socially engineering

…but brian eno comes pretty close.

could it be just a simple and disconnected coincidence that both the geriatric and the mary queen of scots political rivals of the african-american lincoln invoke the spectres of the kennedy assassinations? what could be the salient point to be made by including pointed references to political liquidation? perhaps an argument is not being made but rather the employment of the power of suggestion to their respective lunatic fringes…

d’you wear a black armband
when they shot the man
who said ‘peace could last forever…’

…yeah its gone.

amongst the pages of a puerile vanity fair, lurking in the sludge of a supreme and the white trash dreams of pre-teen screams for montana’s hanna, amidst the mysteries of “paul is dead” and “does suri exist?” slithers the embodiment of the soulless american expression of the proverbial one trick pony and a prostituted vision of perversion miscalled “art.” specious as it may be, annie what can be said about the sincerity of flattery when one imitates one’s self? certainly nothing remotely related to sincerity…

promethean as well as pandoran, the alchemical prowess of a swiss chemist evinced that the keys of heaven were not to unlock the sky but the mind.

“if the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it truly is, infinite.”

ere it was not required to ball room dance, to skate upon the ice, to deign an apprenticeship, to survive a manufactured natural state, to rehabilitate, to abracadabra, to reveal a hidden talent, to attend boot camp, to mole, or to taste or rock love but merely to allow mr. kotter combat gopher amongst the network stars…

“people, i just want to say, you know, can we all get along?“

unequivically the answer is “no” if a fraternal bond is shared between your guitarist and vocalist while happening to be a black crowe, oasis or kink. again there be a “nay” if your brothers bee gibb whereas the deleos and maddens carry on gleefully with one another, a point that invariably accounts for some but not all of their suckitude.

stone temple pilots…they needed the money! van halen…they needed the money! the police…they needed the money! the eagles…they needed the money! robin finck…he needed the money! genesis…they needed the money! motley crue…they needed the money! the pixies…they needed the money! billy corgan…he needed the money! the spice girls…they needed the money! rage against the machine…they needed the money!

“i’m priceless, you’re worthless, but it’s not a bad match.”

is there any job easier than having a wet hole? be it head above the shoulders or moist below the waist, nothing quite says ergo sum like a whore. all that is needed is all that is had, with no amount of education, training or skill ultimately enhancing what is reducible to a soggy, cinnabar flesh receptical of ejaculatory release. as popeye so eloquently states “i yam what i yam and tha’s all what i yam”, and so is the prostitute, in toto a complete expression of the utility of the human body and the individual as another’s napkin.

“i prefer her to any other…”

the modern child’s birthday party is a crowning turd in the american parent’s crown. the highest holiday of the satanist, with great gusto, split tongues, pointy horns and forked tails do the unrepentant masses fall in worship before their progeny in a celebration of the diabolic and the parental brinkmanship of outspending the peers of your offspring’s parents. a carefully constructed artifice of individuality consisting of ready to eat experiences of conspicuous consumption, for just one day our little piggy can think he is more equal than others and imbibe the brew of an artificial geocentric sense of importance that has replaced the rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.