PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Placebo. Propoganda. All of it, it's all a test. Everything is synthetic. Even the trees are plastic. Perceive paradox, thirstily nursing upon God's cosmic tit while simultaneously slurping up the sewage juices of her hapless hallucination. We should enjoy it while it lasts, I suppose, the absolute absurdity of her milk-fueled frenzy, great fanged fairy queen. The universe will, of course, eventually come to a halt, not with a bang but a whimper, so what's the point? There is a strange kind of beauty to it though, I'll admit, with a more innocent or otherwise adaptable mindset. Look up and see stars. Belt of Onions or whatever that one constellation is called. Swoon and neutralize nonsense. It's ubiquitous these days. I used to use that word a lot, because I thought it sounded smart. Now I couldn't be bothered. Anyways, it basically just means 'all around us' just as the stars are, and all the limitless other possible realities. Aliens, for example, or interdimensional dragons flying about spinning flurries of magic from out sharp snouts. Let's transcend, the Pilot said, upon launching off. Ended up crashing the ship like a novice idiot. Some fucking pilot, heh? Now him along with the whole crew is dead and I'm stuck stranded on some random planet with a couple-a dumb junkyard clankers whose copper bodies, much to my chagrin, were too stubborn to vaporize, much to my chagrin. Transcend. What a load of horseshit. What's next? Getting abducted and fit for a fucking butt-plug by some sick aristocracy of sadistic space reptiles? Count me out.