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Master musicians touring troublesome positions …

difficult access or to play.

A ghoulish land of tomb laden Starbucks – the only respite with crumbling sarcophagi and table tops etched with stylish PhD level graphitti.

There is only hatred here.

 Mouth breathers… come with open mouths chewing like cows in a field.

                        It’s only a matter of time.

Soon the slaughter will come and they will win. They will crush the thinkers underfoot.

Will the Gods not damn the common?

The Mary Mary/she knows herself do you?  Parade day, with the march of the obese… short route… short steps. March of the Muffin man and the gods still will not damn the common … man…elevated to positions great greed and power. The elevated inadequacy that is stuck on repeat…know your history? Do the same thing differently…one step forward two steps back to follow the piper through the gates of dawn straight into the heart of the sun in a pretty pimped out box done differently. A pop pop cool /repeat and deny that this is not the crib death of creativity

A campaign in the ass of letters to the editor.

No remorse…


running scared. Will the gods not damn the common… man?

These are the end times gone sacrificial. The matter no longer matters; running, running from conventional convictions and ceremonials of those that are too late to be left to their own devices. A cathode ray project.  The pre-recorded history for those turning to mushy offal in a sacrifice to inactivity.

A crushing blow and the end times have begun … too wake too late. No time, no wake…elitist waking to a new dawns rising tide of hatred and distaste. So tell me now why the gods won’t damn the common …man?

Rolling red eroticism that is laying waste to good taste,

laying in lust a play preformed for the dust.

Pre-packaged placement of the taco belle of the ball…new replacements arriving daily.

Sponsorships worn with pride. What wont they do for seething contempt.

Of advertised belief’s, it’s just easier that way.

The end times are here you can smell it in the air. That rancid aroma washes in,

The rot has set in for longer than necessary…Cease to exist (insert Manson here)

Common capers on the broadcast box, a popularity that only the lowest common denominator wins.

It starts with a single shot/just like before/ back to back

Back of the head… one by one the poets and painters fall while the crowd roars and the fat lady sings the Star Spangled Banner