Ancient apercus from May 2007

Earn a dollar, make some money, don't go to work

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 30, 2007 - 22:25:49

Relatively speaking of course. And it's all relative when there are particles in the air, lingering between the first and the last. Pace out a quick turn of events and watch on as the stocks devalue themselves with the enthusiasm of a collective unknowns, skinny from the fear of waking up another day looming dark with nothing more than the despair and shadow of death.

Payment is made in full and there are no more chances for refunds. Once in, all in and the pot collects with no discrimination or hesitation. There are others starving in the world and it only takes an empty mouth, laden with sand and crab grass to undo all the good work.

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Seance slaughter causes skin to get cold

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 23, 2007 - 21:09:13

From beyond and from the other side of the bank, where the grass grows on clumps of edible moss. Standing with straws hanging off lips cut from the sun and brown from the dirt. Sucking seers with dilation in their eyes and corn in their ears. Prescience is in the air and there is only one thing left to lose: the future.

Breathing deep the fumes of the rotting and the scent of yesterday clinging desperately to their nostril hairs. Spit and cud gather at the jowls, drooling with an essence only bile knows. Richly wild with the flavours of the sting, mint leaves will never be enough.

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Social avoision: Escaping the gaze and gawp of chuggers

Ethan Switch - Friday, May 18, 2007 - 23:40:03

City walkers and the charity muggers, of good causes and not so not-for-profit organisations. Walking and beating the streets with hands out and clipboard at the steady ready. Walk too close and be caught into the spiral of spin, watching on as the others around find themselves passing by, sweating off their brows, saved for another day.

Looking like a jerk and saying "No thanks you mung bean muncher" is one thing. A skill for those with no compunction for the workers below the ever breaking leather belt line. Talking with an excuse to not talk, a hard effort for some.

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Priest at the party playing cards with heroin

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 16, 2007 - 23:10:56

Figureheads stand at the end, all hands between the loaves of bread. Made from the wheat of raw fabric and fired in the kilns made by the Dutch as sewn with the spit of the drunken galley. Holes from the inside, eating on the outside, and condiments made of pus only taste as sweet as the sale of human flesh into the slavery of entertainment.

Knock back a head, looking skyward, and the white powders in clouds make them scream aplenty. Yowls they will, yowling and howling with arms wide open and robes cast aside. No fear for the righteous, no clothes for the naked.

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Beaten by a policeman on a duty crawl

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 9, 2007 - 23:21:26

Law and order and to them, it's nothing but the criminals intent on carving up a scene of their own. Rough shod over the banks of the dry river lines, feet taking up the clay with foot prints to make tracks back and forth. Drop a case of doubt and there is never more a chance on turning back.

Oh for they will scream as they find their hands clapping with no arms attached. Loud and ecstatic with the erratic patterns folding of the desperate sweat. Hans, it seems, will take offence to this. Were that the man exists on this plame, on this field. Alas, but a mere figment of the speculation and imagination.

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Folks drunk as poets all sound the same

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 2, 2007 - 23:58:28

With a mouth full of angst and a head full of maggots, they drink plenty as the rivers dry up. Bearing too much in the way of the fallen, flow constricts and washes through the fermentation of expiration and resignation.

Run all they like, the end of the line comes somewhere in the middle of the marathon for a few every now and then. And it's a vengeful force not of any nature known which constantly fluctuates the definition. From one point to another one day, another point entirely for the next. There is no race guide to follow when the track itself grows and moves with each passing wind.

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