Saturday, 7 May 2016

Loaded Without Remorse Or Morals

“La coiffure” (The hairstyle) by Pablo Picasso (1938)

Gather all around the oak table the jerks, the nerds, the foul sons and foul daughters, come
Abandon your mothers
With grace
An excuse is excused only when poured from the mouths of the wealthy people
Gold is the guard through which the words will spill
On t-shirts not yet ready to catch the stains
Hardly immune to bullshit
That reeks
There’s a tooth stuck in the throat of the son
Where it will rot
And where it shall 

It deserves to rot
For observation is a skill self-taught and inflicted
Measure pain with receptions of pity, scrunched up faces; if ever empathy should be practiced
Compensation is best
If symbolised through currency
There is no other preference
In emergency situations, prepare to pull out the grieving face on demand, practiced daily
A ritual for the future
In consideration of mothers neglected
For no one in particular
The hair on the head betrays its scalp

At the meeting per month, it is of utmost importance for the jerks to recite their fake prayers
Carefully crafted to offend
The only intended
Accusations of medicine fed without ethics
The irony of concern misplaced in the throats of the people not entitled to talk
But will talk regardless
For talking is the alternative of reality
Look towards the caretaker and impose accordingly the burdens of blame
In dumb spirits
Attend to the seriously fucked-up fringe the fingers of dry adjustment
Have cheers for corruption