Page 168

By Jack Joseph Smith

waited. O'Dandy was giggling like a madman saying eah, he he, he he. The cops were shaking their heads, as they directed Dandy to their car, as he went laughing. To the limits you will take them Dandy. To the limits of sour dreams when jingle jangle you walk a destany I have made mine. Following you in these times of darkness has given my amused nature more than a clowns topsy terby grace, when all others think him unbalanced. When everything is steel blue and the doors are closing, the bottom becomes the mercy and I feel reality in the scraping of the dregs. Laughter is kissing you again, even in your, eah, no one sees. A ha, no one knows the trouble i have seen. No one knows but the dasy I picked one summer running with the Dandy and drunk on the hill, trying my best to make him feel as a child. Where off to the station again? Again. He he, eah. Bull shit. Jagg off. Why you crazy guy. We walked into the police station, with the usual white lights showing against the pretentiously dim walls. Murphy seated in a glass cage, and two eyelished girls huddled outside of him covering there bossoms, with their fanny's in rest on wooden pews. Is it Church now? Let us consecrate the sinners. Whoever that might which she be and be not. Fading blossoms turning slowly from childhood to nothing. Wished upon by slapping fingers. A touch below, would have been so fine. Don't you know? But remember, Murphy, you never let them feel your hell. If so, they would have become mothers. I is true you know. Only a faint wish from your blinking eyes would have given them wishfulness. It is a wonder you are not stripped Murphy, and maybe rubbing your cock back and forth and up and down on the glass. I mean, what else is there? You seem so dreary. Could you really care? It's only the second time today. Wishful thinking for the everlasting. Today has been a day of battle, I suppose. I pose a new question, and in that same time make a statement. Retorical I am, I am tired.

Original Scan

Page 168

AI Interpretation

GPT

Back at the station, Michael watches Dandy laugh his way into custody and sees Murphy in a glass cage near the two girls, while his thoughts turn into a weary, sexualized, church-like meditation on battle, exhaustion, and performance.

The station becomes another stage and another chapel of degradation. Michael's voice is tired but still theatrical, caught between mocking the scene, desiring it, and recognizing that the day's battles have become repetitive ritual.

Claude

O'Dandy is hauled off 'giggling like a madman' with his trademark 'eah, he he,' and the narrator follows in a long inward riff about being his clown - 'Following you in these times of / darkness has given my amused nature more than a clowns topsy terby grace... the bottom becomes the mercy and I feel reality in the scraping of the dregs.' Inside the station's 'pretentiously dim walls,' Murphy sits 'in a glass cage' near 'two eyelished girls' covering their breasts on 'wooden / pews,' and the narrator mock-consecrates the scene as church - 'Let us consecrate the sinners' - addressing Murphy on never letting the girls 'feel your hell' lest 'they would have become / mothers.' The reverie sours into a coarse, exhausted self-mockery - 'It's only the second time today... I am tired.' Source sexual language is preserved as archival text per the scan review.