| Life is a toxic waste dump, that's as far as perfection goes. We're mutated creatures, swarming, swarming, swimming drowning. Meet me in the graveyard, maybe we'll scratch the itch. Blow up my moonshine and hear me run till I fly. If no one can cry at this place in time, can we be angry without scaring each other? I want to lie in an empty bathtub while dreaming of the sea. That's as close as fulfillment ever gets. I'll be truly happy if my kids grew up with green mohawks. My non-existent money will buy me a Spanish hat, black felt, very cool and it'll catch me a man. Men love hats. My wine's breathing now. Ssssssh! Why don't you study my breathing pattern? You could always strangle me. Rock'n'Roll is S&M. And bondage. I like bondage, in the flesh anyway. Maybe the life on other planets has been spying on us on big invisible monitors and just marveling at our idiocy. Did Jesus ever find the meaning of life hidden at the bottom of a bucket of slops? If life sucks the big weenie why can't I? Oh, my bleeding heart. Religion is only an obstacle that wouldn't fall over if you tripped on it. I want to go in the middle of the desert an scream obscenities at the top of my lungs until I'm so hoarse a frog couldn't translate. Has anyone ever drowned in a mirage? Pit bull have it right. better to be ripped limb from limb than to rot with leprosy leaving a a trail of putrid FLESH. Who know who'll pick it up and eat it? Oh moan oh gasp I'm so excited. And he died of electrocution, (slobbering on) licking his guitar on stage. It was red. It was rude. Too bad about that little short. "He was always such a nice boy." Stop thrusting your pelvis in my face, damn it. Open-mouth androgynous anorexics with Uzis. Some days I can't handle my MTV. PamFriedEhli/12-31-1988 ...And thus broke a new style, for better or worse... Published in the 1990 edition of "Afterwork," literary magazine for Concordia College, Moorhead, MN. |
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| Since 1-20-03 |