The new Genre Tourist Punk
is sailing the nation.
Hawaiian shirts and white keds are lining up all around Orlando to see
up and thrifting bands like
Lobster trap,
Lighthouse tour and
Dogs welcome.

Founded in a Starbucks
by Toni and Dash,
two MECA grads one student loan away from selling out and getting involved in
the lighthouse painting business,
The Band: Lobster Trap
gave birth to a whole new genre.
TOURIST PUNK
Toni and Dash decided they needed to provide music that was expensive. niche.
Something unspeakably mundane.

With smash hits like
"This traffic is *******"
And "My name still isn't Joe".
Lobster Trap is flying
up the American top 40
faster than you can say socks and sandals

Sales of "I HEART LOCATION" merch has skyrocketed with every launched tour.
Crowds of L.L. bean boots and visors are Moshing, breaking poloroid cameras over each others heads in a salmon rage.

old school punk fanatics were skeptical at middle aged middle class suits getting into their scene.
until it hit them that they could now throw punches
at every pedestrian who ever cut them off.

"Hi thirsty, I'm Dad." By Land of the Polite
Has been played more times in the last year then any taylor swift song.

Money once invested in college-bound middle class vacationlander spawn is being wisely spend on bands like "discount Polo",
and "Local Diner"

So listeners.
if you spend an obscene amount of money on travel fair, and over priced, cheaply made souvenirs;
Or Work in customer service thriving to see those leaf peepers choked out by their own ***** packs.
Do yourself a favor.
road trip into your local bullmoose
sporting your states name on your chest.
And Treat yourself to an exclusive new album
of TOURIST PUNK.

It's been used on the street.
Used outside of the medical
profession.
Y'know, it's an altogether
new thing.

It can be even more important
than reading the bible.
Children as young as nine
are enlighted with ritual
consumption.
Student priests. Brainchildren.

A moshing chapel, a bouncing
church.
Holy orders have volunteered.
Five groups of four. Four groups of men.

With his eyes, he asked for
water, as deep as wells.
Brain unrooted, profound psyche.

What matters now? Dawns on me.
An experiment, an experiment.

What comes back? What expands?
Everyone that you meet.
The man, the man, the man.
Your duty is not over.

The surprise is:
the cross is the drug.

Sitar sounds and biting.
Chewing and *******.
Swiss lips and big trips.
Explosions and headlines.

Brighter colours, paisley skies.
Giggling teens and sighs.
Spare ribs unite, yellow sweets.

All to do with round.
Monochromatic world turns to
dreaming and doing it all.
Everything, I can do it.

But It's all too much.
So many ties and looking to
your eyes.
Love shines and trombone slides.
Social liberations, my friend.

Feminism, it's for the doers.
Taxes, real worlds, living on it.
Escape is far worse.
Easy actions and breaking
through windows.

Use it proactively not as
recreation.
Same effect as a man getting it.
He feels it going.
Terribly uncomfortable, alone.

Escape is suicide. Lies, lies,
Exagerration, laws, again lies.
Too many idiots, not enough cooks,
Too many chefs, not enough books.

News is what has given particular
concerns with the true risks.

Mr. Illicit tells us the risks.
Accidents and Supermen and flies.
Don't believe in the invisible
trains and cars.

Mental Breakdowns are wonderful
only when it's dependant
upon the setting. Too much again.

Vortex of fear, darker sides.
Rolling and sadness.
Initially the experience was
as advertised. Ancient fossils live.

A new green, a new blue
New sunlight. A new shape.
Terrifying proportions if you
camp in the wrong field.

Lethargic pigs sliced and green.
Cartoon kinda monsters.
Hahahahahahahha, we've GOT YOU!
Negative, feelings, never again.

Secrets of the mind, they chase.
It's the mis-use. It's the bad.
It's the guilt, it's the right way
Only without respect.

The larger group,
it ruins everything for
everyone responsible. Why?
Why cant't you just ******* make
drinks illegal?
Why not cancer sticks? Sickening.

Leave love alone.
Afraid that there is more to
our doors, that haven't been opened.
Out of control? You are out of control.

