socially engineering

in the time honoured tradition of standard oil, u.s. steel and general electric that left a trail of dead in their wake as they threshed the resources and proletariat of the united states so too does rush limbaugh grimly reap the minds of north americans with a scythe of demagoguery, simply leaving behind the rancid grain of “ditto”. do not begrudge him, his wares or his methods for he truly imbues the “git r done” philosophy wholly as evidenced by the fiduciary success of a deaf man in radio. rush is, like most forms of ‘entertainment’ such as the grateful dead or teletubbies, best enjoyed with a health does of drugs, a sentiment totally embraced by the emcee himself and prescription holding patriots.

“i was watching rush limbaugh the other day…doesn’t rush limbaugh remind you of one of those gay guys who likes to lay in a tub while other men pee on him?”

what’s the deal with smoking skanks in compact cars?

your soul dont burn
you dark the sun you
rain down fire on everyone

there is nothing to see and nothing to do here so you had best just move along. there will not be alleviation for your status anxiety. there will not be a rush of pleasure or sustainment of happiness. there will not be a center of attention. there will not be clean fill for the hole. there will not be the divine communication. there will not be validation for your argument or state. there will not be a setting for you at the table. there will not be a tear for your eye. there will not be self or cock assuredness. there will not be agony or defeat. there will not be a final solution. there will not be existenz. there will not be a bottle of peroxide. there will not be a change in plans. there will not be new clothes for school. there will not be a new album. there will not be just one fix. there will not be a callback. there will not be a reunion. there will not be a group. there will not a place to warm your bones beside the fire. there will not be right. there will not be here or there. there will not be welcoming smiles. there will not be the comfort of loneliness. there will not be a decision made. there will not be relief. there will not be an end to the odor. there will not be a mask to hide behind. there will not be inexpensive alcohol to consume. there will not be a triumph of the will. there will not be any help or hints. there will not be a plan. there will not be your mother to rescue, coddle or console. there will not be gas to huff. there will not be anything you can do. there will not be an end. there will not be an answer…

…but brian eno comes pretty close.

could it be just a simple and disconnected coincidence that both the geriatric and the mary queen of scots political rivals of the african-american lincoln invoke the spectres of the kennedy assassinations? what could be the salient point to be made by including pointed references to political liquidation? perhaps an argument is not being made but rather the employment of the power of suggestion to their respective lunatic fringes…

d’you wear a black armband
when they shot the man
who said ‘peace could last forever…’

…yeah its gone.

amongst the pages of a puerile vanity fair, lurking in the sludge of a supreme and the white trash dreams of pre-teen screams for montana’s hanna, amidst the mysteries of “paul is dead” and “does suri exist?” slithers the embodiment of the soulless american expression of the proverbial one trick pony and a prostituted vision of perversion miscalled “art.” specious as it may be, annie what can be said about the sincerity of flattery when one imitates one’s self? certainly nothing remotely related to sincerity…

promethean as well as pandoran, the alchemical prowess of a swiss chemist evinced that the keys of heaven were not to unlock the sky but the mind.

“if the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it truly is, infinite.”

ere it was not required to ball room dance, to skate upon the ice, to deign an apprenticeship, to survive a manufactured natural state, to rehabilitate, to abracadabra, to reveal a hidden talent, to attend boot camp, to mole, or to taste or rock love but merely to allow mr. kotter combat gopher amongst the network stars…

“people, i just want to say, you know, can we all get along?“

unequivically the answer is “no” if a fraternal bond is shared between your guitarist and vocalist while happening to be a black crowe, oasis or kink. again there be a “nay” if your brothers bee gibb whereas the deleos and maddens carry on gleefully with one another, a point that invariably accounts for some but not all of their suckitude.