Friday, June 19, 2015

Morbidly Obtuse

Today's students aren't what they used to be. They used to be literally not even, ugh. They attended dog parties. It was all for charity...until it wasn't. The sun blew up.

A new anthem was called for, but never gassed us. My cot collapsed under us. Well, I guess you have to sneak up on the past in order to change it. But shy away from media, both old and new—it's a sort of notorious gown that wears us, pleads us down to shreds.

Hold me closer, tinny stanza. Speak to your financial advisor.

I must confess I'm at a loss for nuance when obliged to enforce my feelings for modern architecture. Half the time I can't even find the bathroom. Not that I like to banter there. I always feel like I'm being punished for someone I didn't do. (That ass and a cup of coffee will buy you a leaky weekend.)

In any case, it's a nice day to polish one's own inevitability, really get it glowing. It looks good on an adjunct professor's soft tissue, like an ejaculation dribbled from the mouth of a marble statesman. No, really! Check it out—a little French cadaver presses "play" on his pistol

and history's hairy eyeball ignites the hay in which we roll, die, etc.

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