Plastic surgery with a friend! Under the limits
of duress, Frank blurted out, “weweresowrong!”
Dancing at the Devil’s Underground, bearing an
ass worthy of witness, modern heliopaths Moon
the Sun. “We have gathered from your bag of
tricks, Frank, your honest extremes have taken
a liking to abstruse confetti. Your simple refusal
to allow comprehension of vocabulary has left us
in a bind, mentally constipated. We understand
that life is short for a tall motherfucker such as
yourself, nonetheless, we have come to the con-
clusion that you must be sent out of the Under-
ground and into the spaces that collide with the
clouds in the mountains. While we respect and
commend the contributions that you have brought
to the affiliation between our often discordant
parts, we are nonetheless consumed with seeing
your ass in parting. If you look even half as good
going as you do coming, you will do well in pleasing our organizational aesthetics with your removal.”
At these times, freedom bargains with it a sense of worthlessness that free things brought to give away. One planet’s silver is another planet’s gold in the extraterrestrial elementary relief map distribution of tangible statistics. Just as we often decide and come to the conclusion that certain friends are more valuable than the alternate extreme, it is only natural for a man to desire surrounding themselves with good things, nay, good art! Art contributes to the atmosphere of thou; the aura of intangible living that is how we all wish to express ourselves on an elementary level of freedom within limits of certain value. Upon finding that our company was no longer of certain value to the governmental sharks, no longer capable of affording the fellowship of heirs, apparent by their ability to give away things of cultured concern, nay, the things that convincingly concern certain segments of have-nots who want the things that our neighbors can’t distinguish much less afford. Even if they knew how to cloak themselves in the airs of the hoity-toity, the upper-class act is one of even grander convincing than a fur coat and dress slacks. The activists are just jealous that in order to act they must believe in something convincingly self- righteous as the injustice of nauseous squeamishness at certain sights that are clearly discernable betwixt the sanguine crimson flow of suffering that heat and pressure boils, even as the blood in their own veins. Sometimes a stranger displaces my face in the vain looking-glass. Sometimes I am unable to give a shit.
of duress, Frank blurted out, “weweresowrong!”
Dancing at the Devil’s Underground, bearing an
ass worthy of witness, modern heliopaths Moon
the Sun. “We have gathered from your bag of
tricks, Frank, your honest extremes have taken
a liking to abstruse confetti. Your simple refusal
to allow comprehension of vocabulary has left us
in a bind, mentally constipated. We understand
that life is short for a tall motherfucker such as
yourself, nonetheless, we have come to the con-
clusion that you must be sent out of the Under-
ground and into the spaces that collide with the
clouds in the mountains. While we respect and
commend the contributions that you have brought
to the affiliation between our often discordant
parts, we are nonetheless consumed with seeing
your ass in parting. If you look even half as good
going as you do coming, you will do well in pleasing our organizational aesthetics with your removal.”
At these times, freedom bargains with it a sense of worthlessness that free things brought to give away. One planet’s silver is another planet’s gold in the extraterrestrial elementary relief map distribution of tangible statistics. Just as we often decide and come to the conclusion that certain friends are more valuable than the alternate extreme, it is only natural for a man to desire surrounding themselves with good things, nay, good art! Art contributes to the atmosphere of thou; the aura of intangible living that is how we all wish to express ourselves on an elementary level of freedom within limits of certain value. Upon finding that our company was no longer of certain value to the governmental sharks, no longer capable of affording the fellowship of heirs, apparent by their ability to give away things of cultured concern, nay, the things that convincingly concern certain segments of have-nots who want the things that our neighbors can’t distinguish much less afford. Even if they knew how to cloak themselves in the airs of the hoity-toity, the upper-class act is one of even grander convincing than a fur coat and dress slacks. The activists are just jealous that in order to act they must believe in something convincingly self- righteous as the injustice of nauseous squeamishness at certain sights that are clearly discernable betwixt the sanguine crimson flow of suffering that heat and pressure boils, even as the blood in their own veins. Sometimes a stranger displaces my face in the vain looking-glass. Sometimes I am unable to give a shit.
(Even the greatest stars Kraftwerk in The Hall of Mirrors being looked through at a face affixed.)
He was pure in spirit and German blood and fervor that can only be made blindingly apparent on the faces of the blonde-haired and blue-eyed treats who colonize the vast hinterland of open socialist dialogue beyond our domicile, yet remaining loyal to the cause of fluctuating currency on pennies per dollar, in U.S. standards. A Grant of Old Crow, distilled a controlled, unconventional warpath through the ghetto, fixating on relative differences between birth-mothers, hopelessly breeding in a fucking eugenics laboratory for ABO-whatever dirt-bloods who fail to recognize the inherent godliness of racial purity within geographical limits and universal ideals on the whole. Erect the light-barrier, repellant of all shades, warding evil of all kind ever so lightly into the darkened ends of universal consciousness we care not about in our charitable circle of friends, present with soul, living though documents. Bemoan and bewail the martyrs!
If I didn’t know any better I’d say so myself!
Unemployed stay at home pre-professional-looking looking for cash now to settle scores with old loan- sharks seeking answers from miniature tapestries representing the busts of dead presidents on the green-minted garment garnered for the purpose of refreshment obtainment. Consistent with the beliefs held by many a guacamologist (a thick saucier), pampering preferred clientele will afford generosity implicit on contributing a skilled craft to those seeking nothing more than a pillow and a banana to rest comfortably in a nighty-night time negligee. In order to build my immune system and pay the bills, I have decided to become my own favorite author. I read books! I write! I could contribute covered pages complete with common themes, characters, and style! Show off. This activity would be for charity if I had more money in my bank account ($3) and I weren’t paying for a coffee with small change and for cigarettes on credit. I just don’t want to burden society with my vices. I’ve thought about discontinuing my diet-in favor of what? South Beach? Atkins? I am not currently up-to-date on these things so I’m on the black juice diet, Columbian rose of bean. Rose water cuisine, (hydrosol-damascena-linalool) “good” cholesterol, and ethyl in Iran gets me beheaded, and wouldn’t I, even I show off my own head unto the infidel? “Do you see what happens when I break custom? I lose my own head!” and like a clock on the hour, I lose it to the birds. Amenable amenities compliment the experience of living here and dying here happily.
(Janis Joplin to M.I.A.)
A Modigliani male model with a thick, veined neck, representing stiff power/delicate grace, (In 50 Years We’ll All Be Chicks, Carolla.) and Sports Illustrated™’s swimsuit issue will be a striated compendium of butch, muscular elegance come to titter and paint offensive nipples come to breastfeed pragmatic pornography, DD measurements of babies meeting the teat, if you choose to frame it that way, the way our forefathers envisaged and intended for us to care about milk. “Buffalo was good yesterday, for once,” an All-America city, example for One Nation Under a Groove come to get down just for the Funk of it. …And beneath the valley? Oil. Coal. Black gold. Terrestrial energy. Pit people of the Frank Lloyd Derricks pumping and churning out pure architectural soundness. One sexy good time!
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