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Unsung california dreamin. (Prose Poem) by SupremeDreamer

(An insignificant tribute to Ginsberg, Burroughs, and Kerouac.) I growl beneath my breath when speaking, dictating my turbulent universe and forging dreams marked by disordered euphoria that radiates from methylated neuro-circuits fired up in an emotional explosion of impassioned fury and, far from being sane, this reality remains twisted, introverted and entwined with my vision of savagery, of anarchy as a method of action, independent thought and widespread disrespect for authority-- characteristics inherent in the dismal youth of today-- the dreaded-eclipsed future of America, born and bred in a destitute, poverty-stricken, politically-incorrect, and corrupt US of A where teenaged minds are raised in the night life of techno-raves, as rhapsodic children dancing oddly with eyes consumed by xtc illusions of love, clouded with drunken-fallacious feelings of unity or-- if not that, their pubescent psyche is abandoned, consigned to the noon-time tension of violent urban jungles covered in graffiti symbols advertising vulgar threats that represent scattered bands of unruly delinquents seduced by a plethora of pseudo-sadistic criminal thought, and loyally following their inner devils' wicked persuasions... Welcome in this rising pillar of social decay and rebellion. Say hello to My America; it's polluted and smells of ethical-moral disarray, with a distaste for faith, religion, and therapeutic intervention, swaying in tune to my persistent growl that rouses the frenzied-warlike confrontation. Face the dreary turmoil and dwell in worrisome consideration of what the bleary-approaching horizon will bring, praying that this rogues ill-fated prophesy shant come to fruition, despite my rumbling silhouette that bears witness and causes your pleading lips to stiffen and then resign to a faint-uncontrolled, eerie-trembling moan. Acknowledge what your eyes avoided and listen to my unsung California dream of rebellion and pearly-white puritan skulls whose crumbling bones have fallen prey to macabre subversion, then say nothing-- speak silence, feed your growing pestilence, and reveal nothing of what you've heard here in profane abandon.

Don-Quixote 8-Jul-04/7:04 AM
That show couldn't be more remote from my life:

I'm not in school, haven't been for two years now.
Never have been in a band of any kind.
And being without a band or instrumental talent or the desire for either, any possibility for me to strike a deal with a record company is quite thoroughly gutted.

Oh, and I've never surfed in L.A. with my fellow "dudes and dudettes" or drove around in my daddies beat-down 69' corvette.

Only similarity to be found is dreamin.. two severly polarized and opposed kinds of dreamin that are about as familiar as Peaches and Mayo.

'less you have anything contrary to the above, that joyfully settles it- in either case that is. Good day.




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