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High flying bastard advisor and im the kind of kid who knows how it will start and nobody believes me and I believe myself but that one kid is thinking and speculating and thinks im a liar. Im a liar, sure, but not of such value. How do I deserve such praise? Who am I to judge? Who are you to tattoo your face and shake it off like plastic raincoat madness? What’s the deal with the judge killing thousands I mean I just want peaceful anarchy. Yeah, yeah, sure you do but then you wont accept the details and you’ll get violent upheavals, bombs in Haymarket square, etc, etc. The list goes on and im riding it and everyone tells me "Get down from there, you’ll break yer mind, you wont know the difference between right or wrong and you’ll end up raping a million banks" I see this all as technical sunless fusion and I understand where they’re coming from but its all a riddle its in a fur coat and truthful and fantastic but of course I should take a break. Then we’re swimming in futility and the tears of our robot children abortions. They’re sad because we forgot to disown them. Which makes sense because we’re terrible children ourselves. How can we say we can rear things in the right direction? We’re hallucinating every second of our lives, well, the people want us to think that but its all under an oath and we’re all dancing on mango platters and secret teller from the bank whispers abruptly, "Yer intolerable how can I stick my neck out every time you make a mistake? It’s too difficult I hate challenges it’s bad for the tongue it bad for the times its bad for me, blah blah blah." Hate mail washes up on the shore along with ourselves we’re cut to the wall, blazing on fire, were tacked up nice and high, just lying in the waves, but I don’t touch you, I don’t touch you: museum of embryonic eleven mess word creations this is what I get for a year in the secret service? I stand still and everyone pokes and pokes us. You roll over and puke out the words "im telling you this is the life, wet and distasteful" "yer telling me" I say thru the malaise of oncoming offshore business men. We still have eleven hours to the great divide and I’ve nearly lost all sight of the times I had before as if I don’t remember who I was or what the point of existence really was, you do I think. Do you, do you know who’s who? I know I ask you a lot but I need a clear cut right on the noise answer if you please it’s very hot in all these wet clothes im going to that there cave to get naked. Don’t come in, museum, don’t don’t don’t. Don’t want know shreaking out of you I want you cross tied and on fire I want you bed leaved hit and wrapped in torrential sands of sadness and I want a weekly report on my desk by Monday morning and im tired and its Thursday morning and im in bed and not quite finished telling myself off, I still need a great deal of mind termination. You shall reassure me by the day of ruin which is Christmas morning supper challenge rip meat urinary tract. Feeling good and broken a horse on stilts and yet you still hit me with sarcasm and idiotic symptoms I don’t understand what yer ideas are all about and I wanna try and understand you know just try my best to be a great listener one that sees thru the haze and dead camp tree lot I want to buy gifts for you, one that don’t crack or crumble or the like. I want a million dead tree idiot lots. Sorry to disappoint, im not some kind of banquet brandishing kind of kid im just trying to get thru the same stuff you are, its not that im more adept at it or something, I just ask more questions you think you know so you don’t ask anything you spill one word answers every which way its drowning all the inhabitants and we all think that’s not good. Could be good, were speculators. Happy birthday infinite happy Muslim restless soul, happy pay day ms. America this is the day of happiness because we think we know who we are we think we know which direction were headed you think yer in control you think you have pants on you think you know everything I know or yer the chairman of the board and I think that kid ought to shut his mouth before I hit it. And maybe you should go to him he’s got bruises that are visible and that’s appealing to the death march sisters, they’ve got everyone by the throat willing to kill at anytime for anything that is drastically changed or at any time has any truth to it. I don’t want you to fall into that trap I want to help you but yer just pushing and pushing and im thinking maybe this isn’t the best idea maybe she wants it, but nobody knows so who am I to judge? Can I relapse into daylight scheming and breaking tire wheel trance hierarchy? Or is it too late in the omnipotent rays of the one who’s in charge: the kid with the ideas: the kid who knows how to handle me and how to put me to sleep and make me know. This is true. More true than everything I’ve created she’s still honesty. She’s still happiness. She’s still innocense she’s still a million other things I don’t wish to name, and if you think you know, then you know, if you blame others, then you just lost it all to the last man on the planet who could sue you for anything.