NormHearts and minds
When it comes to a bit of lit, it’s best if it’s writ with a bit of grit, writ large. It’d be a cess-pit without shit, lit without it, grit. Now, words put to print or screen without heart are cart without horse. A cart-horse without a 'c' word is a horse, a plain horse. Fuck off you fancy carts! Lit is shit without a bit of a hit to the organ behind the left tit. It must speak to hearts through minds. It can’t go straight to the heart, although it can and does come from one. You shouldn’t write your name in bold face in faeces on the toilet walls of your host. It's considered impolite to even shit in your own hands. Likewise, flopping out your chop at a barbeque is considered mandatory, while farting in a community dish at a dinner party is generally frowned upon. “Gosh, did you see the shade of brown his anus was?” Disgraceful. Arseholes should be bleached. That’s why I recommend a powerful bleach. Hopefully a powerful bleach will be easy to find. Heaven knows it’s hard to find a powerful bleach. Where were we? Were we where one went wailing willy-nilly way wide? The mind is full of tangents, lines that touch parts of circles. Lovely round things, circles. We eat to keep our brain active so we can find food to keep our brain active so we can reproduce our own image. We, many of us, hang on to the idea of living after death. When our own heart stops, that is. Be mindful of my words, I live in my head. A headcase, I'll be brief. Our mind is there to keep our heart going. That is all. Having your heart in your mouth is better than having your reproductive organs in a griller. Take it from me, my dick hurts. Falling for your own work is drowning in a wet puddle of widdle. Don’t be too pleased with yourself, nasty cysts. Narcissists get boiled in a pot. Melted. Melt, pretty fuckers. Mind and heart: opposite.
