Failures Failures

Failures

Failures

Fuck your pedigree and, goddamnit, fuck your scene. This is the chock full, kid. The shock moment from the gone froms. The sprint and squeal. The dissonant clamor of art rising from the coarse shadow to remind you just what the fuck is the matter with mama in her coma and you in her stockings, Jack. Shiver it off. Pass fast and keep going because it’s gone again and you’re dead in the morning again either way. Fuck it. They don’t care. Faster. Harder. Louder. Now. In short demand and shorter supply. A curt response to the great “If you have to ask you’ll never know” but you just might if you stick around a few minutes longer. You might as well. It’ll never happen again. Not this lifetime, at least. Not these men. Not this forced meaning down your throat if you just close your eyes like a good boy in the barrel like you are but just won’t admit for whatever fucking reason because…what? You have a business card? You have an apartment? You have a prospect of making out of this face-fucking alive? Get hip, kid. We’re doomed. Just get wise and enjoy it. Let the soundtrack be your life. Let the dog make tracks in hand and lead you to the Western Lands where you’ll meet Bill and his big shotgun range and opium heaven. It’s not giving up. It’s kicking in. Doors and windows and lead chests that keep your heart pumping safe in time with the proletariat. Have an attack. Loose the epic in fifteen minutes and thank fuck you did.

Failures, reviewed by Charles on 2009-04-09T22:39:42+00:00 rating 4.0 out of 5



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