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Dadaist Post-Everything Music
For The Perpetually Uncomfortable
an album about falling into spite
and crawling into a cage
filled with spikes and rage
and a color wheel spinning
hypnotizing you
until the walls turn into doors
doors, endless doors,
100 doors,
1000 doors,
each leading to
a spiral staircase
at the end of which there lies an abyss.
walking for timeless eternity
you reach a door, into which you walk
and fall into a cage, filled with hatred and spite,
you curse the others, you know they exist
even though you can't see them.
there must be cameras hidden in
the pebbles you walk across,
cameras, connected together to form a network
that dissects you -
the ground and the sky laugh at you audibly.
your wings shake, and slowly turn into damp ashes,
collapsing -
you become an alcoholic in an orange jumpsuit -
pressing metal against your face,
the cold blue metal quickly
warms
under your sweat-drenched skin -
your eyes turn into blisters
filled with hot wax
bees crawl out of your nostrils
and begin to pollinate your friends and family.
fertilized, your siblings inhabit you.
you become a sister and a brother,
you become a spinster
giving birth during your autopsy,
to a garden gnome and sea anenomes,
all of which float up to the sky like baloons
because of course they do,
because of course they do,
and then, as you sit back in your leather recliner,
wet from nearly drowing in the quarry
you hear dry leaves crunching,
the sound turns into teeth chewing,
because of course it does
you turn on the TV to static,
you remember the TV, don't you?
The wood grain cathode ray box
pixels of black and white shimmering,
as the fan blows cool air onto you
it is finally summer,
its time to drink a beer,
tap the ash from your cigarette,
adjust the antenna so you can watch the ball game
the ball is kicked back and forth,
the ball on a pasture of green grass,
the ball the camera follows,
the ball grows enormous, transluscent and purple,
like the boils on your face,
the ball begins to spring leaks like a dam
orange crush soda leaks out of it,
and all the players turn into referees,
they run to the ball and begin drinking the orange crush
lapping up every bit of it graciously,
when all of a sudden, golf tees grow from the earth
to enormous size,
forming platforms on which the refs frown
they look down forlorned,
then pop like balloons,
because you said they would
you lean back in your leather recliner,
your cock gets stuck in a chain link fence,
your playing poker with your friends
will they notice your cock?
will they suck off your disgusting dick?
you are playing poker with Kevin, Ron and Bud
Bud and Ron have handlebar mustaches
you realize their mustaches need to be filled with cum
immediately
so you crack open a cold one
so you crack a few eggs
so you fuck Ron and Bud in the face,
Bud's lipstick is smeared all over and piss drips down his chin
solitude at last,
you realize that your sister hasn't called yet,
you run to the phone and dial her number,
she picks up, in tears - Abe is dying she says,
he is probably already dead.
he was on the school bus
when a bunch of the kids jumped out of the bus
they turned into blue tissue boxes
and Abe shot them one by one with an AR-15
the police came and sucked his dick,
they sucked it until he came and gargled with his cum
then when he had no cum left,
they drank his piss
Ron looks over at you,
"What happened?"
"Oh nothing", you say "Buck just got into an accident at work"
"Useless buttfucker!" Ron yells
you quickly reach into the cupboard
you grab your sink
you begin to think into your journal,
your style is airy - by that i mean vapid
you take a drag of your vape and realize
Ron just called you a buttfucker
he doesn't know anything about you!
"Ron, get in here, quick!"
"What the fuck is going on?" He asks,
shambling over to the doctor
"You've hidden from me for the last clock"
"I've never touched a clock" He says, indignant.
"Trust me, I shattered myself 50 years ago,
I've had enough pipe tobacco in me to tell you
one thing i delivered the newspaper again -
when i was dreaming of fucking your wife!"
The color of Ron's mustache begins to not exist
the shape of his chin turns menacing -
You wake up in Rwanda
You wake up in the hotel
You wake up in my name
You wake me up
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