stormwinds, armed love militia:

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: November 19, 2011

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Submitted: November 19, 2011

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4:47 & counting backwards amidst the mad doctors below somewhere in the middle of the traceless desert spiraling downward, redefining the edge of humanity by whipping up antimatter, by whipping up the most deadly bacteria, viruses, diseases, all in the name of the next war that is coming like the graying of your hair, that is coming like the loss of your teeth, that is coming like the loss of your hair, that is coming like death (anything less comfortable than the blissfully lucky who go in their sleep) & the writing was on the wall for more years that you could count & the idiots were walking round intoxicated with the smokescreens, hard n’ horny off the heat brought to you by the corporations feeding on the whole of us like the most carnivorous on a freshly dead sheep, ba ba ba goes the sound of the coming plague, left for the rest of us to deal with whilst the scum below plan their getaway & the moon has a nice landing strip, red planet a casino specific to those whose yearly income exceeds seven figures, rock rock rockabye baby, it’ll give ya something to sing to yourself when the ebola is swelling up your face, fluid fluid fluid rising just beneath the skin (like a flood specific to you washing away your innards from within), not in the high rise counting your stacks, not on the level slaving away long enough to get out of the red just long enough to get hurt on the way home one night landing one’s ass in the hospital with the bills & the lack of insurance & a hip hip hooray (so fucking glad that all this & a microwave meal can happen right here in this country), with the eyes of a former love hovering & giggling in your demise, with the blood gushing out like it depended on the tidal waves growing higher in parts of the world most americans don’t even know exist, with the wanna-get-to-the-rapture idiots waiting on the edge (with teary eyes & a membrane of delusion strangling away any ability to come back to the rest of us), with the sobbing scars of broken relationships, the memories that will not fade away no matter how much you try & self-medicate, slower slower slowing down into the valleys, down into the rut, down into the deepest holes, screaming at the sky which will not speak back, squinting the eyes in desperate plea but the fact is no one is listening.  no one is listening.

 


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