fisticuffs

now stooped in this forever leave your soliloquies behind the way I left those Cantonese keys at the door jangling down the hallway of life away from this postmodent pond earring prickly and patronising like most of you do it’s that cultural rash of sensitivity. your civilization gave me porn, my father delivered it to my footsteps. nameless shameless anonymous sticking out itching liker bastard. day after day I find myself looking for myself sitting on the bench outside tesco and marks and spencer wondering who or what I am. every tile of territory is a globe now. agar plate, Petri dish, what the fuck does it matter? it’s the culture that counts, right? so you say. everything you say. when I ask you what counts you just shake your head and say nonono.

Jaie: the ghost of liquid time travel


bitter robots who surf mountains like angels in the liquid of time travel. yes.
everything is offensive if you spell it correctly. all the words they sharpen us to the planets
in dispute over the custody of the next five minutes. all words are robots when given more time then they deserve in the refrigerator
liquid mouintains are bitter if the next five minutes are offensive. what that we chained to all words brand new.
in barbed wire voices. offensive planets bitter bitter. the taste of november. the brand new time travel. yes.