The great expectationsThat American wantedWere over exceptFor those which came from The insideOf making.On the roadBeatifiedI was not disappointed:Vast steel factories Turned into casinosBethlehem.Busloads of old Whites,Some blacks,Many Chinese…all old.Spending the rest of their pensionsOr the house they just sold for A mintNow on the blackjack tablesIn a former blast furnace.When the immediate present involutesIt is immediate satisfaction Which is the itch. This is the ‘anti-Faust’ hell That denied a second chance. And above ground the Socratic pedagoguesFight the ‘Narcissism of the small’.
The sound every body listens for is the ‘win’.
In the orgy which was industrial America The farm boys emptied from the leveraged InteriorCould find warm winter’s work From the elementsFrom the rust belt snow.Knew how to weld, Would not starve…Like my de-agrarian grandfather.Making Submarines. The rust blast furnaces…Too expensive to removeBecomeTombsOr ruins
To a great society of this industrial orgyBoom and bustControlling spending desireTo have that radioThat model T.
I travel in my vanRemovable roomOf urban layersSmug that where I depart fromUnlike bovine hoardsAll are thinAnd have yoga classesOn top of working 60 hour weeks.I push the Burgundy Astro furtherInto Germanic landsEverybody is heavy from drinking Sugar waterEating corn fructose…And they wonder about their health.It is all a function of education of courseThen stopping the harvest which is themselvesHavisham’s entitled sad nostalgiaThat the contract is broken.
I drive on.On the left of the radio dialThere is nothing but Christian evangelism.This is less the opium of the peopleAnd a store of vitamins of the weak‘Always uplifting’As I push through Sugar water and tobacco food storesSomebody has harvested themOr?Is it the insurance companies?Is it food?Is it the car leasing for the new tin?Is it the home credit?Is it the pharmaceuticals?Is it The prisoner’s dilemma of two?Making more whelps to breedOnward into Great expectations?
Amongst the bovineAre the scattered Stellas…Knowing that they have youthFitnessAnd a thirst for a ticket outWith their bodies…. their destinyWerden.Young every men too…Pip.In this open land of whole towns Replicated in miniatureSome idea of ‘it’s a wonderful life.’Small and industrious…BlindCompulsiveJingoistic…Push a button and make The blacksmith bangs outMetalIn miniature…windmill turn…Circus Swirl.60 years of perversion he spentSome guyTo make this…All of that sublimated libido…Clipped Thanatos….Youth is like clay…It is writ intoYou stayAnd become fattenedClay form never firedBulked by corn fructose…There is The youth Less listening to Anti-Moslem propagandaAnd more with a thirst for a ticket outWho go and hitch up….SoliderTo come back broken or amplified…Fallugia is the End of the nightmare casino.There is the clay that breedsRight awayHearing the call of the wildInsideMake fat babies…The Christian coverBlankets allWith the bland.The Amish look with small grins:At least they took care of the diversions.
Havisam sits torturing PipWith Stella’s sex…her porno beauty…You can have this if you try…From her dusty fragile interface…Of a flea market room….This is the contract brokenShe says.The highways of sugar waterAre Filled withFaithIn what?To use Stella’s youthAs capital reserveAs the reserveOf the toxic smallAs flammable as The every bit in this dustyInternet room.I am a fat left brideBridzilla goneOnTo make a parasiteOf her rapture and possibility.Use it Pip…For your engine at least…Don’t settle forHerWondrous idea of fecundityAs your DriveYou will have dozens like her betterIn the big cityI only use herBecause I am boredOf redemption storiesAnd flea market detritus.
To a great society of this industrial orgyBoom and bustControlling spending desireTo have that radioThat model T.
I travel in my vanRemovable roomOf urban layersSmug that where I depart fromUnlike bovine hoardsAll are thinAnd have yoga classesOn top of working 60 hour weeks.I push the Burgundy Astro furtherInto Germanic landsEverybody is heavy from drinking Sugar waterEating corn fructose…And they wonder about their health.It is all a function of education of courseThen stopping the harvest which is themselvesHavisham’s entitled sad nostalgiaThat the contract is broken.