(Words were given to me by classmates:
A  Vivid
B  Incredible
C  Rapid
D  Blank
E  Indubitably
F  Over)

The sight so vivid,
the feeling is incredible.
Thumping, thrashing, moshing; rapid.
All adrenaline, minds are blank.
All will have stories to tell, indubitably.
Time stops; never ending, never over.

Guitarist flicks his pick over
our heads; strobe lights so vivid.
People injure for that pick, indubitably.
Though to catch it would be incredible.
Chaos for a piece of plastic that's blank.
The crowd's desperation; movements are rapid.

Heavy metal; headbanging rapid.
Vortex as they swing their heads over.
Some are dizzy; expressions blank.
Light reflects of swishing hair; movements are vivid.
How the band maintains the rhythm is incredible.
Long night for everyone, indubitably.

The chaos will never end, indubitably.
People still moshing, everything is rapid.
Being in the center; scary and incredible.
I hope this will never be over.
Lights flashing, making everything vivid.
Flashing and thrashing; nothing is blank.

Begin a new song, backdrop is blank.
Something awesome, indubitably.
New song starts, loud and vivid.
Musicians play more rapid.
No one wants it to be over.
Lyrics speak, it's incredible.

This night is incredible!
No thoughts form, my mind is blank.
But dreadfully, it is over.
Traffic out is awful, indubitably.
My heart is still beating so rapid.
The memories are oh, so vivid.

I wish it wasn't over, the lights were so vivid!
My energy is blank, but my mind is still rapid.
The show was incredible; I'll go again, indubitably.

I've got 50 states of panic.
They're all moshing in the pit of my stomach.
I've got arthritis is my voice so I only have a certain range of communication,
I tend to lock up at the most terrible time, getting stuck on the joint of wanting to tell everybody everything all at once.

Just like the old man across the street.
The warden of his disease forces him to have all lights off by 9:30.  
If the lights still show by 10:00 we call to see if his disease escaped his prison.
The stutter at the end of the line gives us back our breath that we've been holding onto for so long.
I bet he lost track of time flipping through pictures of his sweet Joan.
I think he wants to cross over onto the next street just to hold her hand.

My 50th state of panic is that no one will call if my light is left on a little too long.

She was in love with the road and the music
It was her home
Underneath the lights, amidst the noise
Her soul was dark and free
She was a drifter, one stage and city to the next
He was in love with her
The way she could pour herself into an eighty five minute set
How she could move a moshing crowd to tears
She was his home
Her smiles, her lips, her messy hair
The way she'd kick her laces boots and watch her feet as he told her he loved her
She fell hard, he fell harder
They fell in love to the beat of a ragtag eighties grunge song and things just never changed

What can I say I love
wearing suits
nice leather boots
Love hanging out
with other guys
and wearing ties.
Playing sport
listening to heavy
music and going to
gigs moshing in
pits and having
a blast drinking
pints of beers
and thinking
about women.

But I don't look
like other guys
Reality sinks in
and I feel lost
and hurt inside.

I withdrawn
back in my shell
quickly learn
that I have been
born into the wrong
form.

Seeing it every day
magnified and glaring
back in the mirror
each morning  
is enough to make
me hate it.

These days I feel
gender-less and neutral;
hardly charming
never beautiful
or at the least
the way I intended
it to be
I'm just me.

He picked me up hitchhiking on Tylerfoote Xing
My years were twenty, headphones on and moshing
I sported cut-offs and my "Docs" on that stubborn hot day
My Mohawk was three colors, I was an obvious gay

Allen Ginsberg 1984 in front of Ma Trux
He pulled over in a dust cloud, this was my luck
"Where are you headed?" said he, "I'm on my way to SF"
"Just to town." said me, "that's far enough."

"Where are you from?" came a chortle with this query
"From New Jersey I hail, how 'bout you my deary?"
A gaff of a laugh came then and two words, "me too."
"Oh really?" came my sarcasm, "How lucky for you."

"To escape," I finished then a gaffing  stabbed further
He looked so odd, my fear was, " I hope I'm not murdered."
Obviously much older, a bit pudgy and bald
When he told me his name it meant nothing at all

Said he was from Newark, this did not impress me either
"Me? Camden," though he might guess from my wife-beater
"What's that music you've got?" said my chauffeur
"A mixed tape. The Clash, DK's and Psychedelic Furs"

"Pop it in the dash, lets have a listen my friend."
As he glared at my flesh, I thought, "this is my end"
He popped it out almost immediately and declared
"This is awful and loud, your generation makes me scared!"
  
