Trojan Hoarse

Nothing like a bit of blitzen und donder to soak the ground for seed

Is it wrong  to use the mild hysteria surrounding ”The End of the World’  on 21/12/2012 as a reason to loose a few marbles ourselves?

The truth, if you think about it, is that ”The End of the World’ is  probably one of the top 3 things ever invented.

In honour of this fact Intrastink has decided to recalibrate our approach to General Decorum. We concur that the best strategy is most probably a touch of batshitness, with a side of concentrated cocofuckinutsism.

Not only can we feel this in our bones, but thanks to your votes it was declared a winner!

WE ALL GONNA DIE, SO LETS GET WACKY LIKE TORN MONKEY!!!

Yes, yes,  i know… it sure will get pretty kAArazy out there!!!…more than a few eggs broken for this omelet I assure you…

but then, after peering into the abyss, the sun will rise again…and as the Twenty Second of  December rolls round once again it will find us still alive! And with so much still left to do!

And  the nonending world may thus bequeath us a society vibrating at an emotional frequency that is fertile ground for a new look at reality…a plasma of correlating inflection points, through which the repressed potential energy of the globe may find common cause.

Perhaps the Mayans wern’t fortelling apocalypse, but instead leaving us a time machine to defibrillate the stuttering hearts of the globes moribund economies…?

Anyway,  the bottom line is: your economy needs you. This festive season,  let’s all go nongnong! Together, as one, lets bet on the end!

Your efforts will be most appreciated. Really. Thank you.  It’ll  be good for us, and we deserve it!

Regards,

Capitalism.

Redress

Some of the protesters couldnt catch the coming future no matter how softly it was thrown. Here, a Tendress recons with community.

Tearria

The Life and Death Canal

To emerge back in Tearria, gasping…
soon stutter upwards to shoulder ones load
flesh allows for wisdom…then hands down a crack in the code

{……….The dimensions of life……….}

Forced back together by the weight of the sky
our revel in the space between beginning and end
You and I

Ol’ Timers tell tales of yore and lessons from the war on the stigma still attached to naive yesterdays

The skins we live on

The best-laid planets

of ice and gems

Are split into shards and stems,

past tense prisms of the survivalist sense.

And through the dense forests of kelp that keep falling

And can’t get up again to answer the calling

of mans setting up round nature’s foundation

Float stories as old as that cracker of creation,

spinning the wheel of juicy folk lore

In which immolation is a bore,

As is the spluttering of our core values and beliefs in the good of the nation,

And not nearly as important as the laying of track

to shunt the frontier of ‘progress’

One more station.

.

Packed together in the resourse tray

With clashes of wills, hardened under clay,

The razing agent of bread and butter decline.

Meanwhile billion dollar bills are traded for the sign: ‘This Is Mine’ (PTY, LTD),

Find your own batter ‘cos this mountain of it’s for me.’

.

But justice, the weight of history, inclusivity

the need to breathe in the smoldering coals of the past

And with lungs of steam to reverse the ferment,

To instead distil the need

To wipe the bloody slate clean,

Then stare through the looking glass of the spirit that we find ourselves in.

.

For no man is an island in waters as rough

As the swaying behemoth that outside intrusions  have hinted enough

for us to need to awake from our slumber

And realize the illusion within which the number of people potentially rendered asunder

Will soon rouse even Neptune to come to our aid

Only to sift through the ruins of the gleaming Atlantis of mother of pearl we have made.

.

Dust is a must for all to try

The pace at which news travels down a families genetic line is said to be hampered by the consumption of KFC.

On and on and on,

and so enjoyed in thy growth,

and wisdom too,

and grew and grew,

to become a part something…family? To have a place?

As light laid down on the day,

to trickled down stems

to gather at their base.

.

And inhaled in dust of ages

cells born on wisdom’s winds,

codes and conducts to source and undress

and sticky family.

Aortas and uvulas and the open road,

nibbles and bits and bytes of gene code,

the dust, amongst us

and we ingest ourselves,

for ever,

Aa-haa-aa-haamen.

.

Pussy licking cos everytime you riot you get locked up

Finbonacci for supper

The circumference of the web

Having trained to never give up, Bullet’s thumbs were shedded from years of unsuccessfull hitch hiking

Et 2 Brute?

The guts we wear to dress up despair