I drive on.On the left of the radio dialThere is nothing but Christian evangelism.This is less the opium of the peopleAnd a store of vitamins of the weak‘Always uplifting’As I push through Sugar water and tobacco food storesSomebody has harvested themOr?Is it the insurance companies?Is it food?Is it the car leasing for the new tin?Is it the home credit?Is it the pharmaceuticals?Is it The prisoner’s dilemma of two?Making more whelps to breedOnward into Great expectations?
Amongst the bovineAre the scattered Stellas…Knowing that they have youthFitness
And a thirst for a ticket outWith their bodies…. their destinyWerden.Young every men too…Pip.In this open land of whole towns Replicated in miniatureSome idea of ‘it’s a wonderful life.’Small and industrious…BlindCompulsiveJingoistic…Push a button and make The blacksmith bangs outMetalIn miniature…windmill turn…Circus Swirl.60 years of perversion he spentSome guyTo make this…All of that sublimated libido…Clipped Thanatos….Youth is like clay…It is writ intoYou stayAnd become fattenedClay form never firedBulked by corn fructose…There is The youth Less listening to Anti-Moslem propagandaAnd more with a thirst for a ticket outWho go and hitch up….SoliderTo come back broken or amplified…Fallugia is the End of the nightmare casino.There is the clay that breedsRight awayHearing the call of the wildInsideMake fat babies…The Christian coverBlankets allWith the bland.The Amish look with small grins:At least they took care of the diversions.
Havisam sits torturing PipWith Stella’s sex…her porno beauty…You can have this if you try…From her dusty fragile interface…Of a flea market room….This is the contract brokenShe says.The highways of sugar waterAre Filled withFaithIn what?To use Stella’s youthAs capital reserveAs the reserveOf the toxic smallAs flammable as The every bit in this dustyInternet room.I am a fat left brideBridzilla goneOnTo make a parasiteOf her rapture and possibility.Use it Pip…For your engine at least…Don’t settle forHerWondrous idea of fecundityAs your DriveYou will have dozens like her betterIn the big cityI only use herBecause I am boredOf redemption storiesAnd flea market detritus.
And a thirst for a ticket outWith their bodies…. their destinyWerden.Young every men too…Pip.In this open land of whole towns Replicated in miniatureSome idea of ‘it’s a wonderful life.’Small and industrious…BlindCompulsiveJingoistic…Push a button and make The blacksmith bangs outMetalIn miniature…windmill turn…Circus Swirl.60 years of perversion he spentSome guyTo make this…All of that sublimated libido…Clipped Thanatos….Youth is like clay…It is writ intoYou stayAnd become fattenedClay form never firedBulked by corn fructose…There is The youth Less listening to Anti-Moslem propagandaAnd more with a thirst for a ticket outWho go and hitch up….SoliderTo come back broken or amplified…Fallugia is the End of the nightmare casino.There is the clay that breedsRight awayHearing the call of the wildInsideMake fat babies…The Christian coverBlankets allWith the bland.The Amish look with small grins:At least they took care of the diversions.
Havisam sits torturing PipWith Stella’s sex…her porno beauty…You can have this if you try…From her dusty fragile interface…Of a flea market room….This is the contract brokenShe says.The highways of sugar waterAre Filled withFaithIn what?To use Stella’s youthAs capital reserveAs the reserveOf the toxic smallAs flammable as The every bit in this dustyInternet room.I am a fat left brideBridzilla goneOnTo make a parasiteOf her rapture and possibility.Use it Pip…For your engine at least…Don’t settle forHerWondrous idea of fecundityAs your DriveYou will have dozens like her betterIn the big cityI only use herBecause I am boredOf redemption storiesAnd flea market detritus.
Havisam sits torturing PipWith Stella’s sex…her porno beauty…You can have this if you try…From her dusty fragile interface…Of a flea market room….This is the contract brokenShe says.The highways of sugar waterAre Filled withFaithIn what?To use Stella’s youthAs capital reserveAs the reserveOf the toxic smallAs flammable as The every bit in this dustyInternet room.I am a fat left brideBridzilla goneOnTo make a parasiteOf her rapture and possibility.Use it Pip…For your engine at least…Don’t settle forHerWondrous idea of fecundityAs your DriveYou will have dozens like her betterIn the big cityI only use herBecause I am boredOf redemption storiesAnd flea market detritus.
