| My words have been lubricated by a liquid provided by a girl who should have had more impact but impact is tactless and thus I'm reaction-less. I spin words off a spindle, these webbed whims are a bit hard to handle and digest, but all I can think of is gestation and how I celebrate this placement (or lack thereof). Does this rhyme, am I on time, or off beat or just beat up from the banalities of society while trying to preach insight which remains an anomaly amongst anonymous apocalyptic hypocrites who spout shit about living life to the fullest while ignoring all it has to offer. This offer is on the table, tabulate the ones in which you're incapable of tempering a tapestry of true to life fables which in self is a contradiction. Words inscripted on an epitaph of a life not worth living, a celebration of celibate celebrity euthanasia; is this the youth's nature? I'm not even sure where this is going anymore, I'm just positive that posthumous success lies in a cesspool as the crown jewel of 'what ifs?' Am I enormous or enigmatic? Is this shit dragged out or just drastic? Was this meant to rhyme or was this scheme just spastic? I feel stretched like elastic, stressed cause I'm frantic, I need to just sit down and write rhythmically but I'm just not that tantric. Throw a tantrum like I planned it, and see the plans lose status like Pluto as a planet. Okay, I'm done this just doesn't make any sense, yearning for compliments, and some sick, twisted form of acknowledgment. Do you remember when it was uncool to think this way? I do, and now that is, I'm sick to my stomach from eating shoveled shit that's fresh off the pasture, poached literacy is falling faster and that doesn't mean a thing. To think anymore just doesn't seem fit to me. So how do I close off these closeted thoughts that have been thought and recycled time and time again. Offer some answers, cure some cancers, this free verse style is limiting to the most insightful motherfucker you've ever seen. This kind of reads like a rap and that wasn't the intent, but intentionally speaking I think I'm spent like a creased up, folded dollar who lost its worth the second it came out his father (get it?). Again, nonsensical in a sense, I am merely an instrument in a choir that lacks practice and shows up late to its audition thinking it can twist and subvert the system like its something special. Its not and for that I'll pay the ultimate price. Unbridled praise that goes unchecked subsequently results in undeserved paychecks and this lifestyle of lifting up limp-dicked linguists is personally responsible for my perennial disgust with the way things are run. I've never written like this before, do you like it? Or should I pack it up and hike away leaving my words behind me. They're all I've left to play with as Duchovny said, what will you have done by the time you're dead other than dictate whats touted on your hollow tombstone? Dwindling away like a rope running thin, these thick-layered metaphors and plays-on-words have done me in. I'm exhausted, had my mark and lost it, logged a path but never crossed it and now I'm standing in the middle of a bridge burning at both ends by bogging down misspent weakened weekends. I think I misplaced my purpose by improperly measuring my portions. I wanted the world right out the gate, instead I came to a dead end forged of failures and follies aka mistakes. I need to wrap this up before its overdid and languishes like a run on sentence yearning a period. So farewell, I hope you all fare well, and are able to scratch your way out of this starch gray cell. Is dying in the end enough for you? It is for me, dienu.
Peace.
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| http://www.sendspace.com/file/x4fuju
http://www.sendspace.com/file/wtnnjs
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| I don't know if anyone reads this, but if you do, download this song. Its so amazingly awful that it's incredible.
Weezer - The Greatest Man That Ever Lived
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