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Details
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Totality in Miniature
Filling out the bandages perfectly because the breakfast buffet is included in the settlement Assuming the quasi-prone position to save money in the troubled black eyed crooked nosed times Furthering the goals of the committee by cutting up suggestions and gluing them onto the shit of pigs fed only the finest american whisky and russian caviar and Japanese innovation Risking half of it all on a terrifyingly slow Caribbean vacation until the blunt and caustic paycheque clears Gripping carefully preordained suggestions by their hips and demanding to know the secrets between the lines Taking in the up to the minute results of the semi-serious death march through coin clogged malls and hollowed out parking lots Waking once again up against the wall says the over and over dreams of diminished terror cold returns Influencing the salt and pepper shaker to curdle and dry into broken wing business lunch poisons Smoking the ugly sky as a sacrifice for the good of the safe and soft future generations who will hum your name Failing to sign on half the dotted lines as the small print net cuts your dry and flaking skin investor dividends Disguising premium triangles and guilty half drunk keyboards as carefully planned corners and melodies Rolling out the stained brown carpets for the assistants of the industry bigwigs because the movers and shakers let everything roll downhill even social gracelessness Withering in the badly timed sun as the forlorn names and crooked numbers are called onto the discoloured playing field Demonizing the copper coloured bric-a-brac that escaped from suburban clutches alongside predictable mysteries Reducing the strained deficiencies of a highly symbolic dialogue between elementary principles and low-fi school decibels Collaborating with celebrated enemies behind haywire blurred lines that only mean death on alternate weekends Avoiding the blistered middle fingers by pledging orgiastic forgiveness festivals to all the misdemeanour passersby Burning out on the side of the very last highway before the thick and hostile brown and green begins all over again Basking in thick flavour smoke that can get together and confer with its parts and agree to carry you back home Recalling the spaces between the ancestral stars as fifty seven indivisible tears leap of your cheeks for them Colliding with the neighbour's hopes and dream in the attic of the renovated town brothel while authorities get drunk two floors below Supplementing the tired and huddled masses with unlimited pleasantries and impractical flying machines Hyperventilating over minor and mundane probabilities that pop like bubbles over your mimeographed trough Accepting blank fates from the iron faced teller who doesn't tell you the deep seated financial secrets without a little grab-ass in the shower Faking the dismal certainty of your neighbour's cruel fates because you sucked destiny off for a golden ticket Proving the old dogs have gone twice as blind in recent months with hyper-positive reports from the empty fields Emptying the whole other level on a field of overly familiar trash because black and white orders always come first Collecting the leaders of all the uncircumcised fleets among the cold war water against their ancestors' wills Affecting a rich brown tone to get the knees to buckle as you limbo under the finish line Rinsing the deployment capabilities of the thick sea foam so the payload doesn't spoil in the new sun Admitting at the last head in a noose moment that your fellow man was the first fall guy Smarting at the idea that a cloudy disposition is the sort of conduct that gets heady passage on these rails Standing still under the exhausted flags and rusted poles in hopes that the new kneejerk symbol arrives on time Confessing critical errors while on the field charged with the responsibility of critical death machines Tailoring the boiled accusations so that the rear guard will just nod in cold nitwit confirmations Displacing the complimentary cement tiles that lined the walls of the last working north shower stall Assessing the multicolour damage on the forthcoming fevered dog and cat excuse in the impatient tundra Removing the condescending glares on eyeball at a time in two dimensional bar stuck in cynical thought Avoiding the blare of the long distance complaints full of well rehearsed vitriol borne of coal black mornings Blessing the tortured holes that come up and out from the earth with a malevolent but aimless curiosity Humming the off colour melodies of six week traction tunes that are pumped out at shift changes and time outs Cranking the unfair conditioning to the always elevens and red needles and squealing engines until its the new normal Bursting through the mechanical side door which could give the whole game away in people just paid attention Seething at the thought of the thin winter heat waiting for just the right moment to escape through the window cracks Curling up in the familiar black cold that comes down from the attic crookedly on random damp winter nights Preparing for the irresponsible but necessary adjustments for a better future in a barely noticed thin morning sun Injecting once again the same old serum for the brand new problem that technology has forgotten to fix this morning Diversifying your blood line in former night club lineups in brisk winter weather while the coyotes do howl Publicizing the demented mutterings of the part of you that was until recently shackled in the office basement Supposing that the benefits of unremarkable remade diseases will shine through in public relations profits in the fourth quarter Replying to the stone-toothed accusations that fall on the unprepared steel-toe-less feet of the slightly paranoid farm victims Hampering the pre-cleared messiahs by adding four dimensional footnotes to the late afternoon sermons that linger in traffic Bleaching the compound scientist eyes to get through the black and white mechanisms so you can underplay hyperactive rust Alerting the dingbat broke guard of the two way ghost which hovers in all the right places and beings to tip too much for watered down drinks Composing the revised and barely recycled national anthem on venus flytrap paper to keep the thick brown air from eating the creative process Ticking off the freshly laid faces on the cold concrete circus grounds behind the ancient and haunted soot black trees Capping of the last days of an unfamiliar and difficult harvest with stale diet pills and a why bother riverboat attitude Pissing in the wind with calculated three bottle foresight to remember that if given enough hardcore time everything dries up Exiting the mapped out alleys and corners of badly decided military zones with an entourage of dead sunglasses and hot wires Stopping at everything because the tickets were found to be thirty percent fraudulent and seventy percent unsightly desperate Depending on the over the counter illness to stop you in your hard earned tracks just as the suns burn holes in the plans of your nemesis Scoring points the old-fashioned god is my destiny sort of way even as the common sense coach called time years ago Currying favour with the clever soups and salads and other sides that always work harder than the too long too comfortable mainlines Sucking out the conscious memories of numerous unfaithful and finger crossing lemons and finding the thin desire for refined sugar Huffing the days old paint of the prison gym walls and getting a bit of the old high ultraviolence feelings that lurks in the animal heart Icing the shithead cake so the the so-called birthday buoys will float ahead in the thick brown canals until the candles sink below the surface Accusing the sidekicks of burying the counter-evidence in the distended stomaches of the neglected square foals and triangular calfs Hiding in god's ditch because the sick grey water on the reserve next door is making the animals subconsciously horny and violent Sipping the saint whisky residue on soft hot pink mornings in dangerous dreams that end only after you mechanically sober up Reducing the pressure of gnarled and pockmarked hands that are trying to tell you something as they recount the memories of things pummelled Feeding the edible acolytes to the fierce and ravenous storms of historical revisionism because time just loops back around if you wait long enough Lounging with the seven figure worms on technicolour technically not marble pool deck beside well roasted magazine corpses and former advertisements Gripping the slowly dying skin because the hopes that it'll just stay together long enough to make it over the next hill refuse to be baited with common sense Baking up the hot and fresh daily excuses to not make a difference on the shit cold mornings and boiling water afternoons and rainy afternoon postwar genocides Sucking off the bloody thumb because the goddamn cock's schedule is bloated and bulging and ready to explode and consequently prepared to make everyone late Capping off a nightmare night with a tardy and cracked sunrise that asks for change to fix its weak coffee Stumping for rounder globes and heavier bricks just to keep the feelings of the masses low and lazy and out of the sky Hallucinating future excuses and the top lawyer ways around them as the tunnel shakes poison dust on the jury
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the following reality contains violence | |||