Seedless

Faded disillusioned memorys sparkling in the shine of a kit-kat gold bar.  Far out in another platform of consciousness, kicking it with the Beastie Boys walking on the ceiling of an invisible horizon in the star gazer arena of life.  Not the ‘out-of-the-box’ game of Life produced by Milton Bradley and shit, double dipped oreo’s.  Geeked out in the backseat, rushing off up’s and down’s.  The years past, living fast as the smoke settled 20 or so years have passed, trashed.  The supposed clearing just disguises itself as a cloud of dust from the enterior remodling that comes with the chemistry of the elevated mind.  Freedumb to do what I want, and the people that are so distracted from reality that they dont realize the damage they are doing not only to thier own self image, but to the environmental condition of the fragile state of this worlds current state of reality.  The cracks have started to spiderweb across the plains of the Earth as the ‘Low Spark of High Heeled Boys’ envelopes the background sound.  Telling the story of waste and suffering that comes from alternating your reality in the natural [i.e.] from the earth, old poppy plant the destroyer of the soul, and a smiling happy slap a sticker on it, stamp it FDA approved, and another fat cat is counting his off-shore money in Anguilla perfectly legal but yet controled by the all might dollar.  In god we trust, do people trust in themselves these daze god forbid trusting in god.  Raw pollination of the hybridization of the ‘Taken’ straight out of the X-files, obscene medical trials.   Ive been better days, crank it to eleven blow another speaker you goddamn tweaker.  The amber liquid with a thicker than water viscocity makes the ice cubes crackle as it gets poured, im bored.  Later

GreenPeace

Seedless

farf

Nothing on the top of my dresser but an old North American Tree ID booklet, it sings like a songbird on a headache morning.  Fractal crystalization say triple beam correct, your fucking english press’s.  Formulation of molecular playgrounds as Mr. Curly Long Dready Beard slides down the curly cue slide all mother fucking day long.  Some wont see those exploding fireworks, 3-D in a simplestic algorithm to beat, the girl down the street, NYC 4am Sat/Sun morning streets smell like the 20’something drunk, fat, like OMG, I am so wasted and I dont know where I am.  My throat exposed, raw, in the sun the golden nectal on the botanic training OP’s circa. 1995-98??  OVERGRO bitch, u got a problem with it. If so fuck you.  You dont have a clue.  In the sun I like to slip into the shadows so I can reminise on memories, stuck in the past, Fuck mang, Ill I know is I am alive,  I hate this foolish joke of a theater show our goverment is putting on.  Wasteless, yet so so so many believe.  If only they surrounderred they… ‘By gooly Jim lets go gett um at the Obama rally tonight [as the sun glints of his golden molar, some vein attempt at looking like the cash, stashish is blu blood.  More like the blu bloated body of your OD friend.  My friend my friend, he has got a knife a statement from his former life… Whats with junky Phish ‘front man’ Trey,  get some scripts in your own name rookie Rock star…

He will make it far Far away to his vermont studio where his 23 yr old spaced out on DOB girlfriend studies the intracate pattern of the frost as it creeps on the other side of the Aragon gass sealed windows.  She doses it with a a wet sticky cloud of NYC Diesel.  Top the engines off.  Take a lesson in the prehistoric, Stop that train.. I wanna GET OFF.  Faded out liars disgusting people, adults that act like babies man this world is comming to end.  I bet crocidile is prbably fucking some early 20 something that has no clue she is a closet speed freak anyway she can get it if if that means not get’n a good fuck for awhile.  Trip, wait smile…  Why you look at me, am I so important, flip the dial, look out another windows you create your fucking pathetic neighborhood soap operas, singing falseceto of course.

Out the door, shhh I think somebodies coming, easily made my way to a window, lifted it up slow and once in side I start creaping, stepp’d with pep to the back of the house, on the back porch were my waify fuck - a-dooda-doo’s singing that song something about rippin up the cabbage roll, OVERGRO.

