I am not the crazy one

Who would lift a finger to my neighbor sunk

And spoiled

I am not the crazy one spending credit on food

I am not the crazy one 

                    Spilling poison to bank bread

I am not the crazy one spending moral cash to win games

I am not the crazy one hating youngs freedom in old age shame

Lying for God because they gave me spoils to speak the pigs stye clean

                If you can make one believe no matter the lie the spoil goes to you

                      After all it takes fermented shit to grow herbs            and finding the energy of the past at the time right now while it creeps and rolls now 

           Is and will ever be the only way to win

The other knows less and you can end the game starting a new one now and ending it winning

Now 

                           And even then

The lier the pretender the know it all still resolved to speak words to win

While it thieves and sits watching like a couch potato with freshly delivered food eating and watching judging and eating hot fat and eat and cheese  

                          Now judging eating and sitting 

It will always think its eyes view gas while being the one sitting and watching

      Now will always hold the blink view win search for the win     and will always close the game to win 

             Or maybe my things have been reprogrammed again by the sitters and eaters I've lost my train of thought 

Or maybe it's just dirt the hole where

                      the emotion go tuning magik and daylight into fusion to simple for the winners to see   being fixed on the slavery mode of the keel

               Or maybe I won't tote that spell any longer 

                           Move with the calming wind

And that rotted courps will once again have nothing to cling to 

                                 Deservably falling into the void 

             I've read Jesus split the vale once

Reading the prequels 

He fashioned a whip and drove the sitting eaters of fat and money out of the house of God

                          And I am not the crazy one

                  What steal is this that fakes the hardness and hides behind real hard every time

          The only real way to find out is wait until I am sleeping and do you worst

And while I'm awake pretend 

                                                          Calling the game win

                    And I am not the crazy one to my neighbor sunk and spoiled calling game a win

As God gave you the Devine right to do

                         And in old age

                                    Acting child game keeps you alive            the master wields somone else

Not counting it's moves 

        I've got the poison Radiohead 

Now

                                      Or it mud

Or it's tools

                              The big fish eat the little ones 

Radiohead 

                                         Alter call anti-spiritual

Nomenclature spill soil poison and hide behind the Vail     Be saved and win

And I am not the crazy one

                                              When crazy is the only way you win don't lift a finger to your neighbors spent and spoiled 

         And now I have a Devine right to create my own life

                   Obviously through base line chilling lies and poisoned soil ending games when winning and 

     Take a seat the eat fat and slaves couch potato 

I am not the crazy ones

                                               Take the ride sitting

Eating and 

The more dirt on you the more you lie for 

            Or the more dirt is on the better it grows

And

I am not the crazy one 

      Position authority ending game and seeing while sitting eating fat and cheese 

                I am not the crazy one 

Tossing dirt in seeing 

                     Doing being living     

End sight to be the only one seeing

 

As long as the the crazy can sit

 in 

        the air 

                            and missle seek for me I'm safe eating fat and fake cheese

Speaking a lie owning dirt

                    The dark it makes

                                I am all the days that you choose to ignore Radiohead 

                         I am not the crazy one

I am not the crazy        lie

What side of the vale are you on

                                     

  

 

i was there

 i was grown to believe

i was told not to speak with majik 

i was blown with the next step

i was ment to be stolen from

i was made to sit in front of the tv and be quiet

i was made to do what they wanted

i was grown to be taken from

i was told how to feel with majik

i was fucked with for fun

i was close to the edge 

i was as far from the edge as they can make me every time i get there

i was eating chemical cheese and listening to the song written by the musicians who heard the

greatest song in the world

i was looking at you safe and proud enjoying lying to me in the moment of the lie

i was getting the tattoo we all got together 

i was getting that tattoo burnt by adding flames to the trees that represented you and chose to leave the tree that represented me as the original tattoo

i was breathing in air and wearing the tools i need to make a living

i was here when racism took the christians again

                took them to hate the freedom their fake moral high ground keeps them from so they live freedom anyways then pretend to pray and be forgiven

They sought to make all sink levied and unsexed into the moral cage pretend

 so that they could be the only ones who live beyond it

i was there when the christians fucked wildly and pretended they were still Christians

i was there when people fucked wildly and pretended they were supposed to be there

i was there drinking alone

i was there reading the bible and felt i needed to think i was reading the only history i needed to read then thinking id read celtic rummers casted in skin tattoos blue blood swirling quiet trees bodies fletched fires smoke smell hand made beads spun in knots around my neck and wrists fat and meat cooking naming rain and wind and rocks so high it'd take all day to walk up the cara eating nature turning stone into sharpe things so to stab countered words or different colors

