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Old crap and coffee.

 

Looking at photographs of the old.

 

The past transferred and digitized…cleaned up.

 

That obsessive love has gone.

 

Cut ups reorganized … a semblance of serenity / issues of fake fancy

 

these faux fuck ups.

 

 

Hard jazz codeine lights flashing in sync to the sounds of Sonny Rollins preforming on the Deir el-bahari.

 

74/75

 

code to fly the freak flag before the stupid take it over.

 

Exterminate.

 

The artist’s writers and dreamers.

 

A mass grave for creativity covered up with false dogma disguised as the new reality.

 

Old crap and coffee.

 

Existence in a vacuum..

 

Wrong chemicals,,,

 

we all live too long in a state of stupor. It has all gone black or light.

 

Crap coffee and Codeine… gone.

 

Going

 

go

 

It’s the here to now to go crowd

 

with dogmatic deathbed re-canting of creative sins.

 

 

Hanging on in hanging by a

 

threadbare

 

the continuing single minded thought

 

– stepping up to the step down downtown

 

callous ponderings –

 

appearing to look busy …

 

looking steady at the best of the bored breed –

 

looking longing for the

 

at the long sip

 

shit – the sacred and violent profane – the everyday obscenities

 

flailing in the face of the forever days

 

facing the eastern evening stars …

 

a paradise of the long gone

 

angelic left to rot and ruin.

 

 

Party at the old Hope

 

anchored down by the present –

 

the step down downtown of the paranoid

 

anti-depressed punters growing more derelict by the moment –

 

Come watch the decay of the plastic people –

 

purchases from the fashionable fascists

 

theVogue dictatorship

 

of vague relationships with gold and blurred white lines –

 

 

Feel the need of the burning 5000 …

 

A rambling missive …can you see what I say?

 

 

Feeding the need of the burning 5000

 

red rubber ball of the 5000 belles.

 

So what is the point and purpose of the flowered pastel decay?

 

What’s the point and purpose of these daily displays?

 

Feeding the need, the 5000 suffer the que … wait for it … Countdown …

 

Preform for me a peopled pastiche of pedestrian preachers.

 

Preform a twisted dance for the gathered converted … wait for it …

 

conform to perform the waltz divine.

 

I’ll take 2 dime store dye jobs counting pennies –

 

a tapestry of justice –

 

an abstraction of the common law –

 

rapture is ruptured –

 

reigning horse piss and shit from the galloping apocalypse.

 

Flick the naked wrist … limp … flick wrist naked and disturbing

 

the disgusting array of vertebrates. No reason … no excuses …

 

Dance for the crowd but perform only for me.

 

Fat assed monkey boys bang on the dancing box

 

Just in time to the travelogue of atrocities.

 

Tin pan penny tribute.

 

 

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