The idiot

I may be listening to the Idiot to much these days, if this is good or bad i don't know, spending alot of time listening to Mr. Osterberg can put a weird skew on the worldview, how one deals with the squares becomes paramount, or maybe you're the square crawling the walls of some dusty, downstairs closet, guess that's a matter of opinion, opinions being the asshole of the interwebz, you know Mr. Curtis was listening to this album one night, i'm wondering if he understood it, i'd say it's more for wanking than swinging from the rafters but then maybe i'm strange, just how i see it, a smoke a wank a nap a cup of tea, that's a fine fucking afternoon in these parts, call it what you will, some would be repulsed some would call it home, i've never been impressed with the suicidal, call me callous...

In this land of make believe i am most impressed with the shiny cars, driven by men with reflective lenses, most with mustaches, weird lot this crew, a jumpy,edgy bunch in a land of marshmallow cupcakes and yet they creep and slither and i see them parked and lurking, peeping Tom's with badges... the fashionistas painted into yoga pants, riding boots at the ready, the uniform of the well-kept, i creep lower on my seat and mutter obscene things, a sly grin, possibly even a laugh at the scintillating mundanity of it all, but still tomorrow i will brush my teeth and watch shit telly, there will be mermaids and talking dogs and the disgusting spittle of human words, once again there will be opinions, they will be spewed as facts to the well-washed masses, some people will make signs, some people will smoke dope and sit on their couch, don't forget to vote and eat what the good book says because some day the peaches will inherit the Earth...

The kettle blows a strobe light of steam and i hum songs long since forgotten.