Chosen people
We are the Chosen People of a weirder God.
“Sounds pretty of grave.”
“Yes, it's a kind of wacky martyrdom. We take upon ourselves the sins and injustices of our society. We ask to get our butt kicked by saying "yes" to all the wrong things. In our events we celebrate bad films, cheesey lounge music, crank cults, redneck gun shows, morticians, naive artists, transvestites -- anything that could accelerate the decay of traditional aesthetics. We are the vital spirit of cultural fermentation, the maggot in the jumping bean. We've befriended the barbarians on the other side of the fence, and we've given them the bolt cutters.”
Nestled in a pointless site, the cacophony is brought to life, made manifest by a mud-covered troupe trouncing down Rodeo Drive. Harpooning their Devo surrealist notions smelling the desk, these Californians are martyrs to the medications of their dreams. Magic pills, dispensed by smirking Iroquois shamans as the tools downtown blow smoke up their own asses.
Irregardless and uncertain, thrust into the future like naked cobblers, the pheasant laners pretend nothing is anything, and everything is always. They beverage their religions under cool skins, fondling memories mixed with cider and dogma, practicing their calumny with flair and abandon. Some say worst than lawyers are these unerasable fiends.
Smelling the cathode, diets of electric ale and foam toast. Juxtaposed, just opposed to building refineries on cougar land, they start their generators to howl in the wilderness. As the crass perishables predate upon their brethren, sisteren and cisterns, polysyllabic glossolalic rantings go on in the church house. The least charismatic among them take day labor jobs.
Whether the Japanese poker face delayed the onset of false prophecy, the wool gathering would have happened anyway. Lost souls will gravitate toward a center of prevarication. Delusional sycophants focused on the floor tiles, some while performing ablutions, will pose and squawk, but for all their fakery, boastful proclamations get them nowhere.