from the bell rope in the steeple of the church on 109 St.
the steeple of his neck was crowding his temple
woke up this mourning
his brain was dead
WELL SO WHATs another gimmick in a commercial suicide town
where they've planned the obsolescence of even the consumer
..give the conscience a recyclement placebo to ease the guilt, then
step up the amount of packaging to redress the balance, leavin thousands of orphaned trees to accomodate a
new MASTERS OF THE LUNIVERSE
(i continue to be infected by the carcinogenic fallout of fucking failed
marketing strategies...yeah, everybody i know is busy lickin corporate
fat fuckin ASS
it aint who ya know it's why ya BLOW...)(you know who you are)
masked murder and mass anaesthesia
gross aesthetics and christian erotica
(homogenized, airbrushed and dehydrated)
Got bought a drink by the new sobriety, kinda like a wallet with a
piece of elastic on it. Spiked w/heroin. And the feds're hidin round
the corner ready to pull it in and pull your ass in, yeah.
They's holdin a flask for you to piss in, for your convenience...
chase the fade into the horizon
(it's an ongoing process)
it's always twilight in them grey nether regions
and i ran out of matches
dinosaurs roam the deepest recesses of my mind
they know of their imminent extinction
and i'm a dying species too...
The last of my kind and unfortunately not long for this earth
The minute i stopped suckin my thumb i started suckin shit through a straw
every day a fresh and newly oozing absess appears.
i'm up to my throat and i'm standin on stilts
fee fuckin fi-high ho hum
god
doctor foetus and mister hyde
'n i may change at any second
there's a well-worn track twixt the couch and the frigid air
cos i pace my place like a caged lion
and i seem to have done a fine job at reducing my attention span to a minimum.
Too much stewing and deliberation breeds too much frustration and pain...
Therefore i resort to my temporary temporal mind muddlement.
I dont alter my consciousness any more, i merely fluctuate between varying degrees of nausea. It's nigh on
impossible to free myself from personal terrestrial constraints and complaints. Always one toe on the ground.
And that toe is saturated. With guilt, fear of reprisals, desire to deliver.
i supress so much for the longterm good
but you can only bite your lip so many times til its gangrenos scabs
begin to infect and poison your psyche
freedom is to have nothing
to have anything is imprisonment
which explains the desirability of a clean slate
yeah, i hate, yet am imprisoned by, chores, schedules, feeding time, fetching time, turning it down, turning it
up, turning it off, paying bills and paying fucking attention
all pay
all prey
no play
I'M UP TO MY THROAT THOUGH I'M STANDING ON STILTS
SLIDE A BULLET INTO MY CHRIST
LEECH UPON LEECH SUCKED ON DOWN til there aint NO MO, jes DRY TO
THE BONE._I HOPE THEY CHOKE ON IT!_malignant lumps're TOO GOOD for THEM, however...
made SHORT WORK o THAT f'SURE!
tis an ill wind doth bloe in and blowing,
scattering dust and ashes to the wind
there aint no more, not even a shadow
nor scent
nor footprint
or even blurred memory or the hint of a whiff of a soul
there aint nothin, jes nothin
cos there aint NOTHING no more
there aint no more
jestnot
nothin
STATISTICS AND THE LAW PUT A BULLET THROUGH MY CHEST
I'M UP TO MY THROAT THOUGH I'M STANDING ON STILTS
SLIDE A BULLET INTO MY CHRIST
NAPALM AFTERSHAVE and AFTERBURN filling old champagne goblin
sliding down the huge endless slippery surface scrabbling for a foothold and the strain is showing as the veins
pop out
of the side of the head
and BURST bloodying the pure pristine driven snow
dribbling in burning abrasive tributaries all the way down to san antone
next stop: primal prognosis and prostrate problems (no, sis)
SIDEBURN AND AFTERBURN FLESHPOWDER DUST
ME BE PRYING DRY SKIN FLAKES OFF THE SCALP WITH THE BUSINESS END OF A CROWBAR
(the worst goddamn case of dandruff i ever seen)
WENT CLEAN THROUGH TO THE BRAIN!
WET RIGHT THROUGH AND PRUNY!
scale of skin float through air like motes of dust
they CLOG your NOSTRILS when you BREATHE!
I SCRAPE THEM OUTA MY NOSE WITH AN ICEPICK AND WIPE THEM ON THE SHEETS AND
BEDPOST FOR FUTURE REFERENCE
THE WASTE OF HUMANITY AND MY TIMES PAST
PERMEATE, NAY, CLOG THE AIR
CLING TO MY CLOTHES AND CLOUD MY VISION
ALREADY IMPAIRED AND DECAYED THE INNER EAR
EVERY SCREAM SAYING WORD AND USELESS MOMENT HANGS IN THE AIR AS IF TO REMIND YOU OF YOUR OWN FUTILITY AND LACK OF MOBILITY
SOUNDWAVES CLOG THE AIR AND EYES IN
RETRIBUTION FOR THEIR MISUSE
NAH, THEY DON'T DISSIPATE ...THEY JUST GO TO HELL AND REGROUP
AND GROPE AROUND IN THE DARK IN SEARCH OF THE PERFECT HANDLE
HANDLE WITH CARE THE misHANDELed MESSIAH
oooooooo,i just ate)
it all comes crowding BACK at you and man it's ugly
NO WONDER you wrote escape clauses
and dig five hundred foot tunnels with a spoon...
it aint the heat it's the taint of humanity
it AINT my HUMILITY, it's the man in me...
an it be screamin I WANT OUT! I GOTTA GET OUT!
I WANT TO GET OUT
OUT
the fever blew the mercury out the business end of the thermometer
and it has not yet begun to pitch
i got an itch i cannot reach
i call a nail a nail
like the great white dyin whale, washed up on the beach
belches a sickburp, retches roars and vomits*
and from the slime emerges my jonah
half eroded, rotten, and decayed by digestive juices
crawls from the crumpling wreckage of blubber and bone
and falls flat on his stomach
kisses the sand
the terror
the firmer
The new blood is never announced...the silence hangs heavy and sits in
a pool of its own refuse..have you seen that vigilante man?
my ankles're gripped as if in quicksand, i'm strugglin with that vast
wet membrane of inhumanity..the walls are closing in..i feel real cold.
and i've never been so alone. there's a lump in my throat the size of
an apple. i'm trying not to breathe..tears fill my eyes and i sigh and i
sigh but it's never deep enough now all i can do is sigh but i'm gaspin
i so hollow inside a dull empty vessel oooooh put me outa this misery lord
the path of resistance is a long and lonely one
ever feel like a victim?
ever FEEL like a VICTIM?
film at eleven
YES I FINALLY BOWED TO THE INCESSANT NAGGING AND FELT MUCH THE WORSE
FOR THE EXPERIENCE
SUCH IS THE WEIGHT AND DRONE OF MY LIFE.
RULES/REGS.
MONKEY SENSE
we all stand NAKED and HUMILIATED before the DEMONS in our HEAD
of SELF JUDGEMENT AND SELF EVALUATION
we all need private box numbers
and we're all fools at the urinal
amen
From the book Judas Jesus, 1989? Black Sheep Press / Rolf Vasellari, Switzerland.
By: J. G. Thirlwell/Clint Ruin/Scraping Foetus off the Wheel
Thanks to William Fitzgerald for transcription.
Note: the * above is not referenced elsewhere in the book; it's a quote from the Alex Harvey song "The Tale Of The Giant Stoneater."