commacomatose

[commacomatose]

No paint to match the traps stash 'cause after the cash grab, it felt so flat. Fucked up man. Ain't no clue for the new tunes, ya basic asking for new. What's ya dog supposed to do? Love of art, art of love –dedicating to a single craft. A body of work is working bodies. Dots and lines being the only hobby. I want your dot to live up just right. Right light, right time, on that world line. You go straight when we say it's right – & the spaces give tempo and rhyme. Cadence, consistency, right left? Shock in the beeps and it boops it’s head. Gestured and monitored swaying ensues. What's the next structure we want to enforce? I'll keep watch from behind closed doors. The mask I wear surfs the chores. Of labels concerned of what you mould. A glimmer of plastic in the light, blinds and detracts from what is not right. & it’s either grow or die? How we try to normalise the rot in plain site. For this petri dish best start with the guise in mind. Why remind the comedy noir, melancholy light? It’s lacking shine. Why not rewind when the actors are tired and nearly fired? Can I have a moment to waste more time? Died trying to live dragging my body to the finish line. & the race was more like a consolation prize. Is there invisibility in a limelight? In the citric wise, I knew not to burn out bright, yet in the strain I sense an incline. This is lime economics – there must be reasons to maintain this stubborn frame of mind. To want it all means every life lived in one lifetime. I know you're there waiting, losing patience. Have better grinds but ideas are not coming out fast enough. Coffee before the beans; the ones I need lacking eloquence. Yet in my insolence I feel that the true winner is sitting wry. It is my guide, I'm walking blind, but being a trickster – quiet watcher smiles at every direction. Less coordinate arriving always at the right place. Right time, don't need to say why - the truth’s in the telling. Silently know you'll find me. How I find you in the blank, guideless expanse was never just luck or via chance. There is no plan, indeed no flow to go to. No normal's, casual, informal or custodial. What is insane is ritual. Where this river flows to… Life as a potato, or vegetable served in a bottle of mountain dew & the water’s as clean as the plastic is see-through.  /fails

[commacomatose]

B.O.D.Y of "WORK"

You thought what you could want was a direct confirmation. A generation stuck in stasis from false information. Says substances are banned when it’s not your medication limit anything that expands the narrative conditioned. Looks sleek on the surface – so guilt ridden; the truth is told but with skewed vision. Designed to do what you should Allege symbolic representation To state but it can't, no plain language statement. Say it's an old station. War on drugs spoken about in rap - sure know the cliche. Yes, dated propaganda - remind those echoed messages with a better aperture. Yes, sometimes we revelate in it like it’s kitsch. Speak of the agenda; cos we know the essence – essentially of good soul food. Got poor direction. Where we got the end point but it’s still confused Deep down knowing there's a correct path sans the convoluted view. How and Where it gets to, in clear view – no settling for the plan 2. When discussions are incongruent with roads lacking their cohesion. Destination and destined gravel trails the same but the truth solidifies concrete as valid manifestation. It’s the law of attraction; not a DUI. With lingering doubts, any ulterior motives simmer under the surface. Missing that opportunity to even that tension. A watched pot sighted endlessly boiling it’s contents onto another device that heats my tea to mix with my milk Of course there was no stainless steel To choose as a colour choice. But, let's start with the rationale for this intention. & I shall keep confusing kitchen utensils with the oven’s soot. Tier 1 only needs shame as a motivation. Leaning on heuristics to tame the nation. How can we say we want you to do it without demonstrating the hypocrisy and conflict of said interest? What is normative, efficient and economical - in terms of remaining an anonymous sadist? (Whilst performing performative public disapproval) Tempting you best ; perpetuating the forbidden fruit narrative. Not even treading, indeed fearing any step near a fresh produce shop. You know it's bad, say it two-faced, find every way for you to turn to it, counting the dimes ridge as a third perspective. There is no tail in my head. Punish you for adhering to our wishes. Structured fox structure that’s structurally an anomaly– With an economy we should call BDSM running. Gotta sociologically pretend it's political, so call it power, domination and controlling. Pass the PS4 controller, it is very good at monitoring. How you submit in orange clothes?  Hands bound with metal Oh! on a mass level it’s essentially systemically horny. (An essential system) With nothing to fuck but you need to let it out, what you're giving up is coming outta your wallet - and you still didn't even come. You just worked to live, which is eat, shit and reproduce. Thinking perhaps and comparing yourself to moth and locust privilege. After eating, it’s onto refuse, They are fucking you over and you paid to. How that reverse hedonic treadmill? Could correct that sentence or statement but its running faster till the dick can start. It’s coming back up with all the eggs milled and the seed frozen, stored and sealed. & you won’t buy it if it’s pesticide-free.

