MY BIG WORLD DREAM COME TRUE

 Dearest Chantel, Chelsea, Danny, and Robert: 

This is my rattle and bone. I am aiming toward the middle of this ridiculous peanut purgatory in which people are more poised to protest the concentration levels of Tropicana, finger fuck their vegan box dinners, and "sweat it out" in a Bikram yoga box office to decide to live or die.

Kids aren't out to play anymore there is no such cul de sac and no such blue grass, unfertilized, you pasture-ass. That neighborhood packed up at the first sight of war, the first sight of the slight on doormat 'not' WELCOME 'anymore'. But American still has bigger BBQs planned for the family man.

Orange neon dictates land falling into itself. Streets crack, gape, reveal more street, break, more concrete, break. And our limbs are still sleeping us sweet amputees. Ice cream trucks are driven by junkies who slap fat mosquitos off sweaty foreheads and curse hoes on the cell phone. All genetically modified flavors; a race with Russia to surpass 21. This is competition and it is favored. Along with blue raspberry, Nickelodeon shaped lactation. And the same tune goes forth...

Believe me. I take comfort in the bum who sings to his dog on the corner. Outside the drugstore. I got to the drugstore because I also take comfort in what it gives me. Only 21 and prescribed 18 different medications by balding doctors with porn addictions. They aren't working and by that I mean I'm still scared shitless of waking up. In this world. My head can't take heat from buildings already risen to fall. My Christ was out of town shit went down and rain comes shit comes up again. The middle class blondes' Chantel jogs sewage nonchalant in last season's paycheck's fake Chanel, Made in China.

I am not even sick of Chantel or Chelsea or Danny or Robert. They roost in the boothed restaurants with homogenous food. I won't go there. I don't straighten my hair but I'll admit my deficient teeth my addiction to whatever this week but at least their advertisements only half-way get me. Buffalo wing. Buffalo wing. Another caked and battered thing. Another battery thing. Cut life shorter with faster technology. Chelsea if you knew the technology they are keeping from you, you'd feel slower than ever. I do.

I have been hampstered, too, Danny, it's not just you. You who don Ray Bans on sunny days get red faced and polluted in lake piss in that polluted lake spit a little when you argue GOP and industry and dismiss the tree or the ME your soul maybe somehow wanted to be.

They taught me to grow up and succeed too, Danny, but I chose the fuck myself over over being drafted into a drone. False conception plaster home. All that bulldozes waste and all that waste stays wasted. I get wasted because when I stare out my window too long the red carbon rays make ill-fed pigeon wings look golden in their feeble flight. And I want to cry.

Robert, you get wasted because you see power lines and power lines and power lines, too, but won't face them as I (unfortunately) do. Rob you are crazy if you think. You are crazy if you think. In this world dream that's true.