...ed ...
Proves the point. The Reformation was for a reason...
Even if Master (not Mister) of it annew
got his directions mixed up
Too.
Reversin' back up turdencriusted back passage marked
The Enlightenment was here...
in the next version up of reverse gear.
Rather than really reformin'
the junky's joint
chucked away for good
That's the point, creates an actually better 'uman.
Let it be understood,
all choice is impossible.
Such as then
Way back when
" not only's the music commin; back, the fey gods of it too...
hmm two grand a pop, front row lass, 'n pop....
well, the rambin'-on-mobile... ebay ... swap the well used seats for one night only , two....
if the junky, managed to grow up and be a man, kind of mark two...
smili'n at his junky tracks...
in the, no it can't be the greatest of all 'come backs'..
wrong;
right song"
what a superb ferkin Sartran (JP) intellectual use of their semi colon
Talkin of bums
now .....
The greatest of all road Trip numbers
In the days before a 'gay' artist
when a new real actually ferkin talent that is in another dimension
comes along, despite comprehension:
'snot possible to sing in an as yet unknown dimension
From beaten up small boy nervous exhaustion;
or any ole'bein 'other than the majority
One thing i would have never guessed
A Road Trip last port of call
a few decades on, now i get the whole dam blob
why they stop and stare in carparks and some perfect acth....
Never mind him the fat brown man in his Che Guevara T...
Vistit some shopin' town even Sunday morn
And either it's the GAp [assumin they still exist] magazine, brochure
or 'lifestyle' mag...
But i had no idea that every other one's,
tryin to look like the one and only uncopyable unique
James...
Whether up or down the back, Ali..
is irrelevent when you can ACTUALLY write great Punjabbin' poetry
Anyway good for me knowin' why they're all so towny-depressed and nery too
Because This whole county ios only townies, not Pathosts, or Trackers
(other than to show off some fancy new Pear shaped watch, steppin' up to Heaven, via the gate
- to do her yet out of sequence "gates fer yackin at lass whats the difference")
Anyway the End of The Road, for sure
Was merely to understand just why she;s so hissy..
even if fit.
If every single person you ever see
In her pastiche of a land called London, by me
Is actually only ever dressed up like they're in Camden, or Oxford
Town slash Street.
Pity the poor fishies, never mind slimmer times ahead
All that prozac, guaranteed will drop self harmed dead, too.
In fact now i have been also in the mind of Homer
Got hos sneaky technique.
Wander around your home town Smyra,
lookin for someone just sane enough to share your woodburner
Then observe and record every single one
reduce their grotesquosity by a factor of at least
fifty percent, insert telettubie, for actual tubby steroid gorgin' Somervillian beast
Or a nice sweet Cyclops for the local real meal deal
Downrate the local bought bohemian population
Crasses predictablest shopping cart nation
And no one would believe even the half safe version.
There is no way in poetry or verse
or performative self harmin' or wose
(i really didn't know i actually mean what i say
bein' i avoided their shoppin' towns
and boys in girls gowns... ten year ';n a day)
just how one dimensionally straight out of the instruction book
how to lifestyle dress, walk and look
Everyone became.
Not one actual novel bit of anti institutionality.
'treally is The Truman Show
My off my, back to Bolivia I must go..
Or at the very least some Pyrenean mountain beach
safely out of catalogue, reach
The End all Road Trips must end with the knowledge of why reform once worked
(poor Former Sovs, wouldnt know the meaning of 'change' only Pieniążki
... And created false notion of whom to be.. next, before understandin' whom their hosts once ..were...)
