Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.



Monday, August 17, 2009

and all the cornyass radio songs cd not touch it....

LOVE IS SUBVERSIVE BECAUSE IT POSES A THREAT TO THE ESTABLISHED ORDER OF OUR MODERN LIVES. THE BORING RITUALS OF WORKDAY PRODUCTIVITY AND SOCIALIZED ETIQUETTE NO LONGER MEAN ANYTHING TO A MAN WHO HAS FALLEN IN LOVE, FOR THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT FORCES GUIDING HIM THAN MERE INERTIA AND DEFERENCE TO TRADITION.

love
and all the cornyass radio songs cd not touch it,
it was sponged up by the wet womb of thought
trickling in as rain on a wind horse.

the misgivings
the dark horse of rain inside the belly of an alligator
the book,
the socalled happiness,
the ritalin jacked shimmy,
the cold cut,
the cold cock,
the biggest cock,
the horse laugh,
the shitty soundtrack,
the bump bassdrop rhythm,
the lost in incessant incantion,
the abscence,
the abscence,
the

the disrupted ceremony,
the breath deep and drawn out as a line,
love the witches sabbath,
in slimy pits of gloriousness,
the horrorshow,
the bone grinding machine,
the sky,
the second edition, version 2.0,
the tired,
the scrolling scroll,
the remedy to seratonin deficiency,
the propoganda of the deed,
the rollicking field,
the rollicking feel,
the swollen calves,
the chap lipped crucnch,
the yes and the ya'll,
the eagle in the desert, real hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
gh.
the gestapo line,
the gestalt function,
the swindleous reform,
the old hotness,
the abstract bullshit,
the nervous laugh,
which is the adult answer,
the clandestine character,
the respite.
not the government sanctioned disease,
the content,
the last real rock band being Nirvana,
the ragged edge of paper like a knife,
the kid-like heeee-haw,
the misgiving pokerface that knows too much,
the soaked stopsign,
the bent elbow,
the hooked shaped penis,
drawing you in closer,
the arggghhh,
the disentegration of the center,
the love to cry,
the impending moment being lost,
the penultimate all-impeding lonely bliss-machine,
the economic stimulus that will fail you like a bad god,
the utter destitution of creation,
the young and the maleable like a soap opera,
but not,
the classical mutant horshit,
the thing in and turned in on itself,
the joy of restraitn (nu-uh),
the sitting on the dock of the ledge of the bridge/breeze,
the studid drama of work (just don't do it),
the bathroom break,
NOT the infernal technocrat background fuzz,
the IT.
not clean,
pretty fucking filthy,
not the heinusness of a business deal of a brand new blackberry cellphone,
not politicized, but politicized,
not acoustic electric or djembe,
the living dream of the perfect line parred down and fiery,
the end of it
NO END
////////////ALL EXXITS/ POINT HERE>>>>>>>>> LOVE IS IS IT,/ THE THING-.

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