Saturday, December 26, 2009

shapeless blasphemers - the one with the best tits is invariably satanic.

bracket phrases lost in a strobe-light conversation - i distinctly remember laying there on the couch, wired out on bromo-dragonfly and watching tank girl while the words started to click

like a typewriter eating tinfoil; in my ears (in my head) they jangled and stood out - sharp idioms or moments of well put-together malcontent that really, in all due justification, deserved an entire page devoted to what led up to - and how the reader was supposed to recover from such pithy insight

and pithy it was, because they stuck in my teeth (& in my craw) but i could never hold them long enough to [i]write the bastards down[/i]

only i know i had them god damn it, you blasphemous pigs

what was i thinking

what am i thinking

what have i become? the same nail in wave after wave of board

different paint same rotten woodplanks
glistening, blistering white woodplanks
which danced like fireflies in the dark, and slowly they came

the young, the needy, the bored

a cultured pageantry of self-obsession and rounded off sentences

that; moments after being handed their engineer's cap and set in charge of their very own steam engine

chose to plow headlong into the nearest embankment and tried, vainly, to see who amongst them could shout for help the loudest and be uniquely burnt out the fastest

this is not who you want to be. i am not who you want to be. put away the powders and the pills - i'm going to stop playing doctor, and you're all going to get better.

... right?

1 comment:

Genericyst said...

some odors being interpreted as other odors