Thursday, October 29, 2009

In plane sight, yet the fuselage is torn to shreds.

Keyboard party.

I stopped believing as soon as I saw the shakey ghosts in my artwork.
I normally overwork things, but sometimes, just sometimes, I get Rorschach.
Raw like my scotch fillet cooked blue jack, outback or hungry, both ones i know are bad for your arteries.
Stuck in time by recording old footage and resimulation of rehabilitation in reconciliation with no retaliation.
I can never change my sticky ways.
If there's a way to do something, then do it,
McFly was wearing Nikes.

Recorded by general generator banter, chatter heard on the aubergine skinned twitter,
the one that flew through your window and collected a bunch of paperwork from the desk forever.

Disengage frontal lobe now,
disqualify yourself from the oral obsession you benefacted while the miserable wack got attacked with a pair of scissors EXTRACTED,
Cough, squat and pivot.
Too late to notice the way I'm living it, shitting in the shower and pissing in the bottles,
If's it's possible.
Could we bypass any form of hospital?
Household name for a worldwide game, my behaviour, my life, the world as I see it.
You are like a hypochondriac, you think you're as sick as me, but you're not, blatantly.
Jacked into the Matrix hanging for a fix, betwixt the cat o' nineteen ninety nine.
Self taught.
Fight the inner demon to raise up a new sense of being. The being of prediction, never used at the TAB.
That's why we know the people who own horses.
Or dogs.
I like the dogs.

Snatch pussy cream, whipped, with lashings of caramel melting over pale, white, young skin.
Everybody knows.
What, said the peasant.
Nothing yet, said the king.
We believe in nothing but the truth, and the whole truth and the fact Jack Nicholson ain't the wack.
Tobacco farms and Coca leaves.

Left lean as the thoughts crushed our spirits.
Sudden change of emotion, feelings granted and understood, scarred mentality worn by the mental case with a briefcase.
What's that Kylie Minogue song?
She did it again?
And whoosh, came a kick. She kicked him. Liar, she spits at him.
The lump of furry mess begging for attention at his side. Lost, the televison show, leaning on shoulders. Not trying to
pass the blessed test, fuck the rest, the heartache is all they live for now.

Generally, I try not to think at all. The things I think are bizarre and twisted, demonic, Trogotronic, hooked on phonics.
I got myself into this mess, said Name. Name was a 32 year old backpacker from the lower regions of South America.

The format of these graphics makes me want to pack a tomahawk.
Change font?
Nargh, not today.
Calling all guzzle, never showing dismay.
I wonder, wonder as I wander street to street, being smart arsed and retarded.

Attention dragged back into reality, with all happening for a reason, everything having purpose as the proles turn to
new ways of creating a time machine, so we could go back to THE DAY.
Fuck this off for a laugh, I'd rather make go get me a cigarette and then a tongue bath, striking fatal blows with
my staff, but not my mates, I don't run a corporate body but if the bodies get naked, they can't be fucking with my pimping.
I wonder to myself, if could life ever be sane again.


I never panic, the solid Sakura stays staunch, the stench staining city surfaces, on a mission from God, no time for rehearsals,
the beat is all I need to rock your mind to the next level, level up, one up you while playing two up, gamble like a winner.
The only catch is being an eternal sinner for trying to fuck with me, I'm on a tip that's non stop non on top linear.
Can't leave once im in. No problems.
It's a shock, with no horror.
Got a spot down the way of the silent, the security straight stungun steelo, on the reelo.

Put it on it.
Sick of stories and lies told by girls who'd open their thighs to a man in a stocking mask disguise.
These strumpets with breast cancers distended, walking around acting like Feminism was only just invented.

"Maybe say SFC, instead of sci fi conference, because we at the agency believe time is of the essence."
Dad - American Dad

I used up all the Nescafé today. Sorry is standard. Happy Birthday to all who bestow this day.


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