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Jerry McGuire No Picnic So the children of plenty in the perpetual springtime of their good luck have fuckall to say. Gives you a buzz to ear their fuzztones, pignoses, wah-wahs, and feedback like your mama. Green, green, the shadows of the ones we victimized, and I don't mean the lefthanded or the colorblind. Words kachoo and godbless each other till doomsday, but nothing gets done, perhaps because of the baloney of those sunsets and the alabaster doilies in god's toilet. Propitious pisses, while the bleachers collapsed. And who cracked your sky open, bigmouth? say the diehards. Who da bomb in this ramshackle hall of dickheads? Try to imagine Sunday in the country, all the Koolaid you can mainline, yr own true love aching for a poking: aren't these movies, I mean these lives of ours, romantic? How I wish you were a nice cat so I could skin you! <- Back to Issue 2/1 |
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All ideas and expressions contained herein represent the opinions of the authors whose names appear on each contribution, not Antioch University Seattle or the staff of KNOCK. Copyright ©2004-2006 by KNOCK, Antioch University Seattle. Trademark law protects Antioch names and logos. |