We argued a bit about music and art
"Patti Smith is the greatest poet!" I told the old ****
"She's from Jersey too, like Walt Whitman and us."
Allen's reply, "Oh really, what's the fuss?"

"Whitman comes from Camden, I'm a poet like him"
Ginsberg said, "oh yeah, well let's hear some Slim"
So I began to recite from "Leaves Of Grass"
"Not Walt! Give me yours kid, I don't want to hear him, you ***."

So I threw at him my most recent, "Angel With A Pool Que"
He complimented me so nicely, I believed he spoke true
"Ever hear of Howl? I'm a poet too."
He recited dozens of lines and I thought "p-u"

My offer was, "It needs some work"
His exclamation was, "Do you know who I am, you ****?
I'm Allen Ginsberg, you mean you haven't heard of me?"
I exclaimed my name back, boldly emoting "don't you see?"

We laughed together it was a joyous moment in time
Then his hand moved to my knee as he blurted some rhyme
I picked it right up and placed it back on the steer
"If that's what you want Sir, I can walk from here"

He stopped his car there in the middle of the 49 highway
"I mean you no harm young man, I assumed you were gay"
I explained, "Of course I am, but we are not going there"
He was a perfect gentleman then on, with out even a swear

I inquired with my friends when I got to town
Of this charming old poet I left with a frown
They jumped and spun and called me "**** crazy"
One handed me Howl in hard cover; I felt dim as a daisy

today i drove 3.72 miles
to buy a single 44 cent stamp
and a woman with hair
the color of a cement foundation
forgot my name,
so i pretended not to know
hers either

i stood in a line
of people with holiday
parcels under their arms
and i looked at my phone
to check the date
because i live in a world
where the days of the week
rarely flit through my mind,
much less numbers
from a grid written
on paper

(note to self:
don't worry,
you didn't miss thanksgiving)

i meandered slowly
through the zigzags,
all of us corralled
like cows gone to pasture,
or perhaps being led
to slaughter
by flimsy pieces of
polyester we don't
dare touch

the woman
behind the desk
broke my morose thoughts
with a joke about
the government robbing us
all blind

i imagined a swat team
breaking through the glass
wall behind me
and grabbing her
before we could even
blink twice

then a man
three times my age
looked me in the eye
and told me i looked much
too tired for a 20-something
and i told him, well,
that's because i am

we stood in the parking lot
for nearly an hour
and i told him of the dreams
that pull my energy away
just as i'm regaining it,
in the fitful in-between
of true rest and eyes wide open

i spoke of leaping broken stairwells,
chasing thieves on motorcycles,
finding true love only to watch
it be trampled by a crowd moshing
to the music that defines my days

i told him of my mother's theory:
that i was working out
the issues that plagued
me by day throughout
the night

and he scoffed and told me,
girl, your mother may be right,
but that brain of yours is a
gift and these dreams are
what's wrapped up within it;
if you know what's good for you
you'll figure out a way to use them

in the middle of the midst of the scene
  i swear this ******'s already been seen

cut to some day
  that seems like today
or should be,
  maybe.
except I can't quite manage to distinguish
  the quiet from the mirage from the extinguished

stomping barefoot on broken glass
  moshing in a field of razor grass
will the screaming ever ease?
  the shrieking ever cease?

price paid
  over & over
    ad infinitum
fight not to fade
  over & over
    and then some

exhausted
  self-accosted
so sick of this ****
  & its anti-exquisite
    ready to abandon belief in it
but will when ever be the whole then again?
  will Clint ever really rock & roll & rule again?

hmmm,
  we know you can't bind me
    if I decide to find me
  so get thee behind me
    before I remind me
  of the achievements I was “meant” for
    which I never ever gave a **** for

Force of Nature
  my own answer
intellectual
emotional
primal
  the forever genius jester

wit charm & character
  with four-alarm laughter
exiting the confusion
  burning cold fusion

escaped from my asylum
  for the emotionally insane
unbroken I again become
  and this phoenix shall remain

