Posts Tagged ‘dark’

HLP#632

hlp#632

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Das Krapital

We have simple solutions to complex problems,
And special offers on shop-soiled pogroms.
Loved up teens, drugged up queens,
Unspeakable, uneatable tins of killer beans.

There’s an imperfect present and an irregular past,
A melted sugar daddy with his trousers at half mast.
Former suffragettes smoking menthol cigarettes,
Ramekins, mandarins, a pixie and some elves.

We have a bust of Nero fiddling with his fiddle while Rome burned,
And the orchestra that played while the Titanic nudged her ‘berg.
Libertarian librarians, over eager with their stamps,
And a lovely Lux Interior, really rather good with Cramps.

Our prices really must be perceived to be believed,
And the invisible ink they’re written in is marvellous indeed.
We’ve got magpies in all numbers to cover every known event,
Endorsed by the office of births, marriages & deaths.

Imaginary sanitary towels for transvestites and
Computers made of pewter that are loved by all the luddites.
Solicitors and barristers- briefs of the utmost brevity,
Greek grammars which, admittedly, won’t provide much levity.

Mills and pieces, bits of weevils, olde timey handloom weavers,
Machines for executions and penal codes for beavers.
We have principal objections against the introduction
Of all the aforementioned and a vacuum with no suction.

 

Morning, all.

Wake up.
Resent waking up- check time to see if there’s any chance of sleeping a little more.
Get up. Get dressed. Put kettle on.
Talk to cat. Pet cat. Feed cat if necessary (cat always thinks it’s necessary).
Brush teeth.
Make tea.
Roll cigarette.
Drink tea. Smoke cigarette. Scan news without taking it in.
Feel terror. Horrible fucking awful tight chested panicky terror.
Sweat alcohol.
Go to the toilet. Wash hair.
Tell mirror that this is the absolute worst feeling lowest part of the week-
it can only get better from here.
Try to believe that.
Check eyes for bloodshottery.
Finish tea. Put kettle on again, if there’s time.
Take sandwich out of fridge or make a sandwich or fuck the damn sandwich.
Put coat on.
Turn radio on. Insert headphones.
Say goodbye.
Go.

Revolting Peasant Blues

The peasants are revolting!

The bosses are corrupt!

My WiFi might be watching me!

By Jove! I think we’re F****d!