Hurry the fuck up you fucking shit tock wanker. TIck tock shit talk shit t0ck tick shit. Thick shit. Typo. Typo? YeaYea a typo you fucking gee bag, what did I just say? I said typo you mong – you fucking geebag sap tick tock shit talk tick tock suck cock. This is crude. This is low literature. I’m trying to be good. They wouldn’t publish this. Who’s they? MSM? Paropublishers? Fuck those cunts. Shower of special interests. Trump. Look at that cunt. Fucking stormed into office, storming into orifices, not a bother. FUCK YOUR SPECIAL INTERESTS. Hilary Cunton. Bill Cliton.
Yeah, it goes like that. The whining inner guy, won’t leave yer man alone. Deepen it they say – at least Bacon said – or was it cabbage – deepen the mystery. All that nausea and those fucking TWEETS Jesus Christ! I’m an auto didactic socialist!! Fucking hell, mate. What’s going on at all? Where are we at all? I’m trying to stay clean. Trying to skirt oblivion – the abyss. And then you read about Science with a capital $ and it’s all Apollonian and they’ve shunned the macabre – the stuff I’m living, the gunge and the puke and the piss and the vomit and the $cientists reduce it to a lower case system of AAdictions and so and so forth but to me that shit is more vital than staring at a black hole. I’ve stared at a black hole manys a time, mainly on the internet and I’ve jizzed all over my thighs doing it.
There’s a fuckin boyo.
Going to the library. “Do you have any porn in stock?” “Any pamphlets on expedient and painless suicide at all?” “Anywhere to score morphine, oxytocin, dmt, laudenum, fentanyl, opium or just take a bath?”
T w e e t w h y d o n t c h a.
But then she comes over and it’s all honey warmth, Joyce derivatives now and you see how the brain pounds down fleshy fear all fiery and orange in the hearth like dungeons.
Morpheo – the God of dreams
He stared at the back of the fridge – full of emmental and brie and was it e mental or emmental or what he didn’t really know and the laughing cow – what was it laughing at? What was so amoosing to the bovine raconteur ready to be milked and eaten like some dairy soup – are we all just happy to be packaged and tinfoil wrapped and eaten after all, refrigerated knowing our cannibalistic destinies after all?