12:31 a.m. - 2003-06-30
modest mice
can we cut to the silence and cut through the high pitched guitars
in excessive pain
in order to feel anything at all
now to find my pain in others
(we fit so well because i knew you like i knew myself)
stuck in an apartment that seems to have been abandoned in the immemorial filth of time
uncomfortably tempered and the dust and hair sparkle in the air
everything afloat, the whole building is levitating on vapors and pills and grams
a drug to keep me awake for the rest of my life
even through the worst parts
but not conscious
hey
its not all bullshit
but most of it
phone shoe my dog my mom my face and oh my guitar are all crying
as if not thinking about everything at once would be as if i was overlooking something
reality is addictive, bush mentioned a pregnant woman is extraordinarily american in his joint address to congress on september 20th, i will read this article to myself and someone else
all of my friends are americans, confirmed members of the narcotized underclass
women are thought of like cows, pink and pressured ready to shit out a kid and be milked
i have a good idea of what hieroglyphic text is hiding behind every word: a picture of a cow superimposed onto a pregnant woman and the text will read, "why buy the cow when the milk is for free?"
i am not a typical visceral human thing
and she most definitely is not a human being
her appearance synthetic, even when shes naked her skin is like a cultural artifact designed to limit and stultify her plastic digital organs
her hairs a blur of red paint unwashed and always shimmering with crusted grease and whatever else had accumulated on the top of her unwashed head
skin like a white sea, blemished with the occasional freckle, tattoo, or drug zit
standing like a modern animal from a jovian planet gaseous girl encapsulated in a bodycage that snaps on around the crotch
