I’m
the cow. Come to the show. See what’s lying about what now. Think carefully about
the response you consider. Proffer it with delight. Turn off all of the lights
as you do it. This is performance art at its loudest. They throw on clothes for
this kind of thing, pat down rags and pretend that presidency is next to
godhood. Get yourself off of the drain covers, boy, and make something of the harpsichord
that your granddaddy left you in his will. Now he’s dead we might just get to
see Vienna with
all our friends on the next ski trip. Yes, we’re going with you and no, you don’t
get a fucking say on how we behave or display ourselves in relation to you.
This isn’t about favourability, it stopped being about that kind of toxic shit
an hour or so ago. Be thankful we took it out to wash first before we blew it
sky high for a ridiculous fee which we will later charge your dentist. Your
momma has eyes on his drills.
This
is the blunt fellow who wants to decry your misgivings about modern popular
culture, he has his own taint for postmodernism and doesn’t like to lose it’s manoeuvrability
as a cap. Time on this side of the pond is just fine and dandy and the arts
council do what they can with a bouquet of flowers and song in their thong.
This is the real thing, the real thing that you’ve been chasing like a wild dog
for all the years in your’s and your parent’s life. Don’t mess it up or the
heathens will have your guts for garters and won’t let the rest of you go to
waste either. Do however act accordingly, as per schedule and deformation
timetable. It’s a steady line.
They
once tried to take me on a trip to show me all of the greyscale and trippy shit
to prove a point about my cultural heritage and personal preferences where
feather headdresses are concerned. This is all, of course, non-negotiable and will
only end in their complete demarcation via legal politics. My mind is such a
sweet timepiece, a brick to the rest of my cosy community. I lay the traps and
the rest of them all come in out of the cold to hoard their gluttony and play
with your harpsichord whilst your out running errands for your parents who keep
dropping off the face of the earth like a pair of leprechaun fanboys who don’t
wear or wield patty cake games.
Right
now the speed of sound is your concern just as it should be mine but it isn’t
because I’m resistant to repugnancy and dandelion radiation. The glow of white
isn’t going to fool me from the yellow, the president can march his men out all
he likes but he won’t bust my arse in any officially sanctioned way. It’s
always good to know I have a suit ready though with all the buttons.
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