Posts Tagged ‘Middle class’

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A chart showing the avalability of food in the...

Food pyramid or secret symbol !!!????

Staring at a blank white page has never been my problem ; but staring out into the void that precedes reception and receivers is petrifying.

I literally have nothing to say to ‘ordinary’, or ‘normal’ people.

Hoi, polloi–How’s that?

Just me again, not normal, as usual.

Yeah, I thought I would lose you there, and I did. Go away now, and relish your normalcy with catch up; I never had that common gift to bring to the table, and never will.

I HATE furniture.

There’s privilege for you–I’m so special, right? Predictable, you are. What a luxury.

I am personally, and so full of myself; I can just die, but I can’t find the painless method or gizzard enough pebbles to croak; as you think I am trying to¬† compare.

Competition is the active verb waggling at the cock headed idolatry of the middle classes, a tall church on every corner, and stained glass shards put together to form myth pictures that keep the ladies and all their children from falling asleep between their sighs.

So fuck your God, in it’s huge ass with shards of glass, and spear heads. I live for creation, your God died for your sins, and shits them out everywhere upon me.

Sins are a luxury in a world where sins are predictable, and then forgotten. Until they are remembered, by omniscient, consequent, not-at-all selective lottery picks, and named, gendered names.

I can’t forget luxury, here on the side of the river, wondering if they are coming for me yet.

That guy upriver lived in a cave, after prison, and then, the city kicked HIM out for ‘disorderly house‘ or something deeper.

And that millstone is grinding, killing me. Again.

While you are structuring glass arguments, housed by monolithic pillars, and lots and lots of the hoi polloi to sing the paean for you, who aren’t aptly appointed to count the cost of forgetting the overall structure .

I hope that works out for you, while your thighs rub there, fat like a cricket before my beak.

I think the frogs can have you this morning, or another bird.
You’ll fly, alright, to heaven–as it shits you out its sphincter, a pip, then a splat from high altitude.

I wonder what THAT would look like on paper?

I would read it, for one, as graffiti on a monolith.