The Talkin’ Headline Blues #23

Pullin the old switcheroo, fermented booze and apple juice. I won I won I won. Here’s a little taste of what the future’s gonna look like. But you gotta spend some dough. In my car I’m brainwashed driving pleasant streets lined with pleasant trees sucking down all my pleasant carbon monoxide. I get everywhere so fast. Lickitysplit. Man and Woman attached at hip eating bananas and crying into milk bowls lingering at the breakfast nook. Wide hips swaying in the breeze. So, see, there’s no perfect society. Every one is great and every one is terrible. Great and terrible. Destructive and redemptive. In the end it all burns whitehot and the rebirth is a rapid heartbeat. Who says there’s no more publicity stunts. Who says there’s no more personalities. Who says reality television ain’t grand. Tornadoes thrown into the pokey with no bread or water. Spinning. Sons are seen soon. Welcomed rising out of the murky waters.

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