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comfort equals full use of the body for communication

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underworld obituary
Good mourning. This just in. They found my body somewhere near the east river. The eyes were taped shut, crossed out nipplesx, smile on my face and water in my lungs. The devil did indeed show up last night breathing from the mouth of a decomposing nymph, just to tell me I was an asshole. Poor fucker hates to lose at practical jokes. What was me to say? Is there any excuse for simply signing off, good bye, onward to the great big red eye in the ground. Fuck you heros. Somebody survived, somebody died, in my Wright family blood line this last year. Was it the cross dresser? The murderer? The pothead? The junkie? The manic depressive grandMother crossing many states to be found in the southwest dehydrated from the sun and nailed walking to a cross all due to delusions of grandeur. The high desert has heat wave sun rays with possible high doses of electrical current flowing through the main vein of these rocky mountains. One thing is certain, here on the other side of the leak in the mirror, in respects to me clan, the suicide does not exist. As if giving up were an option.
So it's been true all along, the nice guy always does come in last, me has come to find. That is, until the end. When the movie is over we all go home, just in different directions. All these boys playing tough with fire in their eyes and poison in brains drained and pickled.
In fashion news we took all our bondage off gave to us by the media and dropped naked time into the trunk to bump the humping hard life. It's easy when you do indeed hit bottom. What has she done to the people's hero anyway? How far can these minds expand? Bend? Slide?
Newscast from the twisted towards Hollywood burning television deep under water where me now breathes. Deep with the fishes. Eat me bitches. Me tastes great. On sale now for the low low price of free at the bottom of the east river.


- david lee wright

Submitted: 11/12/2001 Printer Friendly
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