oooooh. I saw the prettiest suit last night. and she was trying not to be too, but there ain't much you can do when you're wrapped in suit life. but fit in. words i shall put in someone's mouth in the empire of dr. bienke (viper logic) : "store-bought pussy serves as good as home-grown. you grow it yourself you gotta dig up your yard. you dig up yr. yard you might kill a caterpillar (sp?). you kill the caterpillar who you gonna smoke yr. hookah with." fuck it.
woody's words something like:
we started this great buisness in the year of thirty three/
for the fac'try and the farmer and all of you and me/
we said; roll along columbia, you can roll out to the sea/
but river while your rolling you can do some work for me.
1933. hitler comes to power. prescott bush watches. daddy's daddy working on possum kingdom maybe (i think).
since no-one's paying any fucking attention i think i shall reiterate my self (sic?) :
(song for page.)
hymns are monotonous, encomiums are tired/
when the whole world wants to fuck you girl and you feel so undesired.
in a row of slinky kittens she did preen upon the nile/
in her mom's egyptian eyeline, she's disaster with a smile.
oh siren girl throw down yr. ear if you would hear a tune/
i'm damn bewitched oh somewhere else, i'll stay free if not immune.
like the storm that she was named for she lies quiet for awhile/
in her momma's mermaid pearls she's disaster with a smile.
the first time i saw cindy she was standing at the door/
her shoes and stockings in her hand and her feet all over the floor./
all over the floor.
well apple's just yr. first word and a snake's just a reptile/
in her momma's mini-skirt she's disaster with a smile.
in nineteen thirty three the most powerful radio station in all the world broadcasts words of up-lift and hygiene from lunaazul mexico, right across the border from dos passos texas. with a hillbilly soundtrack supplied by a crazy possum descended white trash junky named koo. koo has been promised ukulele heaven by a homosexual buffalo deity named clyde.
the secret of time travel is you gotta be small. most of the civilisations (br?) that have or ever will exist hover in the sound of koo's dying.
woody i'm guessing we should have left the motherfucking river alone.
10:58:18 AM 
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