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For Whom Heaven Is A Live Broadcast
If you think that Prophecy Productions are a waste of time and space a waste a squander of chickens and heroin because they’re already so full of breast-building hormones and so hard for a 10 year old to say anti-anti-bio-taks? Bea-tiks? If you’ve seen murder in tele-tele-vish-on and TiVo and movies you were raised on enter-enter-tay-neen death and no matter where in the house you went and how hard you covered your ears don’t hear don’t hear but you still hear. If bullets bombs knives arrows raised you and you raised them with your fists. If shoot-’em-ups and throw-’em-downs and Janet Leigh in the Psycho shower Sonny Corleone machine-gun twitchy at the toll booth raised you woke you saw you. If Danny Trejo in Machete solved your math equations ate your baked potatoes. If you thought these things with your thoughts your brain and ee-tal-yun one man bands shoegaze one-man-bands thought your thoughts for you while your knees scraped and your hands baked. If falling through the roof of a barn through the tiles through the leaves and fo-lee-age hurt like hell hurts. If you nearly hit something sharp something glinting in the dark something something you hadn’t thought much thoughts about. If when you are falling you are thinking thinking thoughts are another way of saying I can’t move my lips.
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I wrote this poem on the cusp of an explosion in my brain. The brain fart to end all brain farts. It's about the basic flow of my ten year old self's thoughts.