loss?! what loss? only the gain without a prescription of etymology, to succumb to ontology, that provides the currency of the present times.

she's into her *****, her latex, and her strap ons,
but she returns to the playground of
primary school when it comes
to disclosing her pop choices!

**** me... kids don't do class
A drugs,
   don't bother the *******,
don't bother the ******...
  
what begins with a *nick hornby
narrative
    of loss and rejection,
culminating in
the 13th floor elevators'
song: you’re gonna miss me -
what if no other better
                  opener track?

people should really disclose their
pop preferences...
it's the new and also the first taboo...
you can say you're into
***** latex ***,
  but you can't stomach:
  i really like madonna's
    like a prayer competing with
   material girl...

no, not gonna happen,
i'm not budging from this irritation
and point of focus,
you ******* better get your act
together before talking to me
about what's "trash" when
it's pop, addictive, kid A stuff...

you shoot the ******, you
***** the m.d.m.a. and coke...
you do that, and then deal with the strap-on
***** asking for your tongue
to spreschen out yer ****...

i couldn't have imaged this,
but people are really shame-riddled when
it comes to pop songs...
   you can have a gag-mouth-piece
in your face, a ***** up your ***
and forced to sing a ******* old testament
hosannah...
   but you will not tell me your
favourite pop song...

     being kid A, i know this...
and i pry it open with all the joyful glee
with the mainstream retards of journalism
working their post-communist magic
of censor the F's and the U's see grunts...
ah... what a lame comparison
with the pornographic liberty...
  i'm starting to find the down syndrome
kids a ******* reminder: by the grace of god...
thank the almighty!
here's here, commando in retards!
laughing his left ****** and right ******* off!

i'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours...
that's how pop song mentality works...
it's not trash, it's pop, meaning it's
very much: for everyone...
  we all know that we'll return to the songs
of pondering, and "depth",
progressive rock 13+ minutes long...
yeah yeah, that's nice,
  keep it short & sweet honey...
       we all have out music to tune our
capacity to think,
  to allow a depth...
                 but my hands akin to my feet
are fidgeting... they're geetting itchy...
(africanoos para plus!) -
           i need the ****,
i need the filfth, i need the amsterdam!
yes, you can go back to your attempt
at constructing a ulysses in a taste in music,
yes, we know the amibitious artists,
i don't mind them...
              but their ambition has
a concern for 1... once in a while...
          and that's the biggest frustration
artists have... how ambition and intelligence
overpowers popularity...
                   no point invoking
the dichotomy of politics and religion,
materialism and spirituality...
     compare the output of
  the ambitious artist (king crimson) -
   and the artist fed "ambition" (well,
simply reward) -
     the ones lacking all self-gratification -
the ones requiring headphones,
  trainers, whatever contract...
               sure, the latter becomes popes
and aphrodite ***** -
the former become monks...
             there's no trust in either -
as it might be stated:
   there's a (+, -) coordinate either side
of the dynamic of what is achieved;

my main beef is with the infantilism
surrounding pop songs...
      how people rather reveal their kink...
their latex lucy puffer lips -
   and say: oh y'ah y'ah, i'm into serious
music, i only listen to serious music...
i'm all concept, no rhythm, no groove...
  that's ******* infantilism if i ever
spot another variation of the one already stated...

the domain of music is the most
neutrally grounded terrain for
dialectics to exists...
          i have no idea why people haven't
allowed the "trash" to sit
                        on the cranium of pearl & gold...
side by side, and of equal worth...
        
ok, ok... you tell me why you're *****
over a *****-strap-on donning a latex
****** all over your body....
        
             tomorrow is bound to make sense;

yeah peevie...
you peevie...
   but at least prostitutes don't really
want to **** under bed-sheets like
these "liberated" western women seem to do;
truth be said,
     ******* after dates seems
like a nightmare from the 19th century...
seriously?! under bed sheets?
  it would seem like a genuine protest
by a woman:
   yes, i pull my ******* back.