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?