[Prev][Next][Index][Thread]

culture is death



damn, i love living in this town and that, along with other generic
pleasantries, is my problem. i'm bitter, miss shows. death before
web pages. i'd rather tell bad jokes to people who don't want to hear
them. i'm a pushover for pop bands wanting five dollars to not suck.
death culture is wasted hippies. death culture is slacker technocrats
wasting faux hippies. emulation is love. love is faux. i love the faux.
this is my problem. bo, thank you for your admission. truer words are
not often spoken whether intended or not. give randy five bucks, you'll
just waste it on hippies anyway. randy is an artist, truly interested in
big bands. what's up with ray is one might finally catch on to the
libertarian agenda if one tenaciously includes listening to things with
which one does not hold apparent interest. libertarians are death culture.
my favorite band played. i was broke. then their promo packet arrives in
the mail this morning, six months late. whassup wit dat? i think it's info.
the name of the song is _thera_, although i usually sang along with it as
_vera_. made perfect -sense- to me that way. hate for subjects, love of
objects, is what got us here, theremins, and brian wilson. to break your
water, it is a joke. your welcome for laughs. it's the best punch to the
head, i suggest to myself, unoriginally. it's all green puke. i won't shut
up and it does burn. it must be something you ate. this is my preference,
apparently, as yours might be to stick your neck in the sand, put out the
fire. and if you think 3.2.3 is real, you missed the point, which is: how
the fuck am i supposed to know what's real? but i expect that. missing
the point, that is. nothing is wholly analogous. should i expect that?
3.2.3 is several people, including roscoe, writing as one, so you -know-
he's foe. but this is a preceived nature of culture, fully oppositional,
working itself to death just to pretend to know it's alive. truer puke
i've never seen than that which i witnessed last night on the screen,
_synthetic pleasures_. people who believe in reality will believe anything.
go see this film, carolina theater, durham, and feel the burn in your nose.

this morning, i heard ripley play elp spiced with appropriated and spaced
screams of horror. i felt warm. but then, the pilot is lit, now. i await
giant scottish frogs.

3.2.3