Imma be quiet about it this time.
Skip the theatrics.
Rotating cycle..nightmare shit.
Look down and you know that fucking ground, know every blade of grass.
(Home)
Fuck that shit.
No home.
Only temporary, all is temporary.
(Curious)
Quitting quiet quartets.
Querying quintessential cases containing conquering carefree.
Casually conquering.
Can’t complain cause cats can’t refrain.
Questionable causes carrying vegetable pauses.
Aye.
Irritation.
Presidential candidates duking it out.
With words.
Quip equipped contact.
Let me axe you something..
Do you think it will matter?
Do you think ANY of the words spilling from the skulls of those two monkeys will matter ,at all?
Do you believe them?
Why?
Do they represent you?
Is that your voice?
Is your voice in either of them?
(Perhaps a mixture…)
Perhaps nothing.
Liars.
Thieves.
Actors.
Is it even worth gossiping?
Is it even worth the attention?
Should you care?
(A lot of people care)
ANd I won’t call them stupid.
I WILL ask the source of their belief.
How jealous.
How jealous I am, that you can trust in man.
(Claiming a plan)
A man with a plan, telling you it’s in his hands.
(Takes more than two)
You speaking it true.
Gah….
I don’t know if I can do it again.
You mother fuckers burnt me out over the years. Everything is such a fucking crisis. The world is coming the fuck to get you.. Comin at ya.
(In 3D)
Tired of it, and I can’t be alone.
Burned out on the crooked.
And everybody crooked.
To a level of predictability .
(Derailed)
Yes,,, I didn’t make anything with imagination, I just sat down and complained.
(Everybody complain)
It’s my money.
Loot.
Chedda.
Skrilla.
Duckets,
I hate it, hate everything.
I hate that I have to be some form of intoxicated to get through the day.
Mad at myself over that.
Maybe I’ll live tweet the presidential debate.
We love commenting on stuff that has nothing to do with us,, love chiming in.
Maybe I’ll break out the sampler and make live Techno remixes of whatever those narcissists say.
Intercut with toilet flushes.
And babies crying.
And images of war.
Human beings on fire from a flame thrower.
A Vietnamese shot point blank in the head.
A tank running over a human being.
(Bad monkey)
I’m sayin…
Fuckin around in groups…
No alternative, too many people to keep it small, not many monkey minds, too much power, too much control…
Has to be this way.
Everything has to be this way.
Because of how YOU set it up.
I like electricity, I like food.
Everything else just kills people all over the world.
Causes suffering.
That’s what happened when you were born.
You started causing suffering to people you’ll never know. You’ll never even meet them, but you’ve ruined their lives.
Feel guilty.
Sober up and stay sober.
You pain machine you.
You fucking torture device.
Walk everywhere and don’t buy anything.
Talk the entire country into refusing to go to work….
For a month.
Then demand twice as much money.
Because a candy bar is two goddamn dollars now.
A pack of smokes is 8.
One two three four five six seven eight.
Suicide expensive as fuck.
Which seems unfair.
I might hate the world enough to sober up, permanently,, just out of spite.
Get my shit together because fuck you.
Your consuming nature has challenged my spirt, and that fucker is on life support.
I want to eat you.
I want to prey upon you from higher ground.
I want it to be midnight and I want to be up in a tree,, and there you are walking, just minding your own business.
Things are pale in the moonlight,,, I can hear your footsteps on the dirt road…
You make a lot of noise…
I start stalking, climb down and tiptoe a few steps behind you,,, you might even have earbuds in,, like serial killers aren’t even real man!!
I grab you by the shoulder and I spin you around..
Pie in the face.
I hit you with a pie and then ask if you want to be friends.
After the adrenaline calms down, I truly ask you what I should do with myself, I let you know that I’m only looking for advice.
Let you know that it’s been a tough road.
I hand you a plastic fork, so you can eat the rest of the pie off your face.
I say I’m sorry.
And I really am.
It was a mean thing to do, hitting you with a pie like that.
I try to explain “I have nothing to hunt”.
No prey because everybody got their head down, they’re too easy.
It’s no fun..
Then you call the cops and I go to prison.
They find out I love music, so they break all my fingers, because it’s the thing I love the most.
Then I’m relentlessly buttfucked for the next twenty years, and I write a book called
“Don’t hit people with pies”
You’ll end up in prison.
You should keep your thoughts ,,,to yourself,,,
At all times….
(This spare despair)
So much extra.
I don’t really mean it.
I just like the sounds of the keyboard.
“Click clack click clack”
dawn 