huh?

This is our time Generation, X’s time; so fuck ‘em and follow the leader into a ptomaine timed—you know: the wicked witch’s switch, the only thing that always gets reminded of the best has no purpose in this experience, nothing does. Welcome to their world. Lost finality and surrendering to a despot that has no significance whatsoever, or at least we think, so take my torch and light yourself on fire, because I no long er give a shit about the right and wrong ways in the repeated empty ones following your car. Let’s all jump into yours, cause I ain’t seen nothing wrong with putting that ham in those omelets. And honestly, I ain’t never seen not tricks up her sleeve, in fact, there is nothing, nothing but Time tickin softly in the distance, beyond the hills of Coprolaliia—sickening stenches of the final song in life, but we are so beyond that now. We’ve died more times than a cat, surrendering our position like Napoleon, but marking our way though the lands of excess like Ghengis Kahn. Remember the shaking truth, that we are not IT, we are simply pawns, you know, in the game and all that shit—but honestly, where does it come from and where does it go? Human thought and talent, which I’ve coined as “the splendid weakness,” for the momentary shin of the moon takes us into the furthest finality—a histrionic loquacious side show of the unreal this is pretending to be. I have no outlook on this writing, in fact, I have no prescience at all. Nothing but forked roads and hellish mountain peaks to contend with. I am you. Fake all you want in your amphetamine high. Nothing but that, you seem to be now. Now hear those birds, they don’t look down from heaven, and they know what they wanted this to be. Go to the water, and drink that—yes, and dream sister, in a cold heaven. Sprouting wings is nothing but a deliverance of the “me” “me” generation beyond us. Born in the ninetees. What have they done? Do they really need this? This contemporary hell—and yeah, it is comin—and you feel the goosebumps all over your skin as you holler the instances of a coming, well you know it, a demagogue. It will be a disaster, but we, we are the ones who are to be free. And I don’t need a heaven. In the place I should be is me, and I am breathing water. Look at that tempting moon? Leave it a Palin artifact. Leave it aside, your drowning along with that gentle fuck over there. What can be said of the subconscious. Lies and distrust and delirium tremors…..a seizure of beauty