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I am here to make a difference, isn't that why we're all here?

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March Of The Prole

2015-07-25 19:45:22 by nietzlawe

MARCH OF THE PROLE

Unfulfilled dreams, but perfectly fulfilled and realised mistakes. Sounding like somebody has rattled your cage because they failed to engage you, and threatened to not pay you. But the day you upstage them is the day you'll enrage them. As they'll envy the way you changed and upgraded, elevated and jumped status. Its going to feel great, going from low rank to then grow to no angst at all. Just a perfectly contented soul able to scrawl for a living. Instead of being a slave to the dole, slowly waiting for a fall to then hit him. In a hole his head whizzing, the threats fizzing by, but not hitting, he's already ahead and whet whistled. Already heading into this crystal ball, steps chiselled. Quadriceps hastily gaining momentum and grace as the pace quickens. Vibrant, full of life and colour, vigour, no longer a frightened figure trying to swim out of this river. No longer a slave to life's silent killer - monotony. As technology destroys autonomy. Where will a breakthrough take you? Heartbreak? R2... D2? Do you really need a Smartphone from the Carphone Whorehouse? How about a barbeque or a garden party? Or a day out at the Safari Park with some Somalian Pirates that act like some Amazonian primate monsters? Stirring up trouble by looking up the crack of bubble butts using a Hubble telescope... Amongst other things! Those incidents were off the chain man! Like when Chainman used a chainsaw to cut and slice the things he saw, like the word Super Cali Fornilistic Expi Ali Foreskin...

Good to see you've still got your sense of fensive humour. Fensive? Demented like Doctor Demento. Is this where you spend most of ya time? Cooped in this chicken shack, writing chicken scratch and sick ass innuendos? In the chip pan is where the phlegm goes as a means of condemning those angry customers who must just love to guzzle mucus in their stomachs. But it's too much for some to take like a 27 inch penis propped with pizza toppings. Oh, the trappings of fame, detached in a mansion with nothing but cocaine. And now you have brought shame on your whole family. No longer can you live ever happily... after. But you can block it out with laughter. You have to, or disaster begins to happen at a faster rate. And all you have left to do is masturbate. You have to play with yourself for comfort, until you cum four times all over the Fortean Times magazine. Keep doing the rounds, inducing amounts that would astound the viewing crowds, especially when you shoot in their mouths...

You know better than to meddle in my affairs while I'm flesh peddling. Settle in, I'm bullshitting like a fictional bull, shitting. I'd rather watch a matador get gored up his back door for tormenting an animal for sport. I have something important to say and wont be interrupted except by an internal lung rupture... Fuck that, we can quickly change subject to some other conjecture that doesn't make sense, objectionable reflections that on reflection should be censored. On second thoughts they should be the centre of attention and deliberately sent to the delicate souls who like to deliberate my liberated visions of vicious spiteful trite. It's my mind I can say what I like. My pen so I can lay what I write. Not afraid of the fight or the fallout, don't care if we fall out... of the plane without parachutes... From one extreme to another, like sleeping with your mother...

There is nothing intelligent about the Smartphone except the name we have given it. And the capital letter. Unwarranted, Unjustified. Underrated... Argh fuck! not that one, somebody left the AutoComplete on!! It is impossible to compete with technology, but you can watch Furious Pete eat food like salmon pate in large quantities. What has he got to be furious about? Swallowing pine cone needles? They are repeating on me. Repeating on me. Repeating on me. I REPEAT! Repeating on me. Like Peter Piper who wasn't related to Rowdy. But how do we know he wasn't? Bloodlines of the Illumi n' alumni of Harvard or Yale, drinking A yardstick of ale, yet fail to attend the real party. The March of the Proles.

