now.
Because they are stupid.

But look good in the scout uniforms.

Which are dirigible uniforms.

I am loyal and faithful, honest and earnest,
and I hate to be evil.
And I hate for.

Instead, I will achieve the raising
of the silver dirigible,

a vast empty head
which abjures the world
with a fierce and furious

mudra-tool of absurdity
which says

viral giblet tools
are fireworks in the night

the just and unjust both
live horrible sticky lives

and wealth and poverty
are both ugly

all culture ever was
once

painting said it

all sickness is
istelsf

lay dawn
raydawn

Ray Don Chong

I love mOnkey whores.