Get on the back of my fucking sugartrain!
Conversation didn’t seem necessary when I put the accordion down and swung some young lady around the floor.
The dead fed you
Amid the slant stones of graveyards.
Pale ghosts who planted you
Came in the night-time
And let their thin hair blow through your clustered stems.
“The monster of advertisement… is a sort of octopus with innumerable tentacles. It throws out to right and left, in front and behind, its clammy arms, and gathers in, through its thousand little suckers, all the gossip and slander and praise afloat, to spit out again at the public.”
This being my 2 full day sittings back to back octopus advertisement encouraging everyone to get serious about taking care of business. suckers.
”the man whom we all know, stupid, unimaginative, whose brain is bitten numbly by numb maggots; who walks generously with wide-spread, tentative legs, falls frequently in the gutter, and who sees, in the extremity of his ecstasy, blue mice and pink elephants. He is the type that gives rise to the jokes in the funny papers.”
What rapture! Ah, what misery!
Yet from this vision I can’t turn aside.
How strange that such a lovely neck
A single band of crimson must bedeck!
A knife’s edge scarcely seems less wide.