People’s rhymes sold in auctions, please take caution
Of the window washing smileys panhandling toxins
Give no option, moshing many minerals
Cocktail parties are more hardy maybe visceral
Rock the mini marts when the boys tumble out
To cull clerks hurtin’ in no cocktail lounge
Shout outs as loud as the whole neighborhood
Mounds of scatter chips blitz grub to scrounge
Shout out to the clerk, sorry we’re super drunk
How bout not being a dupe or **** you entertainment monks
Who’d of thunk these the spunky thinkers of tomorrow

Yo, shout out to everybody that worked on the album
You feel me, son? Yo, shouts out to Ty Dollas
Shouts out to Hodgy Daddies, shouts out to Left Brizzle
Shouts out to Domyon, shouts out to Frankie Ocean
Shouts out to Syd the Dude, shouts out to L-Boy Awk
Big eared bandit is tossing all his manners
In a bag and wrapping them in seran wrap bandages
Tossing 'em in baskets with the rest of those sandwiches
So when he says "Catch up, *****" it looks like an accident
Um, flowing like my pad is the maxiest
My ***** white and black like she's been mimicking a panda
It's the dark skinned *****, kissing ******* in Canada
Then kicking all out like Mr. Lawrence did Pamela
Put her in the chamber all against her Wilt Chamberlain
I never had a Reason, ***** I was just Ableton
Not a ******* Logic contradicting *******
Flyer than an ostrich moshing in a tar pit
***** scented cheetah printed tee
In that 'Preme five panel, I'll repeat it for the season
Previous items in the present
With the normal *** past like I cheated on my team
It's me (Tried to get that *****, but, Golf ****)
To have some type of knowledge that is one perception
But knowing you own your opponent is a defeating bonus
I'm Zeus to a Kronos, cartilage cartridge is boneless
Smiles of cowards in lead showers
Dead spouses in red blouses
Children who fled houses on Mustang horses and went jousting
I'm on my Robin Hood ****, robbin' in the hood
Whips, drugs, jewels, and your pet, I'm stealing your rings
Coke diamonds and your Vet, soldiers lace the ******' boot
And salute like the troop when you shoot you gon' ****
It's **** Hodgy, *****, stay the ******* my stoop
And out my Kool aid, Juice
Hodgy got the juice, I got the gin
Jasper got the Henny, my ***** we get it in
Wolf Gang party at the hotel
I call a **, you call a **, and all the hoes tell
You know Left Brain need a freak
I need a ***** to go down like a Nitty beat
Yup, uh, and her *** fat
Don't be surprised if I ask where the hash at
***** I'm tryin' to smoke, ***** get higher
Domo where that Flocka Flame? Talkin' 'bout a lighter
Still bang salute me or just shoot me
Cause if you don't salute me then my team will do the shooting
Yeah my ***** Ace will pull the black jack
The king Mike G is in the cut with the black mac
Livin' like the Mafia, *****, don't get to slacking up
And if these haters actin' up, throw 'em in the aqueduct
Free my ***** Earl, yo, I don't really ask for much
But two bad ******* in front of me *******
What the **** is caution?
Often I leave you flossin' and cause exes next to coffins
Lost in translation, the dreams you chase
Got you diving for the plates like you stealin' home base
That's great, I'm home alone dreamin' of two on ones
With Rihanna and Christina Milian, bring it on
And Travis is in the closet organizing and hangin' the *****
Three lettermans that Ace has been making him
No strays while we catchin' matinees, huh?
I'm gettin' blazed thinking 'bout those days
I had the top off the GT3 like toupees
One finger in the air, all's fair when crime pays
My grand scheme of things is to be attached
To the game like ******* to their wedding rings
And you don't even need to look cause we gleam obscene
In the light, ride slow to my yellow diamond shining
Like the Batman logo over Gotham, rock LA to Harlem
If you say "get 'em Mike G" then I got 'em
One man squadron, ***** I'm a problem
From Briggs I got bars and plans to
**** these Polish ******* into pop stars
Humanity kills, we all suffer from insanity still
And if I said it then it is or it's gonna be real
OF 'til I OD and I probably will, uh
It's still Mr. Smoke-a-Lotta-***, get your baby mommy popped
With my other ****** bop, do I love her? Prolly not
Know your **** is not as hot as anything I ******' drop
***** I'm in the zone, stand alone, like Macaulay ****
I've been runnin' blocks since a snotty tot
Big wheel was a big deal with the water Glock
Now I'm all grown, sing songs just to give 'em watts
Fire what I talk, but still cooler than the otter pop
Op Dom neck **** in your wish list
Mad sick ****, mad **** for your *******
On some slick ****, your mistress on my hit list
And I'm lifted 'til I'm stiff out of this *****
Odd in your *******' area
Blood clots give me five feet 'fore I bury ya
