Friday, June 4, 2010



THE DESPERATELY AVERAGE AND THE OVERLY MEDIOCRE, pleading and slinking a noticably wide line pushing to be ahead by a hair AND IT STOPPED BEING ABOUT SUPERIORITY A LONG TIME AGO. please do not stop smoking for us, all long-time lovers of the rearview mirror. we held on so fucking tightly to those things we loved when we were younger, we loved everything so much with all our stunting growth! I AM TRYING TO TELL YOU ABOUT A PROMISE THAT IS SO VERY SECRET AND SO VERY REAL, and it's inside of all of us all everywhere, but the funny thing is that thing so many people say, that phrase, you know? that one about 'promises break all the time, no big deal ok.' keeping true has become frowned upon and frightening, these definitions fogging-up and floating thru our bedroom doors at nite? all ex-great forgetters of our time, absorbed in that big deep fucking pit of all of those lyrics you would sing under yr breath and all of those secrets worries and sad times there is that GREAT THING right there, it's like the feeling you get when you see a pretty faced girl and for whatever reason you are in conversation with her and that terrible phrase makes its way thru yr lips, and no, she can't say she reads much, there's just not enough time in the day, never been much of a reader. well, yeah, i mean, i go to art school, sure, and i am an actively participating member of the house-gallery scene, but i don't understand why people are spending all their time making stuff? why create when the goal is to participate? making a scene! the premiere flaw of us choked-up and suddenly hung. gasp. so it's as if there is some great secret here, i mean, the price-tags dangle on people so very proudly and that is a pretty fantastic thing it it's own right, but where is the direction? THIS IS NOT ABOUT SUPERIORITY, THIS IS ABOUT SOUL-SEARCHING AND SELF-TRUTH. so very many faces tinted pink with sunscreen. so pretty with white-washed walls. WHY DO I THINK THIS WAY? is there some sort-of long-lasting high-school resentment still stuffed away, feeling like the preps and jocks are now in streetwear and cut-off shorts? 100% brushed cotton, pastels, high-heels. extreme is so fucking mainstream. I TOTALLY AM NOT PINPOINTING YOU. this is not a fingerpoint song, i am reading people like pamphlets on mental health. there were times when the edge, fuck, that edge was supposed to be really sharp and sharp simple things were put on priority, now every poor kid owns 100000 pairs of shoes and funny bow-ties. our third attempt was half-hearted and barely-heated and defeated and holding our lover's hand was like grasping death's cape and promising tomorrow is going to be ok was easy enough, over the phone, over a short-talk of days spent (our versions different). now all sleeping in tanktops beside lazied lovers, changing channels appropriately and praying DEATH BEFORE REDUNDANCY.

YOUR POINTS ARE FORGETTABLY LOST, but all agendas must recieve appropriate tending to. we use all our muscles to keep from drowning, whether we want to or not. alienation breeds fear or maybe it's vice versa or situation-based, but they both breed contempt and confusion and if yr demons are banging at the heart-gates always, relentlessly, don't do it with yr voice! EVERYBODY HAS ONE, even if they have just a few scattered words. STAY RARE IN A HYPERCOMMON CULTURE. it's a no-pride no-shame no-luck no-fame no-love no-life no-hope no-harm no-fun no-friends no-time no-trail no-bother no-better no-reach no-response no-faith no-trace no-yawn no-win no-cash no-fashion no-future no-body no-thing environment, so you better write something down and use yr fists. ALL THINGS EXPIRE, pounding furious letters of fleeting love on keypads citywide.

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