Saturday, November 29, 2008

A couple places, a couple styles.

Coburg Rd.

I have run up this street, part of a panting, sweatpanted pack of varsity athletes. I have all out sprinted down this street, all alone, with sweet dark rum pouring from my pours into natural puddles; the singles, the doubles. I have walked hand interlocked with admirations of my sports, of physical stock. Seen from the gym the street is straight, and the lure of the whistle, well that was partly the bait. Mostly it was me: always too young for my age -- at this point especially. The powers of novelty sought to engage with hormone, her moan. Laughter. Nihilism which fails. Editing doesn’t matter? Liquor in pails. Headphones, and bong hits, and an existential excuse, I would simply recluse; start to wander off into the ever-assembling horizon for tomorrow, leaving the moose in my room, in all it’s ineffable pink doom. Poetry in motion, now I see soul spin, therein much more; dangerous things, from old words of lore. They don’t know. I see her walking towards me, a small smile grows. From class maybe? Say hi. Too high. Rubber treads lightly, looking for excuses, in the sky or in the furrowed brow of each advancing stride. This street is a line: central to the campus and canvas to which these memories define and give rise to recorded failure and a psuedo-shaman long from the brush.

In Class

Who is this ordained ordinal here, pacing back and forth and resting on a podium with the curious gaze of a maltese cat born from a generation with the spark in their eyes found in 1950’s musicals; they dance, stand at the helm of the new bodies: blank stares into yawning chasm of electric pollution which has brought us closer to each other and further from the glowing purple beam of intuition and lucid quantum understanding of a dissonance whose tentacles further pull public awareness into the porn-filled astral mud while galloping black horses of clandestine research stampede further throwing thick clouds of confusion the peasants; for the lowest echelon world of the ivory, fragmented into Ahrimanic essays, fracturing minds which are unique and infinitely more potent by being left alone; by being embraced fully for what they can do instead of what higher ‘degrees’ want, education isn’t happenstance archaic it’s modeled this way ubiquitous throughout the world for specific reasons and this is the end of the human spirit not a generation of spoiled kids, I was vaccinated mercury and surrounded by TV’s before I was old enough to have a say it’s not my fault don’t look at us like that you completely unaware brilliant dumb fuck.

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