Suicide flow, let the big wave carry ya
Tyler got the mask like he held Jim Carey up
And **** your team, ** ***** wassup
Wolf Gang so you know we not givin' no *****
You know me dog, I'm a chill in the cut so I can
Cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up
Get me a Persian rug where the center looks like Galaga
Rent a super car for a day
Drive around with your friends, smoke a gram of that haze
Bro, easy on the ounce, that's a lot for a day
But just enough for a week, my ***** what can I say
I'm hi and I'm bye, wait I mean I'm straight
I'mma give you this wine, the runner just brought the grapes
My brother give it some time, Morris, and Day
Course you know the vibe's as fly as the rhymes
On the song, cut and you could sample the feel
Headphone bleed, make this **** sound real
Used to work the grill, fatburger and fries
Then I made a mil and them psychics was liars
Now, how many ******' crystal ***** can I buy and own
Humble old me had to flex for the fogs
Down in Muscle Beach pumpin' iron and bone
Bumpin' oldies off my cellular phone
Yeah, bumpin' oldies off my cellular phone
*******, this rapping is stupid and it's hard
Gotta do it over and over and over again but here I go
Hey it's Jasper, not even a rapper
Only on this beat to make my racks grow faster
Got a TV show, so I guess I'm an actor
*** head, half baked, lookin' like Chappelle
Rollin' up a blunt with that fire from hell
Still ignorant, still hit a *****
Wolf Gang, *****, so I still don't give a ****
Catch me in the back with Miley on my lap
**** rips as I feel on that little ***** cat
Hah, ***** came through with a 9 bar real quick
Just for the *******, little bit of money in my pocket
**** it, Wolf Gang
Yeah, **** that, look, the contrast is a pair of lips
Swallowin' sarapin, settin' fires to sheriffs whips
(Whoosp, whoosp) ******' All-American terrorist
Crushin' rapper larynx to feed 'em a ******' carrot stick
And me? I just spent a year Ferrisin'
And lost a little sanity to show you what hysterics is
Spit to the lips meet the bottom of a barrel
So that sterile **** flow remind these ****** where embarrassed is
Narrow, tight line, might impair him since
I made it back to Fahrenheit, grimey get dinero type
Feral, ******' ill apparel, wearin' pack of parasites
Threw his own youth off the roof after paradise
La di da di, back in here to **** the party up
Raidin' fridges, tippin' over vases with a tommy gun
Never dollars, poppa make it rain hockey pucks
And 60 day chips from ******' awesome anonymous
Call him bloated 'til he show 'em that the flow deluxe
Off the wall loafers, Four Loko, and a cobra clutch
Vocals bold and rough, evoke a ** to pose as drum
And let me hit and beat it with a stick until the hole was numb
The culprit of the potent punch
Scoldin' hot as dunkin' ******* in a Folgers cup, or Nevada
Drivin' drunk inside a stolen truck, shittin' like his colon bust
Belly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleum
Supernova, I'm rollin' over the novices
I'm roamin' through the forest and spittin' cold as the porridge is
Stay gold 'til the case closed and the story end
Post mortem porkin' this rap **** and record it
To escort it to the morgue again, lord of lips
Bored of this, forklift the tippy top, best under 40 list
Stormin' the gate, ensurin' the bass, scorchin' ladies
******* sore in torso and face
Get at me with savages, have a pack of Apache
Indian pack of ****** who don't give a **** if we nasty as flatulence
As a matter of fact, your swagger is tacky
So see me you can't like Crunchy Black catchin' a taxi
Back like lateral passin'
With that *******' gladiator manner of rappin'
As an addict I let percocets and xannies relax me
Fall back if your paddies is ****, please
OF, **** that's all I got
From my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother Tac
From that father figure Clancy to that skatey ***** Naks
Shredding down 'Fax, Wolf Gang run the ******' block
Storefront, knee tat
Book cover is the same lettering on lettermans and cotton socks
And grip tape, and my shoes
Um, I was 15 when I first drew that donut
5 years later, for our label yea we own it
I started an empire, I ain't even old enough
To drink a ******' beer, I'm tipsy off this soda pop
This is for the ****** in the suburbs
And the white kids with ***** friends who say the n-word
And the ones that got called weird, ***, *****, nerd
Cause you was into jazz, kitty cats, and Steven Spielberg
They say we ain't actin' right
Always try to turn our ******' color into black and white
But they'll never change 'em, never understand 'em
Radical's my anthem, turn my ******' amps up
So instead of critiquing and *******, being mad as ****
Just admit, not only are we talented, we're rad as ****
*******
OFM, bangin' on your FM
Gnaw, 2011, yeah, Golf ****

