OF NOT-A-CHILDREN’S-THEME… FOR I AM CRABBY APPLETON, AND I AM ROTTOEN TO THE CORE! MR SANDMAN TAKE US AWAY…
Another fabulously cocophonous and enigmatc piece from The Society’s resident writer Eric Lastick
Sandman hides, the summer-set… cobweb arms and midnight skies. Centerfolds drawing out stardust late night travelers, stuck on these lady lags… and the morning daunting crazed ways of our new world restlessness. The sped-fast leaves of love. ”Haight reach a new wave of northern California golden gate’s windy colds, in the dense reveals. Look and reproach the Sandman…as within you, this dusted, dirty tricks of fear…anger too all. The rag roll chronicle…news flash. ”Please hurry!” Fear and emotion. Where the next exit out of this place? Broken mentality and physicality too our neighboring Sandman. Poison is more than a fishful in dirty water. Tobacco row gets the disease…ease of nothing; and stay as a nobody, other than, “you run by night”. The crime is the way you live in the poverty and depravity of all your live long days.
A SWITCH TO A NEW LIGHT, SO SAYS THE POLITICIAN…CRABBY APPLETON BY NAME…and no more hides to who is rotten too the core!
The vote is in. It is settled of the same sum game. Counter culture of yesteryear’s is a fake calendar to distract us all from Mr. Apple-ton’s real truths. Our consequences. Sandman really tries…he is by know means, ”Tom Terrific” A guiding helper maybe as the little child in us all. But the rains came and washed our eyes clean of the hides in sands…as all the misfits and harsh rotten souls we would have to deal with. And with morning’s light switch, all people maintain the cyborg—an off and on switch of the cell phone tracked—and how and when to deal with this new world’s blasting bleeding ends? Mr. Appleton continues to tow the line. He lies to us. Makes us feel important. Better with no more nightlight. Sickened and grief of no more bed time stories. They are all used up, and gone dry. We lean, predisposed at our bedsides, as the prayers become engulfed too the lifts of the sands high and mighty. Then as you suddenly realize, that it’s all names…and nobodies. Only to wreck in fear. Of not a children’s theme—toss must you will, the likes of Crabby Appleton—clear off his Golden fall’s from the bridge! Feed it then—too the birds, and re-establish of a new mindset. This outlook of fearlessness. Sand sleep the mightiest of sleep.