HEY KIDS
IT'S TIME TO TALK ABOUT
IMPORTANT THINGS
LIKE
POPSICLE STICKS

I'M LOOKING FOR MY MOMMY
BEHIND
THE CURTAINS

i wonder often
on a semi-
regular
to regular basis
whether hell exists

and then on days
like today
i realize
that i was a fool
to ever doubt

hell
quite clearly
is an asshole
and a pretty girl
standing
in the same
room with me

there never was any white lodge
shit

where did major briggs
go then?

oh, the
black lodge

double shit shit

do I really make choices?
how much of my thinking
is programmed?
if I'm programmed,
is there
a programmer?

do computers ask these questions?

do dogs ask these questions?

do they wonder if I ask these questions?

programs...

reason...

that's great.

the thoughts
the programs

drums are only so much skin stretched over so much frame

fuck em

lately i just wish that that gum I like would come back in style

the owls are not friendly

Harry, I have no idea where this will lead us, but I have a definite feeling it will be a place both wonderful and strange.

me = so tired

it's about time to get it
by "it" I mean
the "shit"
together

time to get
the shit
together

I give you things
like I was giving you land
on a reservation
oh, damn,
I'm gonna need that back now
and forever

sorry doesn't cut it?
oh, nothing,
I'm telling myself
how you will respond

and there
you just did

give me looks
like you're giving me head
that's all teeth

that's really disgusting?
oh, nothing,
I'm telling myself
how you will respond

i'm a big laugh to you
an obligatory laugh
that's meant to be understood
as sarcastic
as all hell

well fuck you, Kucho Jacobs

it's total bullshit
in my head
making me think i should have something better
something better to do with my time

life doesn't owe me meaning

but whatever it owes me
this is what i've got:

a warm room
sweaty pits
a heavy warm breeze
need for something better
somebody else across the room
in a worse mood than me

shit shit shit

and that's poor grammar
no doubt

about that...