in a room filled with the music, it's hard to say what
the emotional intensity change feels like when the headphones
are in, next on the menu:
camel's masterpiece - another night -
from the album moonmadness -
and here, what Islam ought to be
kindred to: conscious r.e.m. akin
to epilepsy - and no pagan in sight -
the approaching October with
his Octavian prose of shrugged shoulders -
and an article about gender-neutrality
and fleabag - 2nd year at Edinburgh
is was all about skipping the late afternoon
tutorial, doing the shopping
and foraging on Last.fm... for the next
progressive rock-band...
hence camel, hence spirit, and many others...
a new mode of basking in the sun for a tan...
what you're thinking -
bad question... i don't want to know...
as all pubescent conversations go... that's
the one question you cite as: minus 100 points,
on a tally of 300... the end,
hello Tolstoy. so that's me,
camel's moon-madness album,
an opinion section about gentrification,
and how your genitals never bubbled into your
'ed, because it was not necessarily minded
before ******* took over...
so gender neutral... awe at the power of science...
they could have got 19 pence anti-cancer pills...
but H.I.V. was more important...
yep, never did ****... and don't intend to
join the feminism of: let's do ****, and stop
those ******* leaving us barren and destitute in
their funny guy shags guy...
if that ain't a woman thing (doing ****)
to discourage men from doing men...
i know why the majority of bachelors under
the Octavian rule of thumb would be
pressed grapes and end up as wine...
hands up: just saying... i plead guilty...
and the art of dialectics left to its own
devices produces this... no point to hook-up onto...
less agreed on and even less argued against...
dialectics like a derelict house for you:
shaky Stevens with the knees... PRAY!
there's the church, and there's the holy ghost,
who's never to be a personified,
ugly nuns praying for alcoholics...
and if there was a more successful brothel scheme
than the nuns of the Vatican... please let me know.
lying and being angelic faced: if ever
there was a bigger turnoff than that,
i'd be banking on that 'um.
so there's camel and the fleabag sitcom -
        there's also a.... burp... and that too including
something else...
                            you know... Poland seems
like a rather sane place to be a child... well, that's
1986 through to 1994 -
                     a sane place...
                                          a sane place being raised
by you grandparents -
                                   because your parents
were establishing a new lie in England and were
away...
                  a pretty sane place...
        whatever the western world is selling: i'm not buying...
you never know, it might just be malaria...
                     as a propaganda composition to
    seek out personal benefit?
   no... like looking for an honest man is as hard
as looking for god (Diogenes and the lamp debacle
in the marketplace, later understood as pure Nietzsche,
n'ah ah)...                    i keep thinking about
my childhood because that's the period where things
were sane... getting exposed to western ideas just
bred more ******-doodle-do than i'd care to say,
or Snowden and that guy who found North Korean a haven,
so much for press-freedom... at least you
can spot the dictators, the magic mushroom people
running the so-called "free media" are tyrannical moguls
who want their faces printed in tabloid papers as if
tabloids meant mirror...             at least people
want to assassinate tyrants... no one seems to give a toss
about these Eton Boys' Club Furore:
bow down to the messiahs! comparatively enough
zeros (000000000000000) on your cheque, is like
                 inches in the length and girth of your
one-night-stand capabilities.

good folks
bad folks
neutral folks
all kinds
unless it's a joke
who dies young
the people we like.

take me east, in your mothers car. well wake up early and brush our hair, make ourselves look pretty and then  go to texas to see 3 person caskets and 19th century hearse carriges and glass coffins, well get jobs and pay for it all, the tickets, the hostel. itll be barely summer and well be dripping down the sewer drains, bones and all.

take my body south, to the desert. put my body in my parents living room, brush my bodys hair, make me look pretty (my white dress). my parents will pay for it all, the cemetary, the flowers. wrap my body in a shroud and toss me into the dry dirt, it will barely be summer and ill be back in the ground, bones and all.

don't bruise my mind with your
spat out slurs that fall
to my feet
with
a thunk.

don't fill my pretty little head
with insanity-notions
and those lies
that
are pernicious.

don't tell me i am prettier
when i am angry;

you want me
when i am angry;

you'd **** me
when i am angry.

don't.
don't.
don't.
don't
say you love(d) me.

past or present tense
the lie is still tensing

the backbone
you say i don't have.

don't look at me.

*your eyes aren't the only thing i won't miss on my body.

we can go wherever we want
we can even go to
montana
because we can't live here anymore
all the boys are talking to her,
they're drowning in blue and talking to her
it is hard to understand
in a similar way it is hard to understand
flowers growing,
maybe it is your birthday.
all the boys are talking,
their eyes are closed and they're talking to her
it is hard to hear when i sleep