FUCK you

Lost, Hidden, A Memory,  [sic] “of” Secrets

Illustrations brought to you by: Molly Brill
Words by: The Green Cheshire Cat
Adlibed by: The White Rabbit

Walking along in the Mission in the rain, I stumbled on the malibu bum’s empty Mad Dog 40/40 flask.  Tripping I spiraling backwards as gravity took over my limp body.  I saw flocks of birds spiriling, darting, and diving in the airstreams that made the atmosphere oceanic in taste and form.  As I fell I started to rise like some dimensional piece of art, Crucifixtion of Mosac Life.  [ A peace of work the world just wont get].  Like the harsh school yards in the inner city with saber tooth wire spirialing ontop of the 10 foot fenced-in 15 year old dilapidated

Walking along in the Mission in the rain, I stumbled on the malibu bum’s empty Mad Dog 40/40 flask.  Tripping I spiraling backwards as gravity took over my limp body.  I saw flocks of birds spiriling, darting, and diving in the airstreams that made the atmosphere oceanic in taste and form.  As I fell I started to rise like some dimensional piece of art, Crucifixtion of Mosac Life.  [ A peace of work the world just wont get].  Like the harsh school yards in the inner city with saber tooth wire spirialing ontop of the 10 foot fenced-in 15 year old dilapidated rusting pile of old screws, rods, and beams that used to make up the ‘Playground’.  Used to… What am I saying they do make up the ‘Playground’!@??!!

Trapped like a mouse in a cage with a cat
the traps ready to snap
Filthy uniformed pigs smell like rats

What are does that 11 yr old boy named Devon,think about when he looks out of his front window, covered by bars to prevent being burglarized.  The sun doesn’t quite shimmer of those as much as it does the sparkling broken glass littering the streets.  He see’s Poochy, and Double D working the corner sereving up the junkies there morning breakfast and supplying the money to get food to fill Devon’s plate.  What does he dream about?  What are the realistic odds that he could break the chain and make a successful life out of for himself?  What are the realistic odds that he wants anything better?  Does that spoiled? 20-something kid on the third floor of his parents mansion have a better life?  Instead of bars on the windows its elevators.  Does it even matter?  Is it the fire that is always burning in your soul ready to ignite a flame of passion when your internal pilot lite fires’ up, does it matter the colour you burn, or on more realisitic super bouncey ball point, does it matter what you smoke? 

I see the dreams of many escaping like adolescent ghosts in a eeire scence reminesent of a thick, dark, and heavy, 13th century oil painting.  Eluding to illusions.  The dreams I see being caughts are vain, dreams of success and money, nothing wrong with success but greed in sinful in my eyes.  It looks like Palm Sunday again.

… Earth to Battleship ‘WASTED’, come in

… Wasted, whatz up E…?

… You have direct orders to save the escaping dreams as its occuring drastically and well to but it in your dialect we need to put a cork in the bottle, cash out the pipe, etc.

… Sweet deal E, Peace & Poppies

Oh the wickedness of humanity the everpresent glow of evil is swelling in the background,  I preacher man I am not but a few preachers daughters I did have and with that this country is going to Hell in a handbasket but hey at least some of you are enjoying the ride ;)  The Awakening has begun years ago, the mighty Phoenix will rise from earths ashes again.  Will it have a green tinted metalic Phoenix at its side?  Dwindling profit margins, soccer moms, snobby next door neighbor wives that dont stop for a second to think a your shit stinks why do you think my windows are sealed.  They all make me want to puke and that doesnt help thy cause as I am supposed to love thy neighboor.  When I move maybee, humor needs to be embraced.  I look at you at I laugh, such negativity spread from your auras, minus a few.  I want to slap you in the face and say ‘Wake-Up’ as I am sure many of you would want to do the same.  I am awoke to reality, I am just sufferring the hardships of unperfect DNA as I try to attain a perfect relationship with the powers that guide us.  Forgive, Freedom, for on Franklin’s Tower there hangs a Bell, Ring it loud and in its unaudible tones knowledge of the power of sound.

Fuck you From me…  Sorry, I am even now? Does mathematics apply does one cancel the other, the Cathoic church has one, few you another, and yet myself yet another.
Peace & God Bless,
Seedless