box ***** box! no one ever said bare x-rayed knuckle rough up, but my tongue ain't just an oyster, so here's to a champagne flute ***** and an oyster shell tilted for a slurp ultra crescendo, a runaway: writing philosophy lets you explore the many narrators that are impotent creating characters, while fictive narration has many characters and a few dimensions of narrations, like the *** in the city gall said: newspapers are printed, they're not supposed to convey stories, or be the post-modern basis for a skeletal anastrophe of storytelling.*

you will not get any more artists
when you educate blanks
to canvas a Gucci with a brothel
of colours that might be tamed
into the anti-artist vocabulary deciphering
cubism... brothel of colours?
well **** is red, **** is brush,
you get an orchestra of vowels
with hues, pink is for arson,
the other pink is for fish against stream,
they never air-guitar bass rhymes or
solos, it's a shame, bass guitar is more
akin to drums and therefore more memorable
than brown-nosing vocals and lead guitars...
well coral red became gangrene green
when the snorkelling offshoot to finding
the titanic wreckage took off...
i said the titanic rhythms of bass guitar
was more airy than the scandalous
pitch notes of guitar turned soprano
like a michael jackson wannabe...
twist of the ***** / twist off the *****...
get a screwdriver, scandinavian ha ha:
am i grey bearded enough to act out a norwegian
version of hamlet? no? gooooood...
that's dracula saying mornin' 'n' evenin'
together; i'm into revising tabloids
by making many references...
culturally explicit ***** crap... ******* elephant
***** wide... i'm all ****** up for it to be the
defining concern of our times.