Razee (razee) wrote,

No Promises « dia-BLOG-ical on wordpress

http://razeeink.wordpress.com/2009/09/15/no-promises/ (via shareaholic)

There are no promises about sex. I told you that!

Scrubbing out the museum of lost love lives, we realized that you were the pinball queen acid wizard. Our promise is spelled out like this: Teethmark Clever Envy, and a slice of pie, oven baked, once a week. A Circus has no Chains. Sleeping in the hammock of your cobweb-haired Dragqueen Cowboy, you find yourself secure, locked in the safe behind the painting, hanging in the library.

The porn star and the political satirist meet for drinks in a dark bar with Grateful Dead posters and photographs of hippies on the wall. They order Sancho’s Broken Arrow Amber Ale, because they are two-for-one during Happy Hour, 4:20 to 6 in the evening. 420 is the police code for marijuana possession. The date today is four-twenty. Earth Day. Save the planet day, and smoke-out day. How leftist is that? Smoke some grass and pick up a pile of trash. The cat has their tongues.


 It started out as a nighttime picnic and ended with her handcuffed to the hood of a 1965 Ford Mustang named Buttercup. Budget Rent-a-Car should have reimbursed her for polishing the hood with her ass. The news is belching full with mass graves named Jenin, and the marches upon the Disunited Estates of ShameriKKKa federal government buildings in protest of the wars. Revolution is dancing in the streets of Kabul, Caracas, and the District of Columbia, today.

 Father Phil U. Rupp is a Catholic priest who is also a part-time pedophile. He fits right into the middle of The Root of All Evil. What are the chances that Chad Dangling and Dwight Twilight are the same person? The mystery deepens. How is the text a feminist treatise on women and pornography? What makes the story a politically charged satire of the world-at-large? His pussy runs frantically around the small room, while he begins to take charge of his thoughts. He thinks about the packages that left his hands on Thursday, and wonders about the backlash that will follow. Will he be ignored? No comment. Will anyone have anything critical to say? Who will be the first one to shoot him down from his high of independent publishing, today?

 It is called nonviolent civil disobedience. You must not fight back. Turn the other cheek. Father Phil knows all about turning the other cheek for the ecstasy in the Rectory. XTC is a drug that should not be allowed in the hands of children, pedophile priests, or other madmen. I baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen. If you masturbate, God will kill a kitty!

Touch it, baby. Break down my promises. Prep me for your punch it in. Stroke me slowly on your words, embroidered on your training bra. What is the definition of right and wrong? I am too embarrassed, but not too nervous to deal with it. Do you ever remember what you mean when you are saying things from the beyond? I hate you. I love you. You are not perfect unless I say so. You hate me more that I could ever love you. How does it feel? Suck. Suck. Suck. The gears of the machine are chasing you, telling you that there is no escape. Give up and stop fighting it. Resistance is fertile.

 The procession walks slowly through the rain, their wooden burden slacking the pace up the hill. There is little regard for the pallbearers. Death visits your home and you are left wondering if there is something else left to be said. Tomorrow, I will not be happy that you are dead. Don’t disturb us any more. Alice, have you come to ease my pain? Am I worthy of your bath? I don’t know, but I guess so. I am looking for a moment’s interruption in the new direction. The Northwest Flying Typewriters are coming to a city near you! Pull up on the highway of Lies for a little powwow, right in the middle of the interstate avenue. She has sugarcoated lips, which are so sweet to kiss. I can be your backdoor man, baby. Just place me on the pedestal and I promise to stay. If you could see yourself now, baby, your secret life hiding your possessions. Pseudo Romeo mourns the death of Alice in Chains, while the rest of us know that Alive means more than Alice. Bury your burning cross in somebody else’s yard, Cowboy. I used to get punked and bullied on my block, until I cut a kid’s head off, and stuck it in his mailbox.

Tags: from the inkwell, verbal hotel rooms
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