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Nim
Hording various fibers to construct
it's nest, the filth it's gathered, the rat resides. Basking in the well compacted waste, further becoming a menace to
the household, extermination is debated throughly.
Rat poisen can and is usually purchased at the supermarket on the isle
that hosts a wide selection of cleaning products. (sweep the inhabitants of nim into the dustpan, ready plastic waste reciprical,
the problem shall be delt with by the nice men with the GED's, carted off to the landfill on monday).
Intervention, glorification
to the retarted monkeys. All can resume normality.
Habits of highly effective lice
<jam> Everything
is back to normal, back to failure (click click boom <youlose>). Repeating cycles of contineous boredom. Bordom of work,
boredom of self, dreary tired and bloodshot.
The oustside always reflects the inside, the worlds orifices growing weak
with arthritis and limp with polio. An internal sigh (sigh from the inside). Insability causes doors to creek and trees to
moan, roots twisting into an abyss of self pity <shutthefuckup>. Burning muscle, desolving solid into fuel into nothing...shedding...dropping,
gone, tired of everything. Everything is tired (so its really not just you). Tired and boring. Everything is boring.
and dull. Grey and splintering in at least nine places but no one looks up from their winter naps, cozy in they're caves.
The smart mammals hibernate through winter. The happy little fuzy (and maybe not so fuzy) creatures. Because no body WANTS
to be sad. That just isn't how it is my dear. Those quirky bears of Jellystone will see us next spring <itching> because
they are far more intellegent than you and I. You and I, well... We just pile on a couple layers of clothing. HEAD OUT the
door, to the bus stop, to the office, to the employee restroom where we will sit on the can plotting out how we can shoot
ourselves in the foot this week.
While all of this takes place we are crossing out boxes lining our calanders lining our walls lining the atmousphere
around us (mocking birds).
So in conclusion: Cased in... no escape, just half completed boredom. Cause out there, all
around you while you are reading this, are very displeased mammals (unhappy restless bears) darling.
We spend alot
of time in crusty piss and stray pubic haired environments, running our hands, running our fingers over triggers. <squeeze>
I remember your 14th birthday
Once you start you just can't stop, thats what
the man selling the newspaper said. As I glanced at the headline I think I know what he ment. I'm still not quite sure
if we ever really set foot on the moon, or if it was just another kodak moment much like the one of you and I, along
with Archie and the gang at your 14th birthday blowing out all the candles on the cake. I dont remember that picture too well,
I was intoxicated a tad bit. But I remember being there with you on rocks. On a beach, with a wooden cross which you carried
like jesus. Later came the crown of thorns. You were much like him. You died. I realized my sins. And its all over. But I've
just begun, youve just ended. Ended much too young. Little one in the panda suit. Little one with the empty box of crispy
creams. We doughnut fiends. And the 3D mural dug deep into your house, carved meticulously into the walls. Knock (its polite),
today someone knocked, never again will knuckles meet wood or plaster or whatever they make doors of these days.
When
one day we meet again, away from this world of winter hibernation and summer fiascos I would like to know from you, not my
mother, my boyfriend nor father. Did the moon taste like cookies, the good kind? Or was it all just part of an immaculate
sound stage, with thousand dollar lighting and sealed oxygen chambers? Did the actors drink Evian, or did the Astronaughts
drink space juice?
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