[continued from previous message]   
      
   >> gonna go off   
   >> someone lit a short fuse   
   >> on a killing spree   
   >> plucking daisies, pushing up   
   >> ones who look at me   
   >> see my television head   
   >> gonna die   
   >> a vacuum tube brain burst,   
   >> dont care if you cry   
   >> shorting out your cerebral cathode,   
   >> you'll get it first   
   >> you high voltage monster   
   >> put into the ground   
   >> when they pull your switch.   
   >>   
   >> ---------------------------   
   >>   
   >> Subject: Re: t h e b a n d w i d t h w a r s - interpolated   
   >> Date: Mon, 08 Jul 2002   
   >>   
   >> the bandwidth wars   
   >> book of the dead   
   >>   
   >> a million brains   
   >> strung together, beads,   
   >> turned to day old pizza   
   >> pepperoni faced   
   >> saw it with my own eyes   
   >> as they were sliced thin   
   >> sticking out of my head   
   >> and carted away in wheelbarrows   
   >> bouncing on springs   
   >> a night soil of visions   
   >> housebroken to your ways   
   >> dreaming rich and famous dreams   
   >> of incest and mockery   
   >> plagued by greedy fleshpots   
   >> in camouflage tents   
   >> wounded by their mortar fire tongues   
   >> painted sky blue   
   >> with cryptic insignia   
   >> at least your optimism   
   >> gave us reasons to mourn   
   >> kept us out of prison   
   >> served up breakfast in bed   
   >> being vanguard elements   
   >> the crisp starched precision   
   >> of the weed eater brigades   
   >> flaying various conversations   
   >> well manicured faces   
   >> trimmed of individual features   
   >> a delight to zealots   
   >> of utter disbelief   
   >> who gaze upon a world of   
   >> blank stares, empty words,   
   >> snarling dogs and hissing serpents   
   >> leaving behind their mythologies   
   >> our blood their food   
   >> the congealed ideas pan fried   
   >> never ask to go   
   >> never expect to come   
   >> where you've never been   
   >> or where you are planning to go   
   >> that's opening an up   
   >> breaking through the roof of the mouth   
   >> a serious can of spiders   
   >> becoming cobwebbed with data   
   >> teach yourself a new language   
   >> and have fewer ways to communicate   
   >> even if it's the old one   
   >> revised in unprovable ways   
   >> hail California!   
   >> dreaming, wake up,   
   >> grade school children   
   >> playing grown up, with breasts,   
   >> into kinky sex   
   >> purchased by Rhode Island adults,   
   >> 90 miles of highway up your ass   
   >> a black puddle of apartheid races   
   >> into an ideological trance   
   >> of demonic shamanism played out   
   >> by the mountain of tires   
   >> a modernized voodoo right   
   >> wife swappers   
   >> trading dead chickens, and the news,   
   >> of the Stalinist writer's union   
   >> scrawling words with broken penises   
   >> the mall Santa depravity   
   >> a strip teasing elf strokes his knee,   
   >> little and scared   
   >> in a moment of continued castration   
   >> hail to thee electro shock   
   >> ultimate orgasm,   
   >> gateway to the eccentricities   
   >> bound and gagged with gold lamee,   
   >> atrocities   
   >> desperate for release   
   >> beneath it all   
   >> everyone turns tricks   
   >> and aristocrats of image   
   >> mass convert to nihilism   
   >> it's what they do   
   >> as everything cancels out.   
   >>   
   >> ---------------------------   
   >>   
   >> Dark Horse   
   >> ----------   
   >>   
   >> You did the same as the other did,   
   >> leaving me to no more than a closeness of familiar things;   
   >> something more solid than what you gave me of California dreaming.   
   >> The arrowhead planes leave smoke signals in the jet streamed sky,   
   >> making me feel at least half wounded,   
   >> counting the added scars,   
   >> drawn out across my mind,   
   >> much the same as waking up suddenly   
   >> to having been thrown from a very dark horse.   
   >>   
   >> When I hear something scurry across the roof in the middle of night   
   >> it reminds me of the restless spirits of a few of our conversations.   
   >>   
   >> --------------------- Morpheal   
   >>   
   >> Monster   
   >> -------   
   >>   
   >> Prankenstein's monster with a P,   
   >> not an F,   
   >> where one of us has to,   
   >> absolutely has to,   
   >> fail completely,   
   >> in the make a pass,   
   >> and fail as to a system,   
   >> there being no way for both of us to end up being right,   
   >> according to the rules,   
   >> one of us gets left out and behind.   
