godheadcase:

your nightmares are not enough
theres a camera in the rotting battery of your charred smoke alarm
after all, what's family for?

hey! self fulfilling prophet
melt down your bedstead for the war effort

splattered in phantasmagore
nose red from too much blowing
sprouting fresh whiteheads
speckled across the raw skin below
the sky below:
raw knuckles
raw nerves
raw muscles

carnival music:

after all, what's family for?

hey! self fulfilling prophet
donate your typewriter to the war effort
we'll melt down the metal and we'll cook up some arms
we'll melt down the metal and we'll shoot up some arms
these days you can't even get your son or daughter's arms
back in a box when that's all that's left of them.

buried in the desert
a man overboard
in a dehydrated sea
floating in the dead sea

(or a baby on battlefield.)

don't let anger take the vein.
i'm following myself around.
sometimes you can find me inside a computer
on the weekends.
Fitzroy Valentine, superimposed on your wing mirror:
"we're looking at dry rot"
two minutes till hotplate.
hey, taker down of signs -
a flaming syringe of tumours to you.
i can walk over the road without touching it
like i'm wearing winged boots
it's out of the frying pan and into... the frying pan?
you're the one who wants to make everyone else's lives hell -
an asbestos abcess on you.
the bone of contention: how high is a chinaman
and exactly how long is a piece of string?

beautiful women make me want to kill myself.

if it gets out you've been harbouring a dissident in the sometime
then you'll realise that mediocre is worse than bad.
don't do anything you'd be ashamed of being caught doing...
like... eating cold chips and warm salad?
we stuck a toddler's painting of a snail under every stop sign
grape bruise / scabtoe / dancing on the horseshoe's grave...

the downside of achieving total enlightenment is
that you'll never care about appeaing attractive again.

i wouldn't give a brouhaha
(definition: a broil over a minor or ridiculous cause)

this city is a factory for living in
we are worn & eroded by supply & demand
and our city centre is a surrealist's offcuts
i often eat my lunch on a giant fruitbowl like first year still life
and since they banned smoking in public places
there's only emissions to breathe from spluttering exhaust fumes
from old fashioned smokestacks of ancient design
that they added a concoction that would change our lives
46 & 2 gas - an extra chromosome for everyone
till we realised that heightened senses were not neccessarilly a good thing...

a ticking timebomb noise from the shanty train gates
near where we were attacked by the small yappy dog
the ticket machine completely enclosed in a small cage
and scottish lisa appearing as if at a scheduled time...
"the possibility of complete mental collapse is now very real."

foster brother alan's garden is infested with spiders,
which he insists are really "evolved wasps".
we are watching the nuclear world war on TV,
and the live run-up to the first missiles being fired,
each nation's launcher extends out of earth's atmosphere,
and progressively further and further into space.
now there is not much left to do but watch old home videos,
and hope for the best.

stop underlining prematurely.

writing from the first person makes me nauseus,
and the camera angle is all wrong.
dead pixel drop, the wrong route, etc.