We skirt the issues, clothe them in silk
and disregard the painted signs
You perch on kiss-yous, loaded with guilt
You turn the tainted blood to wine
I could become your ravenous joy
We'd make the town turn ox-blood red
Our children would build their own new toys
If we could smile outside our bed...
You are not god, you're not the prince
Evacuate the sunny beach
We've been the cod, our fins in splints
Emasculate the hungry leach
Engage our conscience 'till it's full
We've waited ages for your gall
It's time for real sailors to pull
because the sky's about to squall.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Paparazzi
Phony barnyard photo-shoots,
sponsored by the lucky brands.
If the readers were astute,
they would incarcerate their hands.
We are not a pantomime.
People can still use their hearts.
Being famous ain't a crime.
Just keep the ass before the cart!
Hormone soup is ankle-deep,
those plastic grins turn to ice.
Smile to try to fight the sleep,
the maze is lost in all the mice.
Smile and make us think you love,
bring us herbs and tumbleweed.
Make us shame our only loves,
and lick our flesh to taste our needs.
~~~
The only clean mothafucka is Hollywood! Got some change for a brotha from anotha motha? Let me know how the real deal gets a feel, y'all.
sponsored by the lucky brands.
If the readers were astute,
they would incarcerate their hands.
We are not a pantomime.
People can still use their hearts.
Being famous ain't a crime.
Just keep the ass before the cart!
Hormone soup is ankle-deep,
those plastic grins turn to ice.
Smile to try to fight the sleep,
the maze is lost in all the mice.
Smile and make us think you love,
bring us herbs and tumbleweed.
Make us shame our only loves,
and lick our flesh to taste our needs.
~~~
The only clean mothafucka is Hollywood! Got some change for a brotha from anotha motha? Let me know how the real deal gets a feel, y'all.
My Return
Ten thousand delving debutantes,
with spaghetti hair that glowed blood black
Expressed their deepest needs and wants,
while the dish-washer hung in the back.
His hands were wrinkled pink latrines,
the soap made them become bivouacs.
They slept on soapy miles of clean
Ate the whole diner in Chilliwack
I had the school before grade 2.
They forced me to behave askant.
My principal lost all his shoes,
We hid his camera at the dance.
~~~
Feed me critical chicken MacNuggets.
with spaghetti hair that glowed blood black
Expressed their deepest needs and wants,
while the dish-washer hung in the back.
His hands were wrinkled pink latrines,
the soap made them become bivouacs.
They slept on soapy miles of clean
Ate the whole diner in Chilliwack
I had the school before grade 2.
They forced me to behave askant.
My principal lost all his shoes,
We hid his camera at the dance.
~~~
Feed me critical chicken MacNuggets.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Perpetual Distractions
I haven't blogged in ages. I've been working hard at the Deaf Relay job, ordering pizzas and doing phone sex--it is hard to explain, you had to be there etc.--but I realize that I haven't cursed you with an entry in many moons.
The music thing is going well... recently, we've been promised recording time, provided sans contrat, assuming that we can afford to manufacture 500 CDs and sell them while paying back the financier. We also have a show pending at 1221 Crescent Street Pub, scheduled for New Years Eve...I guess that would be the 30th of December, or maybe the 31st ??? I am not calendar equipped at this moment (excluding the Windows thing and there is no way I am clicking a mouse during this typing extravaganza.)
Once my internet connection is resurrected (praise Ethernet) I will be posting a little more regularily. I am sure that my former readers have disowned me, left me for dead, and ejaculated on my grave. Such is how business goes. Understood. In the meantime, watch Stephen Colbert every weeknight and drink as much alcohol as you can without missing your rent deadline.
I love every single person that breathes on this mispelled planett.
The music thing is going well... recently, we've been promised recording time, provided sans contrat, assuming that we can afford to manufacture 500 CDs and sell them while paying back the financier. We also have a show pending at 1221 Crescent Street Pub, scheduled for New Years Eve...I guess that would be the 30th of December, or maybe the 31st ??? I am not calendar equipped at this moment (excluding the Windows thing and there is no way I am clicking a mouse during this typing extravaganza.)
Once my internet connection is resurrected (praise Ethernet) I will be posting a little more regularily. I am sure that my former readers have disowned me, left me for dead, and ejaculated on my grave. Such is how business goes. Understood. In the meantime, watch Stephen Colbert every weeknight and drink as much alcohol as you can without missing your rent deadline.
I love every single person that breathes on this mispelled planett.
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