Its living it down in America, the need but not by all to succeed if not exceed and exceedingly we draw our pain to sheath.
My roommate saw a dead body outside of the mall today and Castro Resigned, something is amiss.
I am pulling away from the things I love and reversing oh reversing the change, it holding and clawing and breaking the knuckles of all those singing.
Shatner knows that if they leave the booth something bad will happen to them.
“Don for heavens sake.”
This is dying in America, where they make you choose, from beds and legs and women and friends and endless, oh jesus I can’t stand it. Its stupid isn’t it, stretching out your worth, calculation what good you are in trade.
Well let me say this and let it ring…
We are not bargaining chips, we are not worth or not, we are rotting flesh and breaking bones and blackening teeth and eyes and window cleats.
We are not how many billboards we try to get on or how many scripts we almost get made or how many songs we should never write, I being the last to hear, the last to listen to and the last word to take to any sort of heart,
Conniption, fittingly, this is not at all right.
I couldn’t be more sorry that it took this long to hear.
We are scrambling now, the eggs of further all.
I am sorry I didn’t see it sooner.
Now I do, and so what.
Now its to look back on all the lies, the little ones, you thought would make things better, the dark spots in your memory that the booze chased away, the pain in your lungs, the pop an whiz.
Now it’s a jog back to the days when things were joyful, when love was something that meant a god damn, when we were in all stitches of fiber the chosen ones, the children of horror, the murder, the taking
And filing your life
Filing it away
Now its showing some mercy upon yourself, blacking out and making breakfast, throwing up for the first time and the acid it brings, smashing mailboxes and sleeping with strangers and running for president and enslaving, eradicating, watching the impending doom of this, this thing, ugly and gaudy like too much make up, like botox and vampire eyes, like bloated lips and purifying failure, its this
Death in America
Now it’s us all alone with the burden, the burden of turning off the shit and all of it, turning off the catatonic hours, but more than that we are Shatner, pumping the devil machine with pennies, we are obvious and great, like Shatner.