I totally forgot about this. A long time ago, I found this program that would scan a text file and generate haiku from it. I don’t know exactly how it worked; I guess it would find syllable counts of 5-7-5 in the text. So of course, I fed Rumored to Exist into it. It looks like it was a copy of the text from shortly before it was published, and not the final draft. Some of these are uncannily funny. It’s like doing some Burroughs cut-up shit – some of it is hopelessly random, but some of it fits together far too perfectly.
Here’s the best of the output from it. Maybe I should put this all in Helvetica and dump it into a pocket book.
I could feel the hair
on my head falling out, my
muscles atrophying.
CIA was outside
in a van, or his phone was
ready to give out.
I couldn’t even
email her and ask if she
was the same person.
He couldn’t bring a
gun into a federal
building anyway.
Uralic-Altaic
and Latin American
languages blended.
I thought it would be
in Ohio, it turns out
it was in Japan.
Klan was headquartered
less than an hour from the
governor’s mansion.
Nick told me about
a version of MovieLine
that worked for pornos.
Skee-Ball tickets and
a Hubert Selby, Jr.
tattoo on my cock.
I drilled her right there
on the tile. Within a month,
it became mundane.
I was so bored I
masturbated to the JC
Penny catalog.
Doctor McCarthy
will see you now,” the nurse yelled
across the concourse.
RM: No, you dumb fuck,
I said it was like some bitch
puking on your dick.
That’s been my breakfast
every morning for the
last decade, still is.
Carve your name in my
brain if you think it will stop
the fucking nightmares.
I wish it was a
computer, but even my
computer was dead.
They brainwash kids with
angel dust, impregnated
in blue star tattoos.
I should invest my
money in whether or not
I should take a piss.
X-ray comparisons
between the Dark Lord of the
Sith and John Merrick.
Bread, bread… Ghostbusters
caught the holy ghost in one
of those ecto-traps.
I finished the loaf
of bread, and drank a gallon
of flat Perrier.
Marco said. “Not the
film, but a perfect view of
the event itself.
I found myself in
the men’s room of the DNA Lounge
in San Francisco.
God would have to send
back Ahnold to the manger
to try to stop it.
They could even let
the good guys win and it might
be entertaining.
It would make a good
recordable MiniDisc
commercial, really.
And I had hours
to find Nick and get back on
a plane for New York.
Jed cracked open a
cold one while Elrod, well, cracked
open a cold one.
With my extensive
studies in vomit, I can
spot fake puke at yards.
Tito, reading from
a copy of USA
Decay. “Fuck!” I said.
It didn’t feel like
skin-to-skin contact like the
package claimed either.
I could grind them down
and make counterfeit paper
pulp in my bathtub.
Never give money
to strangers, unless you know
just how strange they are.
It’s like that Cheech and
Chong movie where they had a
truck made out of dope.
I shove the clipboard
up his ass. Okay, so I
have issues with UPS.
But I won’t pay those
bastards at Time-Warner
for their mind control.
I liked the Behind
the Music on Ice-T though.
He’s pretty funny.
I need you to go
thirty clicks up the river
and catch this frisbee.
I dropped a fiver
on the counter for my drink,
and ran for the door.
The human body
is engineered to fail in
an emergency.
I raped the cancer
surgery reward with a
Dremel moto-tool.
Leisure Suit Larry
with a vibrating pager
attached to your wong.
And you couldn’t sleep
on the beach and bum tourists’
change at this resort.
I never went to
class, so I’d have a lot of
trouble finding them.
Outside, sirens were
going off everywhere, the
riot underway.
Peter Criss threw his
drumsticks to the screaming fans
in the coach section.
Plus when I wore it
all day, I lost five to ten
pounds in sweat. Nitrous…
Pure oxygen rushed
through the nosepiece, and
I inhaled deeply.
The Gremlin didn’t
have AC, or even a
functional vent fan.
I could pick up my
paycheck, and I didn’t have
a dime to my name.
Tito finally
bitch-slapped him and told him
to shut the fuck up.
John Voight would play the
chief, and utter the “I’m too
old for this shit” line.
With some napkins and
a straw that’ll work in the
ambulance, of course.
I’d break em in half
on the first stroke.” “Dude, I think
you’re fucked up,” Nick said.
Shooting Six People
in the Fucking Face with a
Bulldog Revolver.
I checked out all of
those religious books and drenched
them in human blood.
I asked about this,
he said it kept the CIA
from reading his mind.
Weren’t you born in
like ’61?” “Dude, I was there, but
not during the war.
IQ test last night, so
I know I’m not stupid, but
it could be the drugs.
Santa Claus shapes in
a piece of plywood with a
table saw sans guards.
I’m gonna fuck him,
and break that god damned gimp arm
in half with my cock.
I pour gasoline
all over myself and light
myself on fire.
I pushed him, and watched
him fall to his death. Then I
went to 7-Eleven.
Man, and that’s why I
kept setting off the metal
detectors. It worked.
Her only piece of
photo ID was a postcard
of Niagara Falls.
I can’t just write “THIS
IS MONEY” on a piece of
paper and spend it.
I figured they had
to use potent stuff to keep
out the cockroaches.
I got the second
one, and found the first, she could
have it. She’s gone too.