Let the dead herald him.
As an agent. an advocate. a charge in paper armor for the charming bourgeoisie to pick apart a penance from my lithe and shallow spring.
What an incidental asshole but at last he was past the prime that men of his vanity set see as being the end of all things but never acknowledge. never dare mention out of character.
And so the accolades afford him a place in the american argument.
WHAT A TRAGEDY!
A calvinist walks into a bar.
Not quite a greek, no. there's not a motherfucker to be seen for miles and miles of this ingobility.
Just the cold clamor of sense being made from nothing.
A swift, unsteady explanation of actions we may have seen a hundred times before in pariahs far more evidenced in their moaning waves of sex as destructive angle and back again to dope. guns. knives on the basement floor for a sonnet.
Towards an exegesis in silly string.
Science is Golden.mp3