the modern machines

To get a little you got to give a little... if it’s worth anything it’s gonna be a rough ride...

.... I’m the jukebox now. They tease with me their shiny quarters, they plug ‘em in, and I got to admit it kinda tickles, and they love it, I’ll play whatever they want to hear, oh, oh, play this one, and this one, and then this one... But when the night has thoroughly crashed and the barman has shut the light out... they all go home in pairs, even, especially the cute girls that spent the whole night leaning up against me... Hey, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take at least a cheap thrill from it, but it’s far from a fair shake.

And, now I’m alone and I can’t even spend the money I earned... can’t spend it to have somebody jerk me off, haven’t even the arms to jerk myself off.

But they’ll be back tomorrow, I can guarantee it, as sure as breath.

Oh, but I won’t be here, goodnight for the last time my friends, tomorrow they’ll put me on a train and send me east to be dissected and used as parts in more modern machines...

But they’ll be back tomorrow, where’s the jukebox gone? They might say, the thought might run through their minds, you know, as an item of conversation... But memories are so small... Oh, is that the "wolf pack boys", they’ll say? I love this song....

Ladedadedadedadeda.... Ophelia’s always been crazy! Always.

we the killing machines

The weight of another Sunday night is made even more heavy by the sopping wet May air.

Everyone I’ve ever loved is dead. I see them now only in my minds eye, in the old and now vacant houses of the town of Windsor. Little wonder I’m perpetually disappointed by human beings, they don’t matter anymore, I don’t know why I even bother.

The sweet little girl used to call me darling. Maybe I’d have come to call her that too. I wanted to say it. Oh, what a fool I am. And, how quickly they change, it can only take a night, a moment, to turn the lovesick little thing into a ball of cruelty spitting venom everywhere but particularly at me.

And, what did I do today to suffer this.... cleaned the bathroom, smoked some cigarettes read fifty pages in a book, watched the white sox win at baseball, and felt guilty about killing a stinging bug. Felt guilty about killing a bug.

Oh, but human beings don’t feel guilty about anything... fuck you they say with a smile on their face, fuck you. And, in a moment turn around and tell me to watch my language; there are children present, they say. I know now that it’s not the language itself they object to, but its interference with the subtlety of instruction.

Human beings don’t know that they’re the parasites on this earth, well maybe some do. And, I don’t say this lightly it’s a terrible thing, I don’t delight in it. It’s painful to learn, for example, that Jesus’ death was not redemptive at all, but one of too many terrible deaths suffered at the hands of us killing machines.