Monday, February 7, 2011


Did you know graffiti artists are plain worthless without a gallon of industrial thinners, the mechanics of the aerosol irrigation systems fodder for Wiki entries and settling carnivorously on walls only once understood by the laity and once having finally decided to dare to make their digital go plaster of paris or dive into the truly end-phase of fossil

The Jerusalem spindle is an offensive simulation of Optimus Prime’s eyelids aflutter during climax, and I do not find it pretty I am not impressed with its fluctuations, with a dose of low IQ to line its gumshoes that cannot possibly be truly dramatic authentic paleontology the electronic mummy sounds I love so much truly like the sound of a laundry basket’s creaky lid, and the Emo slut’s 4chan snake legs their lobe-like movements beneath behemoth lampshades a truly mesmerizing snow shovel a truly impressive show by the gods my god how they handle that shovel, there isn’t even any snow in the backyard of your upper lip camouflaged in crack cocaine’s white frond-like infrastructure down along your septum second door on the left

We live in a world where blood vessels form the track lightning of cookie dough a world which showcases small tits large small square round oval tits I always desperately wish to suck on a world which showcases surgery on the mummy quietly surpassing the chills going down its spine reaching the waistline snooze button before the collective hoards of sensitive feelings themselves get there – a life we all share and you know, it’s really tough: it demands recycling shit it says what could possibly go wrong when you pick easy targets to recycle, often the very Coke can in your hand say three months after its relegation from hand to trashcan to the actual recycling facilities wherever they may be – the anesthetized is made to look a bit cleverer; nuts are unlocked en mass for chipmunk mind control; concealed is any or all tactful ways to tell each other to do as we please there are only ugly ways we all like telling it uglily, tactful ways to broadcast to each other that the devil is from the suburbs or, but wait actually – trying to comprehend the finer points of what Celine Dion and my next song together will sound like is the centuries-slow distillate of that tact the devil prefers when it comes to talking about his origins so oh, oh OK

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