Recylced Rant

Same people. Same shtick.

Your guilt is spurious, it can be obliterated by resorting to aphoria and agnostics, if not that then it defintely is solvent in humongous swigs of vodki or mixed with schnapps and provided eternal freedom by way of a physical egress.

Your mind is not of protean and hence you have no concept of cerebral suffocation, a situation for which no easy expedient can be devised.You can, but will not choose a personal vermin when sanctimonius little pricks rumage through the last remaining vistas of Free Thought, all this owing to a sang froid, from which you deviate only when entering into a qui pro quo zone with other equally disgenious souls, disgenious and indifferent.

Your choices are a determinant of the invariable “profectus” .Your vacousness is amusing when you bend close and whisper,tea or alchemey? Your sustenance is derived from self- imposed soliloquy,something that makes you look oh-so Shelley’esque,much as difficult it is to imagine a Terza Rima galloping away from your (un)pedantic stable.You rever the rigamarole, in the same way that you do Dali and vanity and a sense of braggadocio.

Good lord , I must admit at times your savoir-faire is truly astonshing and nauseating.

I resent it when subjected to incessant “Darlings” and also when you wax eloquent bout the Muses,but fail significantly when your homonym challenged brain registers “veracious” as “voracious”.

So you see..maybe I havent begun my journey(yet)..but you are about 1000 miles high… in the wrong direction.

Leavin on a southern train
Only yesterday you lied,
Promises of what I seemed to be
Only watched the time go by,

Humming that on my way back home.

G’nite world. Thank you for not fucking me over today.


~ by iconoplastic on March 16, 2007.

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