   >>   
   >> Either I am the monster that you have made me into,   
   >> or you are the monster,   
   >> and the villagers are trying to find out,   
   >> so they can cut to the chase as to one of us,   
   >> with their torches lit.   
   >>   
   >> ----------------------- Morpheal   
   >>   
   >> Collapse   
   >> --------   
   >>   
   >> Running   
   >> heavy limbed,   
   >> strides,   
   >> stretched out thin   
   >> as a bed rail   
   >> track   
   >> going around the bend,   
   >> the collapsing tunnel   
   >> rapid closing   
   >> of wind pipe,   
   >> falling in   
   >> from behind.   
   >>   
   >> ------------   
   >>   
   >> Cause of Death   
   >> --------------   
   >>   
   >> The corpse stretches forever,   
   >> and I dig for answers,   
   >> after each exhumation   
   >> of the body politic.   
   >> The cause of death   
   >> unknown,   
   >> and dissection of motives   
   >> reveals no useful clues.   
   >> The organs are revealing   
   >> of misleading signs,   
   >> examination showing   
   >> the heart has been removed.   
   >> There is little left   
   >> beyond the rubber gloved   
   >> handshake,   
   >> pure and simple,   
   >> with some usual forms   
   >> of preservation,   
   >> scattered around   
   >> among stainless implements.   
   >>   
   >> --------------------------- Morpheal   
   >>   
   >> Subject: Poems: August 9th, 2002   
   >>   
   >> Wanted   
   >> ------   
   >>   
   >> Scarce recognizable,   
   >> signs of personality,   
   >> torn away   
   >> left traces scarred   
   >> across previous announcements,   
   >> wherever no one replies,   
   >> moving along,   
   >> no standing,   
   >> reading one another   
   >> the same way they scan   
   >> all the billboards,   
   >> storing up the information   
   >> finding themselves   
   >> half consciously   
   >> being wanted,   
   >> in between public lines   
   >> identifying with a variety   
   >> of wanted posters   
   >> announcements   
   >> found pasted up   
   >> in between graffiti scrawls   
   >> that pass as anonymous   
   >> attempts at signature.   
   >>   
   >> ----------------------   
   >>   
   >> Writing Reports   
   >> ---------------   
   >>   
   >> Most events of any importance   
   >> are clandestine,   
   >> operations,   
   >> and too often a lesson   
   >> in getting in and getting out   
   >> fast and clean,   
   >> without forming attachments.   
   >> A surgical strike   
   >> cutting around the heart   
   >> of the shades of grey matters,   
   >> removing the other connections,   
   >> stimulating only that momentary   
   >> loss of nerve,   
   >> that failed to say goodbye,   
   >> failing to move on, fast enough.   
   >> The alternative,   
   >> is a terminated conversation,   
   >> an isolated organism,   
   >> cut off, septic   
   >> in mid sentence,   
   >> followed by capture   
   >> into another deeper level   
   >> of more complete boredom,   
   >> held only by the complete lack   
   >> of any real events,   
   >> a specimen in a specimen jar,   
   >> the way the origin was held   
   >> before it all happened,   
   >> forever kept under examination.   
   >> Even there it comes down   
   >> to writing reports,   
   >> so the word is then given.   
   >>   
   >> --------------------------   
   >>   
   >> Ambiguous Strangers   
   >> -------------------   
   >>   
   >> You talked to me about your voyeur psychiatrist,   
   >> and your intimations about your peeping tom government,   
   >> the way you were never alone in your bedroom,   
   >> and no longer cared as to exposing yourself in front of cameras   
   >> or to the startled eyes of ambiguous strangers.   
   >>   
   >> You talked to me of hearing voices from under your eaves   
   >> going out of your own mind the way Marilyn Monroe went crazy,   
   >> diving into the wrong pill jar,   
   >> that being as sane a prescription as politics ever chances be,   
   >> and you thought the congressman was under your bed.   
   >>   
   >> Since you became another sex goddess,   
   >> I only get to masturbate to your mental image,   
   >> while storing away our talked of sex lives in one of many closets,   
   >> throwing a bedsheet over top of myself,   
   >> becoming transformed into the sudden purity of a Klansman,   
   >> saved with a sacrament of bourbon.   
   >>   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-DOS v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)