"Question and garden." Gertrude Stein late spring starlight and the wigged out rose bush I only wanted to live another winter in the black cabin that rides on the galloping animal's tongue A lost tribe of blind marionettes introspecting monumentally lost in the mohave in the forgotten night garden of your eye envisioning the many tricks of liberty and the possibilities of seething between the orphan waste paper basket and its despair tenuous as the remembered smell of lilacs in the back of the castaway's brain
"Nazi punks fuck off" Ok class, everybody get out your spray paint cans
"Born again with fascist cravings"
"fascist cravings" by itself is genius
The guitar is amazing. Precision vandalism. The guitarist's name's East Bay Ray I believe. I kind of wish that was my name. How do you get a name like that?
The many
reincarnations
of the wigged-out
rose bush
across the
smog bank
the creepy fascist atmosphere
the poetry and the low lying agony
Raise your hand if you caught the Walt Whitman Abraham Lincoln funeral reference. It's a double-decker literaturary allusion. You got Walt Whitman with the beard full of cacoons and butterflies as imagined by Lorca -- Lorca dapper half smiling himself the only witness to that half smile turning to face the wall -- and you got the coffin inside the coffin is the extinguished eden the corpse of a singular human imagination an abyss collapsing in on itself the banished ash curling in on itself the tear falling into its reflection the involuting nautilus shell of self forgetting
"the post-constitutional leviathan" Steve Bannon
The poem at least fails successfully to make any kind of statement which is an important facet of remaining in phantasmagoric relationship with the uncreated germ. The frothy subtropic enclaves and pockets of honesty and chaos in the shadow of the Imperial mirage
Consult the antisocial oracle Jello Biafra
https://youtu.be/efgNZptpH3A?si=H0gSY0wcuWauDtbd
"Nazi punks fuck off" Ok class, everybody get out your spray paint cans
"Born again with fascist cravings"
"fascist cravings" by itself is genius
The guitar is amazing. Precision vandalism. The guitarist's name's East Bay Ray I believe. I kind of wish that was my name. How do you get a name like that?
The many
reincarnations
of the wigged-out
rose bush
across the
smog bank
the creepy fascist atmosphere
the poetry and the low lying agony
Raise your hand if you caught the Walt Whitman Abraham Lincoln funeral reference. It's a double-decker literaturary allusion. You got Walt Whitman with the beard full of cacoons and butterflies as imagined by Lorca -- Lorca dapper half smiling himself the only witness to that half smile turning to face the wall -- and you got the coffin inside the coffin is the extinguished eden the corpse of a singular human imagination an abyss collapsing in on itself the banished ash curling in on itself the tear falling into its reflection the involuting nautilus shell of self forgetting
"the post-constitutional leviathan" Steve Bannon
The poem at least fails successfully to make any kind of statement which is an important facet of remaining in phantasmagoric relationship with the uncreated germ. The frothy subtropic enclaves and pockets of honesty and chaos in the shadow of the Imperial mirage