10 Aug 2005


yes, a glut of glut

but the music won't go to waste
i will put it through its digital paces

someone's got to be the artist
musical chairs

there are always trees

we've added many layers to life

stripping them away releases energy
it can be a crazy kinetic catastrophe
how many stuttering lung shudders
'til the exaltation of exhalation?
i don't know so i clutch myself, avoid the eyes
of the pirates rich and poor, corporate schemers
peasant bombers, suicide by suitcase
genocide, ecocide, i can't fight plans with plans
can only hope they stop trying to save the world

and i wouldn't take a drink, even if i knew
the world was going to end tomorrow, no
i've been through chemical apocalypse anyway

took the rain to subway stink sediment, sublevel three:
the mystery life level, no telling how long the game lasts
but tech hype pisses me off, it seems
no one wants to admit the curve is leveling
it seems that i quit following video games
when their rendering engines stopped improving

the dirty word is novelty, the filthy idea is its
lack thereof, should i even be saying this?

oh why the fuck not, i've been dancing around it forever,
been tripping me up on my own razorwire
might as well cut to the chase

i'm not sure if i'm healing
but i see more and more clearly how
sick my mind is, was, will be, and i'm sickly
extrapolating, loch nessing the monstrous map of
inscrutable territory, cross country but
Scotland's Mountains won't judge me and
i'll have to drive through New Jersey at some point.

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