dance dance drink sleep drink dance write poetry

I'm tired. In fact, I'm in bed. I was out last night. I saw Oppenheimer. Hang on... Oppenheimer? Yes, Oppenheimer. They are FANTASTIC live. Absolutely. I'm going out tonight as well, after work. First, I must go to town to see Oppenheimer. Hang on... Oppenheimer? Yes, Oppenheimer. For free. In Cool Discs. An intimate gig? An intimate gig. Can't beat that with a big stick. But like I said. I'm tired. Too tired. I'm not going to write anything. Here's a poem, and some songs. Maybe they're linked? Or maybe I wrote the poem ages ago and found it and thought well I'm too tired to post but would like to post so fuck it. Maybe.



Untitled

for every little thing a name.
a new label
a description
making it seem amazing, new, trendy, fashionable,
marketable
love prepackaged
phone the number
written in black
on the barcode
i wonder if you can afford it
if not just join the lines
make them all the same thickness
for no reason
other than.
it. fucks. with. the system.
so why not?

You Say Party! We Say Die!

The Gap (Between The Rich And The Poor)
Cold Hands! Hot Bodies!
Love In The New Millenium