[This particular item is considered by some to be a bit skankier and more easily misinterpreted than usual.]
Who is this lord who mindfucks every gourd to the point that it’s absurd because no word works to correct these jerks, the supposed sparks of His heart – is this God truly Nimrod or a sod, an accidentally intentional clod, oh my God, look at this soil on which we tread, we’re half past dead, living on stale bread, Judge Judy and Judge Dredd, and water that’s been fluoridated with toxic exhaust – is this the cost of convenient pleasures? What more is the true cost? Who is it then who measures and decides all these walking suicide treasures are worth the price – and for a grain of rice we give up our birthright – paradise – in favor of a life of mice infested with lice – after a season of nice jingle bell chimes and nursery rhymes, we’re transported to hell realms to farm mystery meats and dry turnips to feed our ‘grown up’ sensibilities and rob the next gen of babies the same way we lost our hopes and dreams, our maybes now dismembered and castrated, lobotomized in a watershed of doubt and following clowns with no clout believing there’s no other way out – and belief is the key, I shout, and show you and bone you, and shed a tear as you choose to hold off another year for a harvest that never comes because you stick your thumbs in your pockets and pretend
that shooting rockets tall into the sky will save your nigh impenetrable delusionary mind in a state of gratefulness for trinkets and disgraceful thinking that solves everything that matters not at all, these games of yours are no longer harmless chores but are crippling mores and mooring souls in a wasteland of trash and acid rain ash – you were warned!
You killed wonderful trees, no wonder there’s an epidemic of drug induced suicide on this dung hill of fleas in this albatross’s belly, naked and broken and homeless, you are ravenous bandits building a homestead of rabid rabbits carrying a new black death on white sabbats, saying ‘Please, I don’t wanna see seas, I can survive on peas and carrots, that’s my eternity’s banquet – give me my blanket so I can suck it and stank it, live in my bubble of numbness and tumble unthinking, drinking and stinking of mind numbing indoles misused toward indolence’ when from them could be gleaned shipwrecks that through sinking challenge the patterns of men’s small-minded thinking and open their eyes to a much wider prize the size of Atlantis in those salty seas of ebony sand dunes turned to black glass – or is your destiny one of necessity, a thunderous blast of volcanic gas? Earlier we spoke of wonder, perhaps you should read it again, tear it asunder, till aghast or at last aware of what you are doing and to whom?