Develop a layer of oppositeum
to the tedium
of the medium.
If they start to sell
(you can tell
by the Swell)
Hit MUTEs
on the brutes.
Hold out for story!
For laughter,
for glory,
for pie-in-the-face,
for sputtering grace,
for the picturesque disorder of Art.
Our breath is our home.
Accept only the chrome
that is flaking and dented and scratched.
Picture this: two boys, touching forearms,
over a limp-legged and pale salamander.
One of the boys is smiling, the other is deaf with love
for the poor thing.
Understand? Fuck rhyme and meter, they have been usurped by smirking men with fat wallets. Real life is all false starts and urgent beauty. Distrust jingles. Invent a pattern that only you can see, love it with all your heart, then forget it. Stop waiting for the logo to appear. They cannot scratch your itch without drawing blood.
(chorus, punk shout:)
Do not Stink of the Want of Money.
Do not Stink of the Want of Money.
Turn the sound off, turn the sound off!
Do not Stink of the Want of Money.
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Seer
daisyjane
The Good Daughter
Chicken Mãâàn
the traveler
Ashley F. Miller
Salon.com
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