creation is an angry liver. food is a chemical deterrent. my stomach is a roadblock. guilt is your brain having a stroke. you could put your dick there, but would you get it back in time for breakfast…? the insufferable always have insurance policies. the weak always write bad checks. would you pull the lever with a sign that read: ‘DON’T PULL - TOO SOFTLY’? have a care in the world? just make sure you get it to bed before midnight. inside it might be warmer, but outside is where the real fucking fire is.
blah blah blah: the vocabulary of the millennium. the populace shares a television syringe. Phenobarbital savior in vivid Technicolor. recorded live in front of an audience of corpses. there is a lot of anger in acceptance. what the fuck is that smell? it’s the decomposing cadaver on the BARCO Lounger.
you.
me.
us.
that clock on the wall is not your servant. these everyday designer leashes can be so confusing. especially when the fortune inside the stake cookie is blank. and the calendar’s been obsolete for at least eight years. the calls have stopped coming in, and they sank your ship.
so pay those bills and swallow those pills, because it’s only a matter of NO MATTER.
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