Chapter 12 Wedge 6

These sloppy, stagnant narratives bore DJ so much that his consciousness must have stopped there, because we have been obsessed with numbers, details, and all kinds of overly technical data, like foam, silt, dead flowers, floating branches and Rotten leaves meander down a dead river.But man, you leave those nicely paved sidewalks, the tech-associated life and over-prosperity civilization that metropolises like the Dallas-Fort Worth complex offer, and now you're suddenly parachuted into a Raging waves, turbulent fringes, to a starry place between civilization and natural primitive culture (like Alaska, man), and then by inserting such themes (one HA, two MA, Plus two TA&Ts) to add to the culture shock - the latter representing Tex and DJ (two rough teens with a 1/2 test) - well, you might as well sing along with Depraved Moss and Frenzied Desire .Yes, my palms itch, some call it love, cause it's shock, buzz-bum, you come from Dallas, into Brooks Ridge, as if Rusty's boys and MA's man, it has nothing to do with Mr. Anxiety, but they're walking around with him in place of Mr. Fear, and posting those numbers, Harvey, don't give up those names, Nelson, remember, the sudden drop from Dallas made A man feels small and humble, as if he's covered in shit, so have a little Christian bombardment, the word spelled balm, forgive and forget those stinking, almost still rivers of narrative, A narrative full of facts, figures, and meaningless horse shit for later use, DJ grew up on horse shit.Eyes fixed on the back of the male reindeer leaping up and down, staring at its stubby white tail and lovely white buttocks, the question now is: How can we track it?

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