or was i

i was grown to believe 

i was told how to feel with majik 

duty is just another name for shit

 i've been dreaming of aliens in my parents kitchen trying to make coffee and 

breakfast

there is plenty of coffee machines and clutter on the counter 

    /mother/ is yelling at me for being there and not cleaning up all the clutter 

i'm thinking that i didn't buy all the clutter and i didn't put it there

all over the place 

                 and i didn't make this mess and i didn't want to be there

fighting the animal grunt of the silver back                       grunting 

     position dominant      grunting   alpha     grunt 

              OOOOWA    OOOWAH        OOOOO   OOOO OOAAHH  OOOO OOO   OOOOO   

                         alpha grunt  because I am the alpha and i get what I want

              to end the matter

so i'm hiding from aliens who are looking for me arguing with someone i don't want to be around

and i'm supposed to clean up her clutter  

       her energy is focused 

                                    making me clean and i'm just needing to make breakfast to take to work

and she 

yelling at me            lacking the conclusion of doing anything but make me clean up her mess 

                                     and the coined conclusions of connection     manuscript 

it is written and the places are final

                    ownership 

          and keeping me in their 

orb to make me do what they want     to clean the clutter          

                         i.e being the one that clutters and not the one who cleans                                                                 

                                                                               disarranged the kitchen i am in

the aliens with all the technology superior 

will be here soon  

              there is plastic everywhere     

              there is her everywhere 

              there is the understanding that all is my job

              there is the understanding that that is not her job

              there is an understanding that as long as i'm in their house i must do what they want

and they don't want to accomplish anything but making me do whatever they want 

                                                     boasting immediately that i have done what they want  

to the air    head uplifted in the accomplishment 

              speaking to the aliens  

                                                  i assume  

                                in the language          only         they share 

                                       while i'm standing there looking right at her boasting

                         assigning duty

          she thinks i don't know of the aliens 

          she insists they don't exist       

when i tell her that they are coming 

                                                          while i see her boasting to them right in front of me 

             i assume

i've been dreaming of aliens in my parents kitchen 

                                                                          and i'm thinking that its not their house they just 

shit in it and am calling it their house      making me clean up the clutter

the aliens are coming and i have to get to work

choices in dreams i think are mine to make this is my dream and i can do what i will

          what i want          clean up your own kitchen i say        i have to go to work

and on top of needing to get to work i must clean for her 

up her clutter        as she spends her time                      standing there       making me clean

up her clutter        as she spends her time eating and watching  me   standing there   

                                       trying to make me             assigning duty

                         by aliens i do not mean people who some would say don't belong close to the ones who believe they belong there

                          the world is itself borderless                and we have always roamed where we wish

the miss-understanding 

                                          of borders and belonging is new and old      but its her kitchen 

and the aliens are coming    

                                               to let us all know the places they think we must abide

and the aliens are coming                to reward those who think  

             only 

                      of assigning people jobs and ownership

   because cleaning is not her job

and that they are the ones who decide who's job it is to clean up the clutter that is everywhere 

the luck is to them for both assigning duty                  possessing the duty to assign 

others duty                               and knowing the aliens that are coming 

as it is their kitchen           

                                   the aliens           when they come                        will assign us all                    

                                                         places     duty

as this is about them

as this is their place             and this is about her 

being able to boast to the aliens who are coming for assigning me duty

aliens

            will reward those  who assign duty        who know of their arrival 

     and discipline everyone else for not being in duty        identifying ourselves to what 

has been

                   assigned               

                       she assigns me duty because

                               she is getting out of here when the aliens come

                         they are getting out of here together

                                                                        they have the right to get their 

clutter cleaned and i have to make myself coffee and get to work

 

                                      her energy spent  in     gratifying herself in assigning me duty

                       while just standing there    spending all her energy making me do what she wants

I've been dreaming      asleep      

                                                    and there is a war on wokeness

i wake up with the memory of her just sitting there           9 year old 

            in her mothers kitchen                    happy 9 year old

 as there is nothing to do with her mother doing everything       cooking in the kitchen

                                                        the aliens had been there the whole time i thought 

while the feeling from the dream of the aliens are coming

                                                                       weighted on me like the duty i must do that day

                                  i got up made myself coffee breakfast lunch to go       and 

drove to work where i did my duty 

            checking my watch for the time when i could go home 

  and 

for when the aliens come to let me know what i should do       assigning duty

     with their technology superior 

     with their life

     their clutter

     their kitchen ownership

hoping i don't dream of being in her kitchen 

         being    assigned duties that are not mine 

         and other aliens stop the aliens from coming here         to assign us all 

Our duties   

                      the other aliens are nice and have come to 

            /allow/ me 

                          to do what i will

what i want to do              and duty is just another name for shit

the t-shirt

 i put salt on the catalpa just like they did 

         i wore the jeans everyone else wore        i wanted to wear the same shirts as they did too

but i didn't have the money too

                                                            saying what i wanted to say lead me too 

be made to submit to the one who wore the right shirts and played the right songs

         she had a motorcycle        she had a music band where they played all the songs everyone 

needed to hear                     she got her cunt licked every time she wanted to have her cunt liked

