game of pricks

come be quiet like mice

cos i will Not say it thrice:

im cooked like a cuck

and i cant make a buck

without a newfangled cellular device;

i feel just like a husk,

what for that elon musk!

for on his app i spend days

watching porn (featuring gays),

and jerking off from dawn until dusk!

the villain robbers lament

for all ciara's gold has been spent

in pursuit of aimless gainless vengeance

for theres nothing i resent that has ever meant

quite half as much on the dollar of my repentance

there was a time (more or less a tenth a life)

where i lamented for more or less eighth a wife

who i resented yet paid my tithe

and lost the ability to rhyme

you see it now: still not there

it slips out sometimes, stuttering

when i go mute, (this happens often) the only coherent thing i can get out is singing "game of pricks," (this is true ask emmy) and goddamn can i sing "game of pricks."

"what lays at the intersection of what one owes another and what another means to one?"

-asks the faggot loser

i dont believe ive deserved a single thing ive ever gotten, good or bad. im mostly interested in syllables these days, even if the words ar ehard to get out.sometimes i feel like the summation of songs shown to me in cars. i dont mean just you, okay?

UK title: Jesus Of Cool 

US title: Pure Pop For Now People

makes you think, right?

bro, last night was a Let It Buffer by Kleenex Girl Wonder. Bro, Last Night was a Mrs. Equitone by Kleenex Girl Wonder. broo, last nite was a the comedy album by kleeeenex girl wonderr. fuck off

for three transgressions of WHAT????

there's a birthday party every night at a rock and roll bar where they serve communion wafers sprinkled with old bay. jesus was a nephew with a hot topic uncle. does any of that make you feel anything? it doesnt do much for me but its kinda funny. strokes parody where he says "and my nephew dont give a fuck'

i started to write a song called "You Break Horses," but i realized i dont care about anything anymore, much less enough to write a song about anything. im really just forcing myself to type this on the couch tummy full of trader joes gyoza as we speek. i hope your experiments to invoke in yourself new and horrible feelings for your art at my expense worked, because im blowing a 0.0001. im bored as fuck, sister! this is all motivated more by procrastinating doing my laundry than anything else. 

bro last night was a Belle Glade Missionaries. bro last night was a Spiteful Intervention. bro last night was a No Conclusion. bro last night was a Sober 2 deth. brolast nite was a Overexposed Enjoybro last night was a the gun song. 

someone described "socratic dialogue at joke bar" to me as "twee sartre." funny, right?

the prince was the genie, the genie was the prince. capiche?

me and my nephew adam

 

death in october

wading through trash to set up my speakers and interface so i can play tyrannosaurus rex - unicorn on foobar2000 while the nihilist neofolk femboy surveys my room hungry for more things to make fun of (foucault books i havent read, lack of a closet, empty cans, disposable enemas, etc). he asks me "do you not feel embarrassed by your tiny, filthy room? you get laid in here?" i say "yes" to both because it is only a lie in regards to the former, and lies like that are a great way to defend against making people feel bad for having realized that they are making you feel exceptionally bad. he lays on my bed scrolling through the everything app while i sit in my chair alternating between eyes closed tight and throwing them against my marx brothers poster as a plea for help up to the end of cat black (the wizard's hat). the only words i can choke out are "doesn't this sound just like sung tongs?"

i pay eight hundred fifty dollars a month i only have from ebegging on a pale green closet with no closet that i try to avoid being in as much as possible. he showed me a bunch of neofolk and i only liked some it but i think he thought i didnt like it because of the nazi aesthetics (which im not gonna lie and say im a big fan of but i think i understand the subversive intentions of gay british occult guys) but it was mostly because its really boring largely and sounds like if stephen merrit was on nitrous and also plausible deniability maybe maybe not racist. i think im making a bigger deal of this than i need to but i have the kind of executive dysfunction where thinking of opening the mailbox makes me want to throw up. im naked in my bed in the afternoon now listening to tyrannosaurus rex - unicorn and its not helping as much as i want it to even though it is the only record that makes sense a lot of the time.

whatever