listening to blockhead, c. 1979…


some lines on youth

fucking landscaping company with their jet engine leaf blowers and such… one too many one too blew… fly me in the morning, ‘cause you certainly don’t blow me… you sewer jack, you scum pellet… what’s a scum pellet?  don’t know but I like the sound of it… and of listening to devo’s blockhead circa fall 1979… while turning off 24th street heading to a’s house… fucking strange, and stranger still… that mother that yet instills disgust in me and a tremendously negative animus: acrid, incendiary and hateful… fucking german shepherd… dumbass muscle bound dickhead brother… nazi youth younger sister…

oh, what a fucking joy! what a fucking way to spend your 16th year…

“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.”
— Ernest Hemingway 

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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