From the depths of my doodles and confused thoughts ;-) emerged after excessive alcohol consumption and in anger at someone who told me that my poems were not sufficiently critical of society.
social criticism ass. Fuck the dachshund!
Enough of the jokes.
via: taz
all always try to touch arouse, to wake findings with their crappy poems about the war or the environment or the consumption, who is that actually, consumption, in which the last syllable of waste concrete and artificially extended in order to express his disgust, for the KONSUUUM is evil.
Everyone wants to always be taken seriously, as they stand in their alternative unit gap, with rumpled hair so it looks as if they had just fallen out of bed in the evening at nine, with their worn-out jeans, the former greasy and hot today stonewashed , with their cool t-shirts that Indie band logos shown or totally disturbing images and sayings, or what most Japanese.
No one can really Japanese, but it's totally INDIE, Japanese can. All
always read as if it would not matter to them whether the audience understands it, no, actually, as they would not even aware that just as no one understands how the shit-FAZ, yet they have practiced at home in front of the mirror, have the computer for hours working hard to improve their crappy poems, enough to use foreign words.
And yet here I go again.
point me to that stage.
screams my own shit out poems that I've been sick the night before with a bottle of vodka.
talk of drugs and death and excrement.
Go home happy in the knowledge that I was stupid place.
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