Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

prison house

ever feel like you're not doing shit but ya don't have time to do anything?

That's amerika right now, sweetheart. We all suffer on planes to nowhere and poor ole amerika she just ain't there. We're slaving, 2 jobs for some and 3 for others. Working work weeks we would want for another. The burn hole through my pyroclastic journal yearns for unturned stones to give purpose to learned ones. I spurn those into realistic fake murders with an explanation for why we feel more sure.

The guest check was my best bet to repay my debt but miss amerika in her fishnets had a misfit. A blissful kiss and a blessed beat stick. From cock to the top tell your friends this. They won't list-en, they almost rarely never do, not when a thinks-he's-clever-dude starts feeding brains the glue to piece truths together TO GET HER, you'll need only a bomb and a letter i suggest only the best if you don't wanna let her reach that fascist state of mind, you know the one they all reach, when those is power need to take a back seat. Or even the position we currently sit in, let's SIT-IN. Otherwise they'll continue to rape and kill on their mission, wishin? I wouldn't mention. All these false true pretentions. A TEN HUT ATTENTION:

there are no more birthdays. we do not matter we will go wherever the hell they choose to scatter us. Thinking has been outlawed and all thoughts are to be turned in by midday tomorrow. there are no more colors. Fema will bleach your skin and hair. And you will live inside dark rooms for THEM. Easy is gone, the hard that once followed it is gone as well. Life is about and only about nothings.

We will never call home home again. We will never call home again. STOP!

Our mothers and fathers will never call us home again.


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