in the event that i stop this awfully pregnant small talk and run away, make it blunt that i don’t care. “urge to splurge, baby.” sodden cross hairs of a copacetic fire where Misty Ladies move me softly. and I can say,” well, i’m never going back there.” but my love’s puffing up. bust and whimper. NO! i got virtue. refute forbidden fruits and save you. play a desperate game in the Shelter of the Arcane, “Misty Lady, i must repel and abstain!” “will you?” “well it’s because of Baby.” cut to me twisting like rabies inside the blaze, bods quiver costly into cruelty. woes get washy and still there’s You, Girl. not gwen. not jen. sweet amanda. the names of middling body doubles. You, the Girl, the One, the Sun hung up with ancient, septic scruples. the brawn is not doing so hot. the vicious impetus of a putrid heart. and i know its neat to glorify the Bad Man who fussed about his virtues and Woman. “silly utopian.” but there is nothing righteous nor noble about bad taste, a chink in fucking armor, about crashing giant dicks into conviction. “look, my ego’s splitting. i caught my self-love kissing a rotting corpse, gripping and dripping. ass on the sink. sharp teeth that leave tracks.” the Bad Man chokes back. the grasp of evil scares up a thought,” how long can I really do this? i need to think twice. be like, baby,” i sell out, you’re crazy. wide-eyed like patsy. love me.” she’ll tell the world that i made her cry, and i won’t stand a chance when the world drops by to smash my face into brutal splendor for low, inept misadventures. the hardly worthy tour de force of a perverse art. tender offenders. You, the Girl. not marge. not sarge. cute samantha. the names of middling body doubles. You, the Girl, the One, the Sun hung up with -- (reversed demon speak) "what do you believe? do you believe in me?" "i believe you've gotta start somewhere." (lorraine warren spiel) my love is undermined so i have been unkind towards frugal tyranny, the Blue-Sky Purity. “does this last forever?” by doubt, i’ve been devoured. a sap brought to his knees. the humbling leaves you pleased. “i know… is your desire to die inaudible? is your desire to die insolvable? going solo at the end seems horrible. going solo at the end seems optional. it's too late. it's too late. get you in a padded room with no shoelace. it's too late. it's too late. keep you there a thousand years and then touch base."

well, i cop a feel off a faith cure, it's romantic ideals, and i never, ever thought i would until i saw the Olympian carried out and crucified by mob law, their choplogic hailing down. the Sword splits ‘em. full house entertained. they go soft and then plummet down, funny frowns. they lose face. pride limp. marvel omega bound. well, i see harvests of heroes and they’re looking at me (looking at me). i tell them,” i would never wanna be (wanna be) laid so bare. dance the Moxie, the Bold Boogie, ‘cos in the end, when they come, i’ll be sorry.” “hey, i know you’re lying. they’ll take your life even if you’re trying to be slight and laugh at the miracle, to be vague and watch the world die.” ace, your counsel doesn’t mean shit when getting lofty tempers the Idealist. sorts me sunny, strictly plays the hits. drips grant me bliss, so Sibyl, fuck your riot ‘cos i know what i want and that’s bringing my head to planes of pure being far away from here. ROBOT ON DRUGS I am so fucked up. I have transcended my reality. I wish to live and die on the plane. I do not wish to return to standard living. I would like to - to remain here forever. i’ll sleep for the night with one million wives in a Cradle of Winged Healing. polluted and cascading down into the halcyon days, the vale of years, stoned and worn, down into the Auld Lang Syne of the Stillborns. a young one republic fouled up in dirt, soft, forsaken earth, spectral objects with wits like cancer. mom and dad, mom and dad, mom and dad, mom and dad... mom and dad got bored and ran the hell away. now in a bathroom stall, we feel ourselves swell and split; decay. the automated hunt for sad freedom, some Eden, Eden, Eden, Eden... Eden, Eden, Eden... arousing the starving fallout of potent, immortal demons. some say,” goddamn, i do not think i remember you… i do not." i say,” i may look different but right now, i swear it’s this stomach flu.” (sound of a puke) then abruptly, i’m confused for a dangerous feral cat. i'm gonna scratch ya. a swarm eases my big pain with their exalted baseball bats. “it’s gonna be ok!” BANG! BANG! BANG! “whoo!” wipes sweat from forehead! well, i see harvests of heroes and they’re looking at me (looking at me). i tell them,” i would never wanna be laid so bare. dance the Moxie, the Bold Boogie.” “hey, it’s easy. you take a breath and savagely defy. move your feet, uh, to the left or to the right, then you’ll know just who you need to be. you’re gonna dance, you’re gonna die for your country.”

