bazarre brain alchemy #4 or other
some sick fatigue thing in the gut, makes you want to retch air. yes. this is the new noise. you rockers/ruckus.
smoke cigarette cough stick. yes. this is the new abuse. the sleepless indulge in it. a buzzing brain keeps buzzards wanting.
yes. broken chance poetry. make use of the triple flame. you see us as brain dead. we see you as stalagmite. yet we both come from the same correspondence. there is a new earth in an old tin can. there are new metals in the gardens above. believe you not.
there was an urge to paint. but it was a passing moment. then the mansion and the man who lives forever in it, staring into his cosmic well. that black hole. into which he tosses untyped pages. but that moment too passed. for what was more important was the realization that as gods, the only thing we should concern ourselves with is the expression we represent. all else is clay mate.