Take
my advice and fire what we know so far with blatant disregard for the cold
leads that run to nowhere and become writers with pristine fingertips. Be sure
to bag it up, bag it all up and prepare for the arrival of the huntsman and his
travesty of a travel case that rides along on rickety wheels that demand to be
closed down and sold on for higher profit. Valentine’s Day has been and gone
and now where do we go from here? We keep our cards rolling off the knuckles
and make nutty remarks on how far progress has taken us and if we could ever be
so plucky as to go back with our hair in slick slide back and our suits all
tailor-made. Such a possibility seems unlikely because we have a tendency to
become negative polar bears with negative chances at negotiation over fierce
dinner wines and meagre breakfast wines. The gross network has put the fire
under my ass and he’s just aces at the best of time so goodness only knows what
he’s like right now. The bags seem to be magical, ending in vibrant curls that
probably lead to speck dimensions and far-off continents in our own collective
imagination. Maybe there’s a grove there, maybe an orchard filled with typified
white fluid and Dreidels. This could all be in caps lock but Burton told me to stay away from such
debasing talk in case your little ears can’t handle the paperwork or the travel
guide semantics. I think they can and they’re just stepping all over your
magnificence.
You didn’t take my advice. You didn’t traverse the
boundaries of the toy store and now you’re stuck in the backroom playing with
yourself in the hopes that your knob will turn plastic and you won’t have to
think again. Well I’ve got news for you, pal, that’s exactly the way they
wanted you to go. By rebelling, you played into their hand and now you’re
little more than a bendy raja. You’re outdated and river fresh. The wounds you
have probably won’t heal because the batteries are all wilting and the safety
net has become a blind man crumpled up on the pavement of the thirty-third
precinct. All the bandage salesman are steering clear in case the cops catch
sight of their wares and start asking about bail and the price of avoiding it
these days. These days you’ll do better by having buckle shoes rather than
lace-ups, the parental generation before you will feel its regression but they
won’t cross the border for it. It’s your own lesson to make, your own
farfetched attempt at preaching to the next few lots of kids that the grainy
image on the computers is really supposed to be there. Just sit back and make
yourself happy by comparing yourself to Judas. The tatty pillows are out of
reach and the angelic dulcet of a compendium of red, red roses are right at
your feet. Set out.
No comments:
Post a Comment