Sunlumps

Rotating heavenly grinder, sing to me a song from Golgotha down to the deeper meadows and valleys of this waveform- let us not become victims of this loudness war...and gradually, very slowly and unsurely, the land juts up and the ears are bleeding from the aural knife rape, for which they shall attempt to scapegoat you, dearest eater of Wheaties, dearest fuckface who stands upon yonder rooftop viewing frame 313 of the Zapruder Film, Guiding Star of the 21st Century. The scapegoat breeders shall scrape you off the cloud after their harsh hands caress you, the film will rewind and remind you that you left the stove on, beautiful dunce, beautiful soup now burning the house down this evening, put on your 5-D glasses, the decline of Western civilization is happening in 9.1 Surround Sound, I can't believe it's not butter!

Our worldhouse still rocks, even after Electric Wizard finished their concert and left for their next gig in Carcosa, even after your earthquake drum solo in Japan in 2011, even after we fucked Mother Earth, metaphysical incest amongst all us insignificant insects recoiling after the ball was launched, jet-bumper jimmy jakes of consequence, look out Pat Lawlor here comes everybody. Look out, Floozy in the Jacuzzi, embodiment of the river where Winnie the Pooh's sticks polluted the water and made all the citizens of Dublin get polio. I expect better from the Age of Jazz and Jizz and Pazz and Jop and how the fuck did Sonic Youth not win the poll with Washing Machine? 69105 leaves for your disguise, Photopia for president for the White House (redundant does not equal retardant), Obama recieves Zork pamphlet as a gift before he leaves, asks "What the fuck" privately inside his own head, a head being replaced by a head with Double Fanucci thought patterns, undissectable black box, nobody ever knows what comes in, nobody knows why the words come out of his mouth. Laser-guided karma should set its crosshairs on the chameleon, the colors in his dreams are not the colors of the proper human bean, I won't eat Donald Wonka/Tramp's everlasting truthstopper, vote for the man with a boot on his head, magical surrealist wizard, sure, but fuck he does it better than-

The snipars are closing in, the Marijuanican Pipe Dream is dying, but I'm just meanwhile giving the pope a copy of The Bedlam in Goliath to piss him off, Ben Leffler I salute you, Flash is dying, I can't escape this dank collapse, dear Pepe, why are you smiling, oh it's just gas, bad gas that damned all the better websites that weren't social media cancer in the tragic deathcamps, but not Bandcamp, Bandcamp is fine, just avoid the porngrind bands, actually that's good life advice in general. The unalienable dreamless, the unbearable dankness, don't wake me up inside, I'm dreaming of sunlumps, sweet ambrosia, the true Grail.