I'm going to punch you square in between them.
You know what I hate about you 90's kids?
I don't even have enough room to type on here, on this endless blank white square of space, to entail all of the things I hate about you.
Your fucking bangs in your god damn face.
Your fucking sweaters that are colored ivory.
Your discusting paper back books that stink and you can hardley read the letters. Oh a book store turns me on! Oh GOD take me now! Oh fuck it there is Jane Err up my arse hold....push harder....But please...no talking. Just put in that cassette tape DONT YOU FUCKING SAY CD
You are so minimal.
Look- Are you an artist?
Look at that piece of paper with a line through it.
How melodromatic can you be.
Are these your feelings? Oh. That is quaint.
I almost feel like I am looking at a photo of a sweet white old farm house with a wrap around porch and perhaps shall we have some tea?
ORGANIC
MAKE SURE IT"S ORGANIC
IT HAS TO BE ORGANIC
There is a hair in my tea.
That sounds like music, hold on,
That is me running over your old TV set.
You cant see it.
But Its old so you hold it close to your heart so you never have to step a day over 7 years old.
I once saw this 'musical performance' where two kids made their gittares reacct with the speakers creating this horrible wailing sound and the ceilings were low and EVERYONE was drinking blue ribbon I AM NOT A HIPSTER. STOP SAYING THAT WORD. HOLD MY GLASSES FOR ME MY GRANDFATHERS PIPE IS IN THE WAY and they had built this giant blob out of paper mache and half way through the 'show' the lead guy smashed it to bits. The interesting part was they had their chins stapled to their chests.
I left feeling like I was a small fetus who had just been informed that although I would continue to grow I would be sucked tight into my mothers womb for the rest of my horrible existance.
But perhaps it's just me.
I am missing the point.
ART has passed me by.
I am looking for the divine- however to be modern I must be embracing the distruction of anything glorious.
Mind me while I sip my wine out of this jar. Glass Jar.
A jar of glass.
HOW DARE YOU WALK IN HERE WEARING MASCARA.
YOUR A DISCRACE TO SOCIETY.
DID YOU BUY THOSE SHOES BRAND NEW YOU STUPID FAGGOT.
FAGGGGGG FAGGGGG FAGGGGG FAGGGG
I CANT BELIVE YOU SAID THAT FUCKING WORD YOU FUCKING FAGGOT.
Do you mind? I am trying to ride this bleach white pony down the street with my colored flag and oops there goes the bra.....PRIDE FOR EVERYONE!!!
Litanies scream from beneath my cells. My skin crawls with tiny blood sucking insects. Each and everyone of them HATE the 1990s.
This is a topic of child abuse.
This is the declaration of independence.
This is a poem for you who have been raised by salt and pepper.
Pepper and salt.
