Letter To The Editor

Your judgments have me grinning. Don't pretend you were immune from the Avarice of Pride. Which you delved past cover packet into the gutworm of stardoms naked lunch? Unfolding the artwork of your Deathsnake Bands- ministering to idol hands, wandering the scent of artwork sleeve. 'Scent of new jacket with walking around money in the pockets made of 'feited hourglass sand. Do you not find it pathetic and ugly, to keep chanting me me me? I like how they are stringed pearls of sos-, smokerings, death row-, 'peals of that Apple "standing up to be counted with pi and to give account" as a bridge to understanding your insanity and to give creedence to your selfish lies of phi, relational patterns of why is the sky... - Maggots of your own carrion luggage left to fester to the Son. Sacrificial Poseidon Aquariums, Babylon Hanging Gardens, Bloodsport of perceived insects in arena of jar, of Leviathan Media Priests and Running-man television, (Black) arts. Did you invent the term movie star? (Vanity Smurf tearer), take a look as reality draws nearer. Symbiose of the mind's chemical- sea trench monsters. Rally the sheeples to stampede by your musical serenadings, box spring snakes coiled in union of souls call of tune. Do you court the Druids to "tie a yellow ribbon round the old Oak Tree..." Such Romanticide, needy. (Your True : CHORUS) A falling star hung in the air by insindiary glare legislating from your bench like Hephaestus tears tinkering above a lossless accomodater puppeting to speak your own truth while pride sets up another soothsayer booth Lucy, you got kisses for five cents, while the world is monopoly burning your marketplace incense, falling for the fallen to pay for incoming recompense. So, Nephilim pretending to be our Creators is your next one, huh. Soon, the World will see, your sumptuous gush of trans-humanity is just mental masturbation fantasy escaping the real thing.