Try to do what's right
Try to make someone's day bright
Try to help those in distress
Try to clean up all of their mess

Kindness is a well and fine
But when you're in the school line
It doesn't matter how nice you were that day
for all their own problems you shall pay
Because kids can be cruel
And somewhere, someday you'll be cool

But will being nice get you anywhere
It seems the worst get more than's fair
Survival of the fittest or the meanest
Moshing to the food while the polite are the leanest

The top of the food chain I see
Is the ones who cut down the trees
But maybe in the end
The ones who never mastered any trend
Will be the ones who have the most love
Down here and up above
On the day that we are most recalled.

Maybe we will be remembered as the nicest person they ever knew
Or that nice one who let you ahead in the queue
Does all that goes come back around
Or do we only appreciate who is underground.

They say look alive sunshine
try to fight, sunshine
but they've been gone for many years

They say don't ever let the sun set angrily looking for a darkened sunrise,
awaiting mornings of forgotten fears

Reminiscing on the old and lost
throw memories into the garbage, unnecessary, stopsign goodbyes.


We understand the world they never had
struggling to reach out to the past to things that didn't last,
resurrecting the heart of long forgotten fads

Searching for scraps to bring back
desperately piece life together
everything in us blown
society stressing on what we lack
like an ugly quilt we are all stitched, mismatched, and sewn.


Constantly feeling like my heart is in tatters
always so worried
as if any of this matters

When all the walls come down
where lost hope is found
the deep sky above where we'll maybe someday go
where we can live peacefully
no longer meeting loveless ground
no longer trapped in our own defeating bounds.


The key to living is to throw away all of your shameful ways
all your dark yesterdays
toss them into the deepest waters
and watch as they become forgiven, erased
or all together completely replaced

Bring back your happiness
just let yourself exist
dont you forget that you've got the hidden strength if you're willing to try to persist

Be cautious in your wandering, no one else knows what your past is
dont let yourself be a sad and lifeless meance.


The days can be gone
but at night you'll see the stars,
you can dream or walk along
if you pay any attention you might find out what truths you've been moshing on

In the city streets
empty save for the echo
a long forgotten song
something a torn and apocalypse ridden world will never ever decide to let go.

we'll carry on.

I can think of no comparable rapture than a electrical storm.
Power, chaos, and fury moshing it out and the earth is their pit.
It's like watching three brothers fight for the front seat.
There's so much passion condensed into a small area.

Ages ago I'd climb into the safety of my car and drive.
Once I reached a spot void of light pollution I'd **** the engine.
Just to hear the rain hammer the roof of my car.
To feel the power in the air and watch the streaks of light.

I'd think about life or the lack thereof and her of course.
The darkness enveloping the turmoil that lie unseen.
A certain beauty to the chaos if looked at from just the right angle.
Though unlike the other dogs. I stayed behind to finish the game.
The storms just never scared me.

