leaver leaver fuck the alcolytes

i am still shining words and sliding them up onto the shelves for all to run their eyes and fingertips over maybe put a little pressure on and see if it bursts. it always brusts when the time doesn't come the way we want it to. nothing comes that way, under the side of our arms too much not enough all the rest is just antipathy.

and all the apathetics are roaming the streets, green hair, skateboards, smiths turned up on their stereo headphones and just a little bit too cool to nod their heads in time. everyone knows they mean every word though. everyone knows if we could strap every thought of morriseys on their backs they'd carry them until their eyes went dizzy from glare, exhaustion sets in when we cease to love what we're doing.

i know it's easier to not love green hari not love tatooes maybe easier after all whoever the hell said it would be the same as when you were a fucking child?

come grow old with us and see where the world spins, i'm watching you get older every second (is falling away) and no one anywhere could stop it even if they wanted to.

i love you still, the last of you,. the first of you, you punk rock shits, you skate pricks, you manson-ite, too much tool listening, reznor heads with no real cause in life but to make your self feel alienated.

when my brother was young it was simpler. there were wierd kids, jocks, preps, nerds, and in betweeners.

now there freaks and dorks and nerds and jocks and junkies and burnouts and skaters and punk kids and indie rockers and jazz fans and beatniks and jesus christ didn't any of these fucking kids watch the breakfast club?

there used to be a dress code to these things, dress one way, fit one group x was always x and b was always b, but now, b is x and j is f and p is a fractal equation and everything elverywhere is turning into fuzz and mountians of cum and lust and shit digging us deeper and eeper into titles and names and places we think they're all so fucking important and none none of them go anywhere but up down wonka-vator ways and nothing is growing falling every directions is slowing down too much time on our hands too much time left alone wasting words on no one inparticualr but hoping it turns out important hoping this one last time it will all add up to more than nothing....

2003-01-15 | 7:10 p.m.
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