NormSmack on the brain
For crying out loud some babies get shaken like a buggered clock. Some ladies and gents go off at the drop of a hat. Dead set, I feel like clocking some buggers. If the words I arrange in my head were real I’d be a killer; it’s normal to want to rip somebody’s face off. Any pair of addicts can add to the world’s numbers. Same to be said for spotless wonders claiming to be next to cleanliness. Numbered are our days. Permits need not be issued to prospective parents. The planet is a beautiful place populated by pedants and parasites. I give it a big tick. Parades of pram pushing poor mill at lights, tripping, fantastic. You don’t see them give their kiddies a smack; they must go the knuckle. It’s a scene, man. Living without clean internal machinery can make for powerful pollutants. It’s alarming to see how waste can contaminate the sea-beds for future generations, baby. We’re all air to the throne in the outhouse. I can’t picture what poor unfortunates do in dung abodes. Chasing answers to these questions has occupied my mind shitless. Really, I’m too vain to care. Looking at reflective surfaces must be a constant reminder of fractures and fissures. Faces famished for feeling. Articulating problems is just a waste of time. Watch out for the surprises that unusual sources can deliver. Intelligence and understanding can be wrapped in rough packaging. I have experience of seeing some heroine on the bus. Of course kids still get smacked on and off the face. Real heroines don’t spoon feed the world their worth. Smack and heroin: equal.
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power