They can't find brains
they were made for groupthink programming
they can't find standards
baa ba sheep are either fat or thin or large or small
they can't find self development
limited minds can only think and do limited things
they can't find intelligence
don't be silly mate I already know all I need to know
they can't find ambition
why should I bother when I can get money from Welfare
they can't find cool
we are chavs and yobs and yobbesses and proud of it mate
they can't find real love
life is too short just footie, drink, ****. make babies and move on
But they Can find Jealousy, Hate and Envy
well why do the Successful well-to-do's have better things than us
they are greedy parasites who think they are better than all us talents

. become the knight...
   reviewing a song,
as if: that's what most youtubers
"review", as, "work",
cool...
        *godhead - the reckoning"...
while i think about eating
a homemade tortilla...
         now that all people
care for the private citizen
of the world....
that is: hardly an artist,
we can get on to
comply with
the karaoke...
                and that also implies:
the nostalgia won't be
so weird, give it two of three years...
first came the throne,
then the false king,
then... whatever peasant to
come along...
a bit like marylin manson
on a jerry springer show...
hot topic...
moshing...
b'aad... b'aad...
              see...
if it was a h'american gov.
prescribing practices...
       to private companies...
i don't try to trust
the english parliament...
with the worth of a *******
toothpick,
let alone the referendum...
i once had a near heart attack
on these occassions...
did that stop me?
no, not really...
     some wish for a haj-tourist
trip to rome,
some to jerusalem...
can i visit the foroe islands
at least once?
or greenland?
   no?
                                     cool.
       **** me before i'm supposed
to travel to camel jockey territory
of
saudi arabia...
i'm not getting close
to those sand *******
without a pole-jump stick
to keep me apart!
i don't trust the inbreeding
disease infesting me...
    i had one run-in
when i instantaneously fancied
my ex-girlfriend's sister...
who was 5 year shy of my age...
that's why i couldn't marry
my ex-girlfriend,
it was too ****** up
to have to,
having found myself
bound to fancying her sister...
****** up ****...

              point being, "incel"...
i'm more supposed to run into
a a fox, a hedgehog,
a badger, an owl,
an array of other birds...
a harem of deer...
           more on: tip-toe
staged opportunity,
before a single woman,
past the layer of single mothers
in the current vicinity...

so... how about i just count
the sparrows,
rather than bother myself
over the "clarity"
of the unattainable?
jerking off usually helps,
why would it help
now?

        i miss the mind that
associated itself with doing
the physical exertion of the body
closely associated with
complying with
industrial scale roofing...
i miss that...
all that's left is this
   ****** take on poetics.

Punk kids, instead of having choreography or jumping up and down with hands in the air,
Punk kids knock, bounce and rattle against each other like broken glass in a bag or pin ***** in the most complicated machine,
I hate loud noise but I love loud music as long as I have my headphones
Back and forth, headbanging until the noise from our heads comes out those ringing ears
Nervous tics to music
Stress made into a party
Rocking out, rocking ourselves forward and back
Just like I do when I'm overwhelmed
Catching or reaching a hand to anyone who knocks themself down
Loose limbs and heads slack
Hands and feet across the crowd are literally twitching,
It's a monster mash looking, skeleton disco.
Some kids look possessed but they're okay with that
No one's worst demons can get in because the venue's at full capacity,
The window-watchers chase any evil spirits into the snow,
Fear and worry leave for one set because they can't stand the racket,
The rest of the day got lost in all the cables and pedals,
I bounce against kids in chains and band t shirts,
Hardly need to use my eyes,
My shoes are covered in Doc Marten footprints and people shove me and I shove them right back and I don't need to say anything in the huge mess that is the mosh pit
The room is full of people moving like zombies on a sugar high whose brains are being eaten by the music,
For a while, we let that happen.
When the final set ends
My neck and feet are sore like the speakers and amps were a workout you can buy from Guitar Center,
Headbanging is my favorite kind of cardio,
And moshing is my favorite catharsis.
The silence is everywhere as the punks exit the Scene.
I hardly know any of these people by name.
But we just performed one strange, scene kid dance
For the night to watch
When I go to bed my legs spasm
I think because
they are still dancing

