| Or are you traversing roads which flows from ponds of pudding—remember no “shoulding!”—to climb lows of goes and wents and rents for Nazi landlords of boards and bricks—you want me to pay how much for this cave? Well, I’ll rant and rave while trying to save myself or you, and one will bleed into the other for the creed and the code is the erased and effaced identity of you and me and that gorgeous fuckin’ tree. Don’t be a slave to your awareness crack open your identity in all fairness, take pains to act with care and the rest will fall where the cookie crumbles without stumbles or falls, but we must not walk before the crawl from mud and earth, a beeline straight on to the reaper from birth—there is only this appointment which cannot be missed or kissed off, pissed off up-up and away, the only day that we really can’t stay in bed is the day that we find we’ve woken up dead! |