A fighter that might just light the mic up so bystanders peep instead of keeping their eyes shut. Wise choice, like Dennis eating chocolate brown mice with Liza Minnelli while smearing Bonjela all over her nice wine cellar. Now I realise this mind of mine is Liza Libellous. Marvellous, for novellas, an overzealous overactive imagination, brain swelling, is that the rain that fell or your eyes welling up from the emotional pain of it all? An emotion hole which overflows the whole contents of the ocean. A waterfall. Right now I feel wonderful, wondering if I will fall before I get to pour my guts. A guttural and colourful chart, a boulevard of cultural relevance without the eloquence. Just a chance to quench my thirst and wrench my prize which I must prise from an undeserving person's squirming fingers. But so what if you have that accolade, you haven't changed a bit at all, you're still in chains and still wear the same clothes. You're still alone in a darkened room, sharpening tools, looking out the window at the garden and moon, as a beautiful loom of light sits just right amidst a plume of brightness.. The conditions are perfect to write this piece with Stylus. And when your mind is like this, you cannot close your eyelids, anything to keep your iris alert and your vitals at work. As Lively as Blake. William, a brilliant and creative poet, writing away. going to great lengths to let the whole world know it.

Chut chut chut... Yes I would suck choot. Would love to eat fuddi, and suck out that Hindu goodness of a woman that looks like a Goddess with a bindi... Which would merely be a precursor to worshipping her feet while she curses me in Hindi mercilessly. Until Michael Mercil arrives on the scene and squirts me in the eye with Persil. Or at least he said it was Persil... At least it was nothing personal. Talk about killing a mood. I'd rather kill a mockingbird that was mocking me or trying to steal my ice cream like Southern seagulls... So now they get called evil and people want to cull them... But I love gulls, had one in my hands last summer. No malice meant. Humans are responsible for gull malice and now they want to pull mallets out and crack skulls? Just one small example of the madness that a man has to languish in and feel tightly packaged like a sandwich.

A misunderstanding like when I went to the Pharaoh Islands. Nothing. No Sphinx, no Pyramids, no fucking Egyptians. Just Danes. Even Dane Bowers was there, probably because of the Greek crisis.

You can't concentrate unless the blood flows to the right side of your head. Maybe it's not just me. Maybe I am not alone on this lonely journey, as I internalise then journalise. Learn a life lesson. The essence of progress. Everything is at a standstill yet we still have our hands filled with problems.

It all boils down to the fact that I have slacked in the department of artistry. And it is with great regret that I now bid adieu... to my adieu announcement! Had you there for a minute, like zebra crossing pedestrians. This marathon has been nothing but a hut to put the paragraphs of paragon. "Arrogant." Are you kidding? I haven't got one arrogant bone in my body. I have 206. 200 sick jokes to stuff in a Sicc Buuk that can only be read by sick fucks. VOMIT ALERT! Whose idea was it to eat boiled coca cola? Not mine.

I'll eventually get round to spilling my guts on a daily, All because I'm impailed on a railing. But rallying valiantly despite the mental imbalances that challenge me and leave me lost in a mind of absence, trying to find the outlet before I begin to overdose on these overflowing thoughts and tangents. I feel like I've been handcuffed in front of a canvas, full of affront and frankness and on the brink of madness. But in a way I'm glad this is the way things are, a handgun of tantrums. A fool's roulette, letting the loose screws rule your head through amour fou. The Charles Manson of literature. A head with no roof on. The brain of a nuisance, but with enough nuances to do something artistically astounding. There are no bounds or limits, just the sound of a very profound and vivid imagination ready to spring out and cause chaos with crayons until the day that the pay off gives me a honest living. Its not a given, but if I can stay self-controlled and driven, I can remain in pole position.

An emerging candidate destined for greatness instead of being handed everything on a plate, or have it banded about that you're a late bloomer. Better to bloom late than to never blossom at all. The dole is rock bottom, especially when you let people treat you appalingly, holding you back, when you know your true calling is in cajoling your thoughts and stories and bankrolling yourself to glory, then you wont have to sign on until you're as old as 40. Bask in the task, made all the more glorious when that story has stemmed from your own laborious efforts and storage of gas.

Not a pot to piss in, in my brain there's a lot missing. Its time to block out the bad again and only see the good instead of the bloodshed before the watershed.


Make Our Way Hip Hop - Modern Song
Walker Mitty Ambient Song
The Allure of Istra Cinematic Song
Intensity Riff #1 Experimental Song

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