Triptwyt to Destroy ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥



 

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Gestalt in Yellow

Cool if crookedly capped dapper, the sailors wind as were all the room in the world their way down the bazaar stricture. By day they go muggin’ the mile with smiles like affable emissaries out of an Elvis picture. By night they take on a campy Capra-corn mash just before the Russell reel is loaded. The brutal dawn’s nightcap is tipped to Pasolini.The fog of war they say paves the way for their action, though their orders give cover to indulge sick satisfaction, at least through to their commission. These deeds are carried out as an investment bought in bellowing black & white with an aim to sell out in tortured technicolor.

No surface strafing can expose the underbelly of the beast buried in the misery of the razed rubble and dust. Paraded on the periphery, this principal is to be written off, hanged for posterity, or co-opted & reinvested in the theater coming just.

Lenachstr. & Sonntagstr., Berlin-Friedrichshain – 1911/2017 (hover)

 

A Share of Realty : prologue

You can lay the prevailing currency on it, raze, excavate, develop to build upon, rent seek, lobby, litigate, evict, neglect, ignore, and/or place the name of your pop atop in all capital blocks. You can bundle it all up and pass off your scorching rotten fruit of the earth as a too good to miss opportunity. As appearances prove deceiving whenever deception appears, you can bank on polity to back the renewal of your project with revenue raised from the people who were already punching your clock to pay your rent and drink that poison juice you produce – o’ which, you can construct on top of all that proprietary rights to force anyone else to cease and desist their own form of existence. What does it mean to prevail? Only a reflection of conquest. Nothing but a name. The thing itself? You can’t own that.

Warschauer Str. 64, Berlin-Friedrichshain – 1920/2017(hover)

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Weened on Hallowed Wood

Severed heads are sacrificed; the blood trickles toward the penthouse cellar. Se7en spaced the severity of the unsubtlety of his deflection — a brazen attempt to have his having had an active gaydar steal the spotlight away from the evil he used it for. Narcissus knows no bonds — none too tight from which to wiggle with glee. He’d be given to going, “It’s time to say ’twas not my intent, but coincident to coming clean’.” But silence is also an option.

Monday’s Man o’ Fort saw the phrase ‘dictator friendly’ just often enough to bring to mind an entire country’s intelligence combined. Verily. One could strikethrough each instance of the named in the indictment and replace it with ‘the US’. However, either’d serve as apt metonymy for machinations of autocrat-o-philic money laundering. But let’s not forget about extortion and racketeering.

Now for FAKE MUSE!

Blutkotzende Goten – bis Marzahn  – Unkrautrock (1989)

 

Heaven on their Minds

 

No mind is clearer now
Not least none too well
Can we see how it’s no mystery
If you’d stripped away
The myth from the land
You’d have seen where we all soon would be
Donald!

You started to believe the things they say of you
You really do believe this talk of Don is true
For all the shit he’s done with hist’ry’s human poo
He’s begun to matter more than all the things we do

I remember when this whole thing began
No talk of orange what was called a thin tan
Though he deceives, the supplication toward him doesn’t lie
Yet everything he seethes
You take for blasphemy
While the lies you hold have fed his rise

New Amsterdam’s famous son
Might have left the globe unknown
Like his father riding hood
He’d have burned wood
Hotel towers and TV shows
Oprah asking Donald those
Questions caused nobody stress
No one would jest

Knowing Donald he does care for his race
No one sees they must bow to save face
We have occupied
Have you forgotten all the crimes we’ve done?
I’m not startled by the crowd
For our silence was so loud
When we crushed them we had gone too far
We’ve gone too far

 

Gluttonily Greedily

It is said in certain corners here & there that today is a milestone birthday. It’s not the day that grocery shoppers were loosed in the arteries of a waste of their own making, to snort & squeal their own way towards cleanups on aisle be damned if I’m gonna mop my own mess in addition to having to take over the task of schlepping my own wares to a checker not of my own damn choosing.No, that day was one & one hundred years ago, a month ago or so. Today is the day we celebrate a storekeeper’s official acquisition of the right to, I dunno, I guess get compensation from copycats? I’m patently no lawyer so can only wonder at the avarice level unleashed with that application as to how deep in dollars, and years yet to last, any ongoing remuneration.

I know of personal sloth afforded by bags & cans, but have personally seen the industrial diligence depicted in film segments on Sesame Street. How enchanting the wonder that brings beans to market! What I didn’t know — though I’d been familiar enough with the country store in Westerns or the drugstore in Mayberry, Hollywood — was that fetching one’s own Count Chocula abides a long proud tradition of outsourced labor… to the customer!

And what a way it was to have conceived it! You gotta envy the ingenuity. In all of our piggily wiggling, we’re in fact sweating schmucks as if we don’t need no stinking wages! They should be paying us to cart our shit to the stand! And for all these hundred years… I want revenge! Though I suppose in the world of legal predators, not forgoing the filling of one’s own wagon might add up to signing off on a deal to forgo a paycheck for the right to engage in activities listed in Patent Number US1242872 A.

Lawyer up, people! I wanna see this shit go down!

Just who’s doing the abiding here?