What a summer

This is old:

Tomatoes in the garden wrought form the compost of my mind, possessive prepositions appear prior to the ripening reds. visually constipated i bloat my ego's eye he tells me I'm right, continue the hate. The streets are crowded like graffiti rolling down the train tracks- we are all messengers here. The clock tower still rings I only notice myself noticing. A handful of memories and a shoebox of lovers, a cock and eyes, a mouth and knives, what have we become? Montaigne's meditations demand forethought well we're simply short on time. Constrained by the Enola Gay and Television, the dollar signs and commodity exchange, what's left must POUR out of each of us, I hate you all, to preserve predigital humanity. The switch is coming, be prepared! offering coupons for continued unintelligence, Bliss! Once porn became free there was no stopping the empire's collapse and the moments of the galactic calender in which free will came to a crossroads. It's a Very Exciting Time to be Alive. We are the end and the beginning. My generational colleagues, we know the most. We're not stuck in either century but watch like the metal rooster who guides the wind, watch from our pivot of disbelief.