Surf Nazi's Must Die!
http://image.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Books/Pix/pictures/2008/05/23/dahl.jpg
This is Roald Dahl's writing room, its paint is that of tobacco tar and behind the chairs' cushion hides a removed section where he would rest his abscess on particularly swollen days. I could be comfortable in such a room, I may even write, I guess I have the same room, I never write. Anyhow, later gator. If you want to hold flimsy exchanges I have several tin cans and tensioned lengths in which to spin yarns, however, outside lousy kid comedies this method appears futile. I can type for miles.
This is a set from a 4pm, haplessly sweating guilty laments, rent/damage deposit delivery to Stettler; the Heart of Alberta. I would say greetings, walk the shops and sills, out of a town only two were receptive . Maybe I wear the pauses of unkind in my misplaced graces. Maybe.
http://merzboat.deviantart.com/
You Had All the Notoriety:
I am the loneliest. Happened in some Thursday slip; bottled and visited in loud margin for error sips. Framing all tasteless aperture by the accuracy of a raving derelicts steadied tremble. When I urinate I stare in all directions other than the source which happens to be the only occasion that allows me to abscond the mechanics. If we could train ourselves to build theories that owe there successes to binding the ordinary in place of action; boredom may serve a broader audience. Oh! to be bored treading on appearances of unrequited patterned fondness. Offer me a route between botched consistency and deliberate normalcy. I just had the faculty of sight, an anorexic glimpse sailing the legitimated course of construction paper cards, wanting to cry but not knowing where to begin, watching you hopscotch through the rich innocences of never knowing a childhood, mispronouncing words we know to annoy and seldom saying sorry. Monologues served me well.
"You can't sell me incense
My world smells good enough to eat
So let's not eat, just smell the good and longing
Not owning
We'll circle like insects
Incensing the grieve liquored herd
Have you heard an encouraging word from them
They pretend
To be so above it all
Or so they would have you think
I think, no one thinks at all
You might show some interest
You're world looks good enough to eat
I see he ghost of a better world
Living in the disbelief in ghosts
Everyone tells me they're crazy
Well crazy people aren't so fucking boring
Wake me when your through being cool, cause I'm snoring
And hoping
To see you beside yourself
Show me the rose stuff of you
Would you
Do it for yourself
Or for me
We both need a change
Your fear or normalcy is hardly strange
Let's be freaks, plain clothes police
Let's be deliberate, because it's obvious to me
Weird is pretty obvious
So color me obvious
I just want to be happy half the time
And blue only when I have the time"
-Blake Schwarzenbach Unlisted Track Dear You (Reissue)
This is Roald Dahl's writing room, its paint is that of tobacco tar and behind the chairs' cushion hides a removed section where he would rest his abscess on particularly swollen days. I could be comfortable in such a room, I may even write, I guess I have the same room, I never write. Anyhow, later gator. If you want to hold flimsy exchanges I have several tin cans and tensioned lengths in which to spin yarns, however, outside lousy kid comedies this method appears futile. I can type for miles.
This is a set from a 4pm, haplessly sweating guilty laments, rent/damage deposit delivery to Stettler; the Heart of Alberta. I would say greetings, walk the shops and sills, out of a town only two were receptive . Maybe I wear the pauses of unkind in my misplaced graces. Maybe.
http://merzboat.deviantart.com/
You Had All the Notoriety:
I am the loneliest. Happened in some Thursday slip; bottled and visited in loud margin for error sips. Framing all tasteless aperture by the accuracy of a raving derelicts steadied tremble. When I urinate I stare in all directions other than the source which happens to be the only occasion that allows me to abscond the mechanics. If we could train ourselves to build theories that owe there successes to binding the ordinary in place of action; boredom may serve a broader audience. Oh! to be bored treading on appearances of unrequited patterned fondness. Offer me a route between botched consistency and deliberate normalcy. I just had the faculty of sight, an anorexic glimpse sailing the legitimated course of construction paper cards, wanting to cry but not knowing where to begin, watching you hopscotch through the rich innocences of never knowing a childhood, mispronouncing words we know to annoy and seldom saying sorry. Monologues served me well.
"You can't sell me incense
My world smells good enough to eat
So let's not eat, just smell the good and longing
Not owning
We'll circle like insects
Incensing the grieve liquored herd
Have you heard an encouraging word from them
They pretend
To be so above it all
Or so they would have you think
I think, no one thinks at all
You might show some interest
You're world looks good enough to eat
I see he ghost of a better world
Living in the disbelief in ghosts
Everyone tells me they're crazy
Well crazy people aren't so fucking boring
Wake me when your through being cool, cause I'm snoring
And hoping
To see you beside yourself
Show me the rose stuff of you
Would you
Do it for yourself
Or for me
We both need a change
Your fear or normalcy is hardly strange
Let's be freaks, plain clothes police
Let's be deliberate, because it's obvious to me
Weird is pretty obvious
So color me obvious
I just want to be happy half the time
And blue only when I have the time"
-Blake Schwarzenbach Unlisted Track Dear You (Reissue)