I'm through with politics and if you don't like it you can suck the tics on my bollocks. You can seek solace by reading David Foster Wallace novels. Either that or get sloshed and fall into a mosh pit and gashed and lost in M*A*S*H reruns. But that wouldn't be fun at all! Being stomped on by the darts player Co Stompé. This shit writes itself. Unlike centuries of injustice and criminality!! It's tough to right a wrong when you have to bite your tongue, and shy away from conflict. But I no longer want it. Like a girl with only one tit. I prefer her to have two great tits. I'm an animal lover you see. Not in that way! But dipped in some other whey protein. They say I have nothing left to say, which if it was remotely true would be highly devastating. You see the world is forever changing, like the weather, and even our Λlphabet letters are showing their age and have to be replaced with something better... like Greek. But maybe that's just the geek in me speaking, or the Catherine Beta Jones. Why in the hell do I have to keep up with the Joneseseseses? I'm not even a fast runner, just a flash in the pan during the period of Pax Sinica. World Peas? I'm a tad cynical, but I still wax lyrical. I burn wax daily, actually, but would rather burn the vax poison from an Indian factory. Why should I catch the flack for being sane, in a world of deranged quacks trying to murder and maim and twist the facts for their own gain? They are putting us in harms way by what they are trying to put in our arms. May as well bake crack cocaine. If you take it, you will pay the price, and all the compensation in the world won't make it right. I'm through with politics... and intend to honour this stance. So let's get the comedy show back on the road, or at least the back of a tow truck and head for the foothills. Away from the shill fucks and the NPCs. Here we'll set up camp, light fires, tell tales, releasing mild gas, until it turns into fuckin' Dyatlov Pass. Can't pass out now, I was built to last, won't wilt and I'm on stilts so your lips are too low to kiss my ass. Time to turn off my mouth filter and get back out of kilter, shouting like I've got a mental illness and gone all out to kill ya. Yet I spin this pencil like silk, from a carton, to spill out such resentful milk. A vicious yet delicious cycle to burn calories, until I hit a peak like George Mallory. Fuck the foot calluses and funk. Alice is not in Wonderland, she's in my trunk! And even that's in my underpants! ... but so's the spunk! My right ear is ringing again, Bloody tinnitus. The world doesn't need more pain, keep me out of your war games. Prefer to keep things light, man. Don't want to be a conqueror, just an happy wanderer. Waving a magic wand of diplomacy. Well, I try, but life is grey right now. 50 Shades of Hades, right now. an iffy state, they make it seem like we're living around 50 strains of rabies. Right now. I can't play blind and keep my eyes down, when I can put the world to rights, say my piece, coz people are paralysed now. I'm seeing paratroopers gather in the skies, wow. Ready to seize and power grab, threatening to shoot our lights out. Will we ever get someone right in Parliament or the White House? Maybe the world is on that DNA flight cloud. Waiting for a fight to break out, while at great heights the grays stage in plain sight. I reckon the rest of 2021 is gonna be ripe for the playwrights to write pages.