Coming up Reminds me of University... Waiting for the high to hit Never enough Never as good As last time. The new discovery An addiction To new discoveries. Never satisfied In that All-too-comfortable Bubble
It’s been a year since I typed some lines, probably cuz it’s stuff like this, I want to get laid and i want to get ****** but instead all I feel is sick Kedgeree thats tumbled dried from 38 minutes of bad Elvis hips, while legs pop like rockets my eyes sink in my sockets saliva swells in my cheeks as I drift in disappointment swimming in icy air to catch my confidence lost at sea but its too far gone, so i just stare at a laptops glare thinking about my spots my unstyled bramble of hair my polo, too garish? MY SPACK BRAIN! too confident in thinking I looked smart? as i wish for another heart one thing sticks in my mind a girl, or was it a boy, looking like Johnny Rotten, in Westwood striped dungarees and flames of hair flashes of the Public Image, King Krule and all that in my headphones. Words that are all in my head as my stomach is sick oh yeah, they played the killers I like them now my head is bleak like Mike Skinner I wish I’d chosen earlier to have my dinner another music reference lost on you but stuck in my mind in bed as I picture a red head oh my.
"I'd like to be a fly on the wall," you say. Would you? Would you really like to be privy to all that drama and intrigue, without ever being noticed? Sounds nice, I suppose. But I'll let you in on a little secret- That, my dears, is false advertising. Truth is, people always notice flies They just choose to ignore them And lower their voices when you buzz by on sugar-spun wings of self-confidence- Maybe it's just all in your head Maybe you've misinterpreted things-behind kaleidoscope eyes It always looks like there are more of them than you.
So you gain confidence You hover on the fringes of their circle And drone out a low hum of 'what've you been up to today?' Or 'how're you?' Or 'long day, huh?' The response is offhand A verbal flick of the wrist Batting the ball back into your conversational court Because coming at you with a fly swatter Or a rolled up Cosmo magazine Takes more effort than they're willing to give.
You buzz about some more Hoping maybe the silence will entice them to engage But no, They can't hear your buzzing Or they won't. So instead you stand Fly on the wall Content with watching the light catch your wings Repeatedly wringing your hands near your face In a way they probably think is malevolent I promise I'm not plotting- I'm just juggling the weight of my loneliness Maybe if I shift it from one palm to another Somehow I will lighten the load.
Take comfort in this, little fly- The sun makes your wings iridescent And even though they'll never get close enough to see that, you can. It's not a trick of the light Your fractal eyes do not deceive you- They are duplicate.
I proof read, and top up and eject and print and scan and hand in and sometimes I get full marks.
Mark. Marks Marks on the body. Mark my words. (Mark my work.) Karl ******* Marx The communist who launched a thousand memes.
My oh my.
The necropolitical is like a funnel a filter, a sieve. Like baking, only you didn't forget to put the oven on and people are inside the oven and so are you.
It's not like with the toaster when ur mum tells u to scrap the black crumbs into the drain.
It's not like you can unburn the burnt. Oh and the skin grafts? There's a waiting list for that. The waiting list? There's a form for you to get on that. The forms? You need to print them out. The printer? OUT OF ORDER. Buy your own. OUT OF STOCK. Your bank balance? FUNDS INSUFFICIENT. Your bank? Sorry you have reached us out of outside of our operating hours.
Outside Outside of our Outside of our operating of our operating hours operating hours and hours and hours and hours Thanks for holding! A representative will be with you shortly...
[Dave Dobbyn music continues playing through the phone]
university and study link and banks and institutionalised violence are all ******* ridiculous and need to stop