she rests in a rancid abbey. prays too blindly to a sugar daddy who gives the charity of love unseen, of love withdrawn. still if denied, a love that scorns. she got a big ole phatty (phatty) caught in a rancid abbey, caught under stifling robes unfurled like roads through a thousand different postal codes up towards the sanctioned parts unknown. robes by Daddy. i have no faith so i'll critique yours and sexualize what lies beneath your baggy drawers. i'll call your people dinosaurs and take a shit on the Savior, then cite a bunch of Holy Wars i heard about on hip talk shows. no respect for the hope that there's something larger and my contempt for faith makes me smarter. whose to say? when I critique, i'm self-seeking. no concern for the truth or your feelings. i wanna be right. discourse black and white. forfeit all nuance and drop my d**k through the skylight of the rancid abbey while you sit and pray. try to talk to Daddy to the tune of Dick sings "I Try" by Macy Gray...

well, a renaissance is overdue. the resurrection of new tenor, sly beggars. 'cos a complicated kindness made me feel funny. mercy fuzzy like rambling c*m bunnies. comme il faut, beauty born, woo car horns from unknowns. you won the heart, held your own. taunt insatiable moans from a truelove blown in by hell-fire. the Dolorous. sweetie wrapped in barbed wire. all night doting. "come on, baby. would you vibe on my Might?” “no, I won’t.” “but I am God.” “would the Maker cite his own being to fuck his, uh, reverent creations?” "womankind! Hail Flesh!" “they're bursting into get me now!!!” “i'm never like this.” the mutation maims the vow. strays feel no fear. they forage and then corrode.   fill the cannons. unload. corrupted zeroes knock, knock. “well, uh oh.” and i come... come to light in the void and wrap up my long fucking life! whoo-uh. whoo-uh. i hear my name through the gloom. “Bad Man, please. i think you’ve gone to pieces.” “baby, you’re fooling me.” she says,” no.” “but i’m cold and i see the future. shitty hearts and kinky creatures, the ones that thirst on the blood of the ones you love... my future eats you!" VOICE ON INTERCOM IN PURGATORY Hello there, and welcome to the nucleus of a deviant. Here we can travel through the past, present, future and alarming subconscious of someone overwrought with uncommon but precarious desires. Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times and enjoy. she’s looking very fine and so i feel inclined to engage her in conversation for the hundredth time. my purpose is defined. the sentiment implied so now i will just sit tight, tranquil, leading with the eyes. “you’re looking very fine.” a shapely form main lines sleazy dreams of Do the Do into my flimsy mind. “you’re looking very fine"... well, i love you to pieces but i’m feeble, i’m a weakness and i’m not your fucking Jesus. i’m the Lowlife. hearts anemic. well, i love you to pieces but i’m the evil bae with -- (garbled demon speak) and i’m not your fucking Jesus. i’m the Bleakness. Meanest Sweetness. well, i love you to pieces but my heart’s sick. it’s anemic and i’m not your fucking Jesus. i’m the evil, i’m a weakness. well, i love you to pieces but i'm the feeble bae with -- (garbled demon speak) and i’m not your fucking Jesus. i’m the Bleakness. Meanest Sweetness. Mhmmm... ("she's looking very fine" refrain)

