eventually there is enough wickedness in the world & i'm like a kid in a candystore. i'll take half-a-dozen (6) thoughtless cruelties & a full liter of sweet fizzy spite. give me my malice mister (mr.) wonka! give me my gumdrop-laden glares & dissolving disregard. this is my computer programming segment; 10 ? hate hate hate 20 goto 10.
play on organ grinder; i'll come across your lips like some semblence of self. like a fly across parched mouths; a scroll from an angel, bitter to taste but in the belly, sweet. i'll tear those cauls clear of eyes. & its beautiful. & its terrible, & you're just seeing the reflection of it. five (5) points for the little lady with the carmal apple. trembling with the anticipation of english voodoo. of pain & pleasure.
you take a left at the next wooden gate & into the freak show segment of today's black sunday. curved bones & missing parts. all those offspring bouyant in jars. some of the cojoined twins you can almost imagine track marks on, moniters & incubators & all of science trying to keep them alive. you can almost imagine it & you arn't sure if they just moved or if you imagined it. those pepermint twirls from the candyshop dripping along your skin like woad. god you are stitched together & i'm a puddle of stained glass. all the melting bits of film. pressing a cigarette to celluloid it flares like a dying nova & then distorts & deforms. spreading starlight.
