Monday, 9 May 2016

Young Brats and the Bliss in which to Thrive



“L'Arlequin assis” (The Seated Harlequin) by Pablo Picasso (1923)


Who would ever expect a thrower of acid to wear an authentic Rolex
Decked out in rich colourful diamonds of which is ambiguous gender for it needn’t be clear
Who walks past the big storefront
With pity for themselves
Tap yourself on the shoulder, for the body is free
Of cruel marketing techniques
Nothing quite triumphs the manipulation of an image's contrast
With a billboard, bigger than the urges of a teenage man
Setting camp
For awakening on Saturday morning via stimulation
Is really called for

Commerce your agent for mass exposure
Parade the goods in front of three shaken judges, otherwise known as three ordinary people
Who are paid to judge
Fit the description for idealism
Unattainable is the reach of satisfaction
Climax on the ringtone of a strange fella affirming in the declaration of bargain hunting
The lack of fulfillment
Calls for stronger advertising
Comes from within
The desire to sort out
To sift through the trash of the superior

A magazine
On the cover of which reads the generic slogans imprinted on infant brains the notion of sex
The image of censorship, endorsed by the capitalist pig
Snorting cocaine
Since office hours
Stand at the office door for the natural selection of witness bearing
The greatness of random encounters
With fake people
Lean against the reinforced cardboard, a pair of ears to supply the imagination with a quarrel
Between two parties, held on the grounds of nepotism
A bomb to discharge the goo of ego