The Abandoned Station






Larry's Wad

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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






the following reality contains violence