Bloated like a blowfish.
Leftovers and the loses grow exponentionally. Headless, leaderless, aimless… off on a wunderlust wander. Deserted… just desserts.
The 5 o’clock poptart rises for a slow zombie walk…mortified and modified to paraphrase the nattering nabobs of nothing, bonding, in the craze to see and hear nothing.
I don’t always but that hasn’t changed much over the years. Over there is where it all started… google the earth, see; mostly harmless, I read that somewhere. Where others say we kill for pleasure. It’s fun… for the 70 billion give or take and counting. More a continuum of the blame the name game than aanything else.
Animated accented ethnic not authentic discussion of ailments and ointments. Virture of the virilant coughing up a lung or leprosy.
Do ya see what i’m saying? Rememberance of long ago trippy drug blogs, and yea, here the rain falls and makes my paper blotter acid.
So what’s it done for you lately? The ethics of the 1976-77. We vibrate while waiting for the man. 30 years on if ya count the feedback. Just appropriated like the cross-dressers of New York, doesn’t fit the sound. The altitude of the attitude 115th street lover boy.
Can ya see what I’m saying? Politics, the politics have crept in making it all so crass to feed the 5000 pink indians the fodder of family. The Anarchist hippie punk bowel movement. Hindsight is bullshit on a trike. I have grown old with my attitudeas I wait, still waiting like Vladimir for the Saturday that never arrives or was it a Wednesday?
Hearts on fire… Flames fanning Finnigans wake flames high on the pyre…Do you see the Southern I’m saying? Hemmingway in a handbag full, buckshot sprayed ocean mist fanning Finningans wake- Dont you understand the wander in wanderlust? A mind set so I guess you never will. Hidding out in fake cafes faux french and fucked up remnants and all that remains is bitterness glowing like a burning flag.