it might have been a naked body
with a *******,
i could have faked being a butcher
logging a pig's torso,
never giving into entombing
my heart in the body of another,
but i just left the whole
interaction only puddle deep...
  ****: i almost wrote poodle...
anyway...
               i like that,
reciprocrated objectification,
  i much like that...
                 whenever i am to posit
myself as a subject...
i switch off...
             it almost felt like petting
a dog...
    it's not like you're even thinking
about ******* the poor thing,
which is nice,
after all, she said i was nice...
          the moment you forget
your genitals because of
untrimmed ***** afro:
the same **** that's on your face's
worth of a beard...
     well... the "game" is to kiss
a *******...
            but all the current subject
matters encompassing
an object of desire?
                     mine-field...
                     the "quick" and "easy"
fix...
          what, and the blank pixel screen
is not an outlet
of compensation?
i like it when i go to the supermarket
for my daily "fix"
of a liter of whiskey...
            i figured...
why not stage polite,
why not keep to manners?
like today...
           this cashier at
the self-chasier robotic aisle...
she still has to
    tend to you when you're
buying tagged goods,
like alcohol...
                  she drops her keys,
i beat her to it picking them up...
and "all i get in return"
    are the words...
thanks darling, thanks babe...
        how many shoppers
say goodnight to
the supermarket cashiers?
           i say my goodnight...
more darling and babe
fly my way off the surf of the tongue
from her tongue...
        of course i'm no standard
good... 1 liter of whiskey
per night?
        but i do know something
surrounding the practice of
social etiquette...
                personally...
i don't like it when people
put people "in their place"
surrounding low skilled employment...
i don't like it,
              simply put:
it ****** me off...
             i don't really want to feed
feeding a superiority complex
of some bureaucratic hack
akin to sargon of akkad
   breaking away from a call-centre;
here's the same reaction:
                        but in slow-motion.
it doesn't take much
to orientate yourself around
general, banal, manners...
         whenever i get a chance
to keep a door open for a woman
i'm either to exprience
a simple thank you...
or stunted growth
   zombie-apathy syndrome of mute...
and for me...
that's just so much more than
some monotheistic religiosity
of posturing during prayer...
lunatics or what?
   if not a ******* position
of christianity,
   then ******* of Islam...
or Judaism: with its standing up
moshing while standing in one place...
every, single, interaction,
is, a variant of prayer...
     and each time i buckle...
like buddhism states:
back to square one...
   begin once again from point 0, 0, 0,
triple negation...
              just keeping it simple,
keeping it sweet...
          there's no need to complicate
such a simple interaction
with a supermarket cashier
as to allow an escalation matrix
that only translates into
     an affair of over-blown proportions...
that whole star of david
     dissonance...
         you know what that looks like?
              Δ (delta)         /     ∇(nabla)
see the dynamic?
           pyramid - hierarchy to the top...
the one at the top of the hierarchies...
and then?
            well: democratic plateau on top...
but... i'm seeing something
bothersome...
            the invisible authoritarian
throng picking off
   the "little pharaohs"...
                    there are no pharaohs
in the nabla dynamic,
just a disorientated sense, of a missing
congregational dynamic,
  just one tier of the whole structure's
dynamic...
                     this whole
dyktando / rubric
                          of the perfectly suited
people for their tier...
          the star of david inversion (Δ∇)
doesn't really work with
the outliers...
the sort of people who do not fit
into the handy tier-by-tier
   variation of staccato accenting /
insinuating "truth"...
                       self-help gurus are
                                      not going to help...
i was deadlocked into giving
attention to one, one too many
to begin with...
   i avoided self-help books
like the plague...
i guess: i'll have to continue this
fetish for fake hope.

I’m thrashing
And moshing
And flailing around
On my blades
Like a stray
Rabid dog in a pound
Like I’m not in control
Of my feet on the ground
And I hammer it down
A clenched fist
Of the left
And deflect
Away bullets
Still visiting death
Upon youth of the nation
Our future,
Our pride,
And I silently roar out
The anger inside
Let the wind in my eyes
Hide the liquidized
Pain
And then bang on the drums
In my
Morning migraine
All the while
My cardiac
Under arrest
I refuse to take rest
Until this is expressed
So let muses
And Titans
And furies
Converge
And confer
Upon me
Metal gods
To secure
Today’s victory,
Triumph,
Prevail over all
For henceforth
And forever
The empires fall