i'm just tired - where can a man think clearly -
and not have his words pulled out
from his mouth with his tongue in tow -
clearly the redefinition of seeing pixel ink
fresh in a public space like grafitti on a brick
wall can't be redefined for someone
people as an extension of thought -
rather than an invitation to speak...
but on the rare occassion that it happens -
this sort of "worry" has to pass me by -
it has to pass with the farts of a leather chair
to warm my anus up, real good...
once having experienced internet drama:
never again - no soap opera bullshit
grandstanding left right and centre -
thankfully there's an alternative -
and it arms you really good...
you go to a supermarket and the same cashier
is there like she was before,
and you buy the same supplies -
whiskey and a ginger ale...
out of nowhere she says really quickly...
'you always smell so good...'
a quick reply just so she doesn't feel
'i know, thanks...'
how do i know? i usually take a shower
after a long and sticky day...
and the beard shampoo i'm using does smell
really good... radox mineral scrub...
antiperspirant (no scented deodorant)...
queen elisabeth's cocoa butter
from côte d'ivoire on the arms and groin
feet and a little on the face...
and that's all this internet bonanza
of stalkers / marooners / morons /
trigger happy censorship dyslexia overlords
with their very humble tastes in art...
disappears... i would probably go insane
if i sat in some of these groups with
these claustrophobic zombies -
something in real life has to
happen to drag my head from
the otherwise massive mountain of turd.