my name is Brickbat. what... what did you do to her? what... what am i gonna do to you... tonight? my name is Brickbat and i'm gonna kill you. i'm... i'm gonna kill you slow. my name is Brickbat. i'll kill you all slowly. i'll kill you all slowly because of what you did to her. i know the motherfucker who hurt hers here. i know he's here. i see him... i feel him... i hear him... laughing at me. i know he's in this room right the fuck now. tell me who the fuck he is. my name is Brickbat, you know what that fucking means here? you know what that fucking means in this town? you don't tell me who the motherfucker who hurt her is, i'm gonna tear this motherfucker down. my name is Brickbat. i've had enough of this shit. i'm not playing nice. we're just gonna sit here and listen to the rest of this song, and then when it's over, i'm gonna find out which one of you done her wrong. done her wrong... done... her... wrong... my name is Brickbat.

oh, oh, oh, my dearest's just been knifed. worst death scene up and done by bad ass wipes. "ignore him melting into moods dreamlike." but I saw. stuffed in a corner, evocative of daisies shaking. my roots, they got too close. i loved her. but now the vibe is more morose like Christmas cards steeped in blood, ah bah humbug. me and her in matching sweaters, "this card don't come with fruitcake, baby!" "let me go!" her death was an Adagio. butterfingered and very slow... oh, and i sat there for the rest of the day (i sat there). oh, I got choked up for the rest of the day (got choked up). oh, something stung for the rest of my days. "ooh, can we ever, ever be the same?" "no, your mettle played the waiting game. oh, your gimp rescue wasn't high-octane. just lost and that's a bloody shame. so now, for a long, long time, it's gonna make you... you lose your mind. it's gonna get ugly. oh, it's gonna... UNLESS YOU GET YOUR ASS UP!" left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right... swing jibe, lead pipes. shoot straight. wear capes. "help us, slugger. we're in Bad shape. duped into a passive state. so grab your pistol, Slack Adagio. be the blissful looming missile. lead us to our golden years." "me and my friends are hanging up in Heaven and i'm doing my impression of your facial expression as you shit yourself while i died." my roots, my roots, my roots, my roots, they got too close... 

(tony spera spiel)

i’m gunning for the max, the desolating utmost of a binary mind. my hands viscid on her a**. fingers trace geographies, la dolce vita up her spine. and I start to tremble, boy getting primed. release importunity through a sacred design. the room loses shape, my priorities fucked, and,” oh, feeling good is good enough.” "i'm not a mutant for being concerned with fusing myself to a drunken mass of dangerous fluids. i'm not subhuman. don't make me feel stupid. you have not proven you can be kind to a woman." oh, the Mystic, oh, the Fortunate, god, i miss it. doom the Comeliness. altruistic miss with lipstick. dreams are colorless. my flesh is done with this. uh-huh. oh, the Mystic, oh, the Fortunate, oh, the Mystic, oh, the Fortunate, oh, the Mystic, oh, the Fortunate. the anamnesis of blood sugar sex magik. stock-still and handsome, palsied in dessert wine and pungent to the nines, and looking in terror at the morning star whose head rests on my chest, makes the Boys fall apart. but i’m still standing, the likelihood of caving in is understood. my heart’s posed firm and my stuff’s beat up your enigmatic visions, the Misty Young Bucks. dried up every gushing clown, smothered simple appeal, murdered what bored you into feeling nothing was real. but i'm still the Devil and i still get stuck when feeling good is good enough and oh, the Mystic, oh, the Fortunate, god, i miss it. doom the Comeliness. oh yeah, altruistic miss with lipstick. dreams are colorless. my flesh is done with this. uh-huh. (garbled angel speak) oh, i miss it, miss the Mystic...

marengo man... is she still there in top form? or did she lovingly OD on the puzzling company... of a carnivore? does she hold dear the lore of you going disorderly, totaling jalopy in an effort to destroy the last copy   of some doom and gloom drunk's last body he just couldn't stand anymore?   how good is it there? it's good. you just wait...