You’ll know when it’s your time or you won’t. Sadly everything is breaking down and even the telltale signs aren’t as on top of things as they once were.
Or perhaps you’re ahead of your time and if that’s the case I’m guessing you’ll be flying blind and by the seat of your pants for most if not all of your holy rolling life.
I sit here playing the Lotto as I punch down these keys praying for some sensible shoes as I walk over the bodies from another unnecessary, but all too common mass shooting.
You want red, white and blue carnage?
Come to America.
You want to be treated like a refugee among 318.9 million immigrants?
Come to America. Where everything is exactly as it seems and then isn’t. And the Golden Arches want to make you their wage slave and then their Soylent Green.
I was cherry picking the white noise in my blue jeans and Superman tee-shirt.
Grandma was getting her dialysis, but told me it was alright if I came over and picked her orchard clean because white noise was coming in especially heavy this year and she was having a difficult time unloading the poisoned fruit.
Even that which is farm to table is more than likely going to kick your ass in the end. I believe it’s because Mother Nature has never quite gotten over how piss poor we treated the Native Americans, the protectors of Mother Earth.
“You're ridin' high in April, shot down in May.”
“That's life (that's life), that's what all the people say.”
I don’t buy it and you shouldn’t either. Maybe things will be different when Rupert Murdoch breathes his last stale, Grinch breath. Though probably not because money, greed and power seem to go hand in hand and ass to mouth.
Time to watch another porno and pretend I’m not feeling so lost and vanquished by love.
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