Still not at the crux yet? Haven't touched on the descent into a GHB nation. (A prickly topic, beverage - drink). We are conglomerate battery packs, exhausted all natural assets now shorting finite chemicals manufacturing the fumes from collected exhumed bodies and weed killer exorcisms. Research chemical stacking for a high bolstered by the paint thin. Where the colour skims requiring multiple undrying coats. Like the nail polish that you just won’t Resist the urge to instantly smudge and fuck it up, to pretend it was an accident. Incorporated smears and blemishes, no longer thinner, the ‘e’ and ‘r’ are exhausted atomic weapons. Holidaying on a beach in Nagasaki. It's a chemical shitstorm, you wish methamphetamine was rat poison. But it is a lethal part-time rodent. Stack that to the schizophrenics in max potentiate, condense, distil and extract the condition of their isolation. Now we’re working with a worthy distillate! With the experimentals contain the juice for bioaccumulation. & I’m going to English classes for my chemistry lessons.

[commacomatose]

DIET-SPRITE COMEDOWN

follow the lead new ‘ame in this folie a deux fantasy.

pick your players like a dream team in the premier league no more relegations, comma's still sleeping in a coma the alter wont let me be eyes heavy got too many mosquitos biting me only way you'll take my blood at this silent creek getting saltier swap the flow like an estuary

after filling litres of tears every filled bucket poured and made a sea If the mission is to be complete, what are you in love with? the heart trapped at the bottom; through the ripples looking up u a bottom or a top?

with time i find increasingly this front was a form of predestiny though every collector keeps me round ‘cause they know there's still one missing puzzle piece it's the ‘EXO’ collectors set box piece with an ending that has the never ending alternative version - not a skin or skeleton the protagonist never finds peace, who would that be? though him or me? is it true?

this hypnotic control turns butter into stackin’ cheese It’s all lactose to process like it’s gluten free, dare me; one more wheel to turn bubblegum pop genre lease and pop, get some WD, learn grease oily marks make rainbows on these streets. Hope to figure it out out or set it straight by 40. attempts - make a kaleidoscope mind through sydney's bed sheets tossed up in a H den; manchester with hosiery. so sunk under this hungry demon waiting for the release; like a cold can: get the shakes shook off only when you pass the disease or pass away Lifting a finger, could be a trigger, could be a plunger, a latch or load of taught wires, strings and ropes my hearts so empty… it would or it could rather die than pass the parcel on and rather a curse to consume me, the logistics are logical enough to not bring down another fleet. Shipment and delivery pending; guess that's why no ones around. picking at the skin, sunken in, with teeth

it's only nightmares when awake to give you a restful sleep Having lots of doubts about the contents of anything related to being awake in a dream i wait until the end bound by fake friends and witches in basements With parchment and a brew that exudes; what has this parch meant? this thirsty life waiting on a park bench. Unquenched taste buds, questionable salivary glands, envious over the taste of sand. empty bottles of coincidences with a shot of pretend. or, just a rerun of a tragedy, the CD with no spins. Circularly reflecting nothingness. laundromat no rinse, anchor no sink, contact no sync. Hey, i think i need to check if my refrigerator is running.

[commacomatose]

“ONLINE GAMBLING HOES” & “THE DOMESTIK BROS” : NOT A DUO.

what a sad reality ive been alive long enough to see transpire hoes selling hoes that compete for the cheapest escort now that’s a lead - call it e-sports, hunger games meets fear factor except the prize is for who has the deepest holes For slots and for spinning who prefers their fears of spiders and clowns? Now its racking diamonds on how far can you take it, can you get to the next round? & it is a sparkly sniff. We so overused and fleshed out, its almost human. Definitely could call it meat producin’ Got people saying they’ve fucked dogs… wonder who we need to take to the pound, which one says woof? Not complicit, a little bit of selective ignorance. What’s a gyatt to do? Fat in my yams, aha. Seems that bodies are just rentals, no vessel protected. Who sunk your battle ship? Tried to keep the foundations strong, survival through all the winters, survival of the bleakest. Glad I didn't take another mortgage out on it; thieves just ransack when they got no harvest. & i’m learning about the industrial revolution from the vikings. Said the collosseum was callous, valhalla. whilst ho's on feeding tubes livestreaming their orifice. Watch the baby food descend down the gullet, like it’s foie gras. There is no double entendre, and with that throat no means of being sick. It ain't what it looks but it feels like how it is. Peristalic movement? it’s just gastritis. Tapped into this like man… there's a likeness to and innit– no wonder why everything’s so shallow, nothing underneath the surface. Yes, nothing beneath it.