               she was better at tennis than me when i was 13 and she was 30

                        she couldn't teach me how to play the piano because i didn't already know how to play

the piano                                 

                                   she had a cool electric guitar that she never played    and       bought with the funds 

christians gave to god                        its 10 percent plus an offering so that she could afford her cool electric guitar

         and only showed me how cool her electric guitar is but god forbid she taught me how to play it

your not supposed to help someone that hasn't afforded the right t-shirts  

                                            so i bought the right jeans and opened my mouth in speech

but i haven't bought the right t-shirts yet         i'd make a t'shirt in woven pedestal pleasantries 

           wearing it backwards if thats what they thought was cool       to afford a t-shirt

  then wear The t-shirt as they do.    walking to a welcomed pedestal pleasantly 

                                   and play her guitar when ever shel let me          

                        too                                                 while wearing The t-shirt

they wouldn't call it reactionary because once you have the shirt everyone who matter wears 

    you wouldn't want to take it off it the shirt                       you've made it after all

               and wearing it is the point                                  especially when other people don't have it

 if i submit to her enough she told me i would earn it

if i beg her enough she told me i could earn it

if i collapse in front of her broken   mouth open           in pieces by her noble  belly button.   wills  

                     denying me 

     whatever i could think of     reactionary

                      offering everything i thought it would take to get it

and that will be the end of it               collapse lung servitude 

                   she told me she would be there to pick up the pieces and then

i would finally be ready for the t-shirt 

                        i could make a bearing north to Salisbury 

planking double barrel shot gun earthen wear pellets   breaking every time i pulled the trigger

                         and burn a candle to get rid of them all

                                            but little did i know they own the candle makers and 

if you'd ask then they would say fuck the bees

        but i've gotten off course this is a poem about t-shirts

                                i would smoke camels and listen to french music 

check out the do if you want to

                  but i smoke lucky's and listen to the do

when its hot you don't have to wear a t-shirt      open my windows and feel what i'm supposed to feel

       when i cook i cook and think what i'm supposed to think 

                                    what she wants me to think 

in oder to earn the t

shirt       sometimes i think about how i was 

wanting to speak my mind and make my own shirts         

now i love her and 2+2 equals 5

shit i think i might be in a cult

 being sovereign is more complicated than one could imagine having

     branches and trunk unbreached              by bonkers banked in bearings   

turning eyes closed at every look

                   being saved isn't what they've told you it is. 

cattle a kettle whistling into ill measured metals casting nothing and expecting

bounty. there is no sin when one casts unwanted furies into a undecanted

    collectively casted colander  

                       everyone is doing it and it gets you 

The hall pass forever

                     Sodem was also filled with sex Hungary cadavers licking their lips over the prospect of 

cumming                  its my right to get my dick sucked they cried

     And        being Sovereign is more complicated that one could imagine 

I tried to argue away form their voices 

I tried to right and noble them to stop 

I tried to prison their evils 

and yet

                              their lie and cum and blood soaked vail covered them all in 

Sanctuary       its about me not you he said as she prayed that I would want to

Deserve has no consequence      when cattle a kettle whistling into an ill measured metal 

that knows nothing of the stone

                                        their crucibles crumbling leaking everywhere 

                 but its ok as long as you keep the faith 

when no one lies  no one sees a rooted bastilles breading only tents ungrounded blowing in the wind

                                               not argument but dark magic is leaned on 

the hoard screeching clawing towards belief like a wide opened brainless cuck    clinging to the moment

      with hole-y words thinking that winning the moment for their master will win them the 

eternal ascension they so crave            

                          I could say that i also lie to save my soul 

but then i would be lying and wouldn't then expect ascension as easy as the country town buffet

      laid in front of me feasting on whoever will believe my lies

                                                        they will have to pay me for the gift of taking them in my jaws 

three no Seven no twelve          plates deep

                      it is my right to feast 

And being Sovereign is more complicated then one could imagine

                                                                    take the rights from the demiurge and believe 

what they have told you as your soul is yours and will be lifted

  After all why would they lie to you 

                                    there is no such thing as lying     only what you want 

 

bullion cubes can be won right now

I thought We were keeping him here he said 

We will be there to pick up the pieces he said

It's my right to get my dick sucked he said

          I'd say eat my pussy bitch

But the blood, cum and lie drenched vail kept his dick clean.

Bombarded

Bombarded with conversation

Bombarded on again 

Bombarded in the blink of an eye

Bombarded from the amount of offering a sandwich to me but it contains a continuous to kill it countryman.

 A kind of hate

     it reaches to the next of light and questions light it'self 

                                    to you, charging generations to the way they've found 

                   

                       and killing off anything else

Bombarded aft the light of remedial slumber

Bombarded less awake at night 

Bombarded reaching for the shelter you bought

           to me 

Bombarded in your wired affronting way

                               Brought forth by the  

Cult of freedom 

     That kind of freedom I'd assume a moral

Completion

     It'd accept a cristal similarly