Spew.

Sometimes I just have to break up the day with a short stream of consiousness mess. A galavanting colossas of jabbawocky funboy (glazed and varnished deep into it's stinking heart), wordness and rhyme time. Don't search for meaning. Only the Behemoth knows. And only it's very own chunky knees are allowed to shiver quiver in anticipation of the falling skies and eyeball lullaby's. Over in the East, where the Taliban play hopscotch under pink canvas bungalow rooftops, the music sounds like nothing else. Ever. And every silken oilbird feather, spins on it's swivel-joint axis, allowing helicopteraptor shenanigans...which block out this Turquoise sungod bigface! I'm desperately spewing Vom-art out into the etha, a poorman's talentless gargle acid splash, right up the dirty walls of my boring shrinking prison cell universe. My feet swell, unused and bruised and used. My brain, is a pancake crapattack. I sleep now...