Gozinta Box

[idiotInside]

Waheguroo Jee Ka Khalsa!

Waheguroo Jee Kee Fateh!!

The exitainment has begun. Let the panic attacks and nervous breakdance sink their comforting cancer into the sweaty palms of our hands like well prescribed press-on nails. Our stigmata will stagnate and we will shake, shake hands like little boys--if boys were just like puppies--spreading our ring worms. THIS WAS AN INTRODUCTION TO MY CRIPPLING ORCHESTRA! I am your Cracked Atom!!!......drum roll please......At least our death wishes will come true. We don't even need to blow out the candles. I hear that thunder, I hear it too. It's all my goddamn Khalistanis coming back for some sick closure.

Listen, the world can't be an opera when it needs an operation. The second comingwill require more than mini-bar gin and Viagra.

Don't ever answer the door and remember that most authorities believe that the side effects of this breeding ground of talentless chaos will not leave any permanent damage

We are the "good monsters" that are only chipped away by the banality of your "enter"tainment, and our black encrusted beehives harden into hideous-honey-diamonds, too personal and nervous for idiots to hold or cherish.

Only your love is uncanny and only you cannot feel that all of our art is muscle. Your beauty will be edible or it will not be beauty at all---no salvation and no forgiveness. We are the ones with the bloody knuckles.

We have put together the best of what we have made and this is only a reminder that you can cut off the head but it only grows back harder.

There is no sign of our knuckles healing.

PUTTING HOLES INTO HAPPINESS

"You came to see the mOBSCENE..."

Kneel down humble men and become the height of our children. Let your heart crawl into your knee and realize that all knowledge lives through imagination. This is the nursery business, always get a photocopy.

Our cultures may continue to disintegrate but we just rebuild with abusement parks, filming the process and replaying it as situation comedy. We wear ribbons, hold hands, celebrate and concentrate on camps that train our kindergartens to shout out "star-spangled" banter.

We will medicate the lunacy of the "degenerate" with heavy doses of old-fashioned (original recipe) family virtues.

"Let's make sure all of these offensive forms of freedom are shown publicly, and burned immediately as a warning to us all!"

In the meantime, try to stay conscious. We are sitting in the EMERGENCY ROOM waiting for the doctor, a newly elected aesthetician, to come and pronounce his diagnosis. The grotesque, malignant cancer that is our expressions and our views is no longer the disease. We are being told that the sounds and images of art are now the symptoms of the creator. We as the artists, are now considered unhealthy and incurable.

Let me remind you that the deformed scar of one man, is "love's pretty dimple" to me. The generation that lived through WWII accepted the concept of "total violence" as a solution to the world's problems. The mathematics of creative suffering and the milk of human violence are the formulas that our grandparents bottled and passed down to our parents.

These are the "traditional" values that have built "protective," moral walls around our children's world. And it is, indeed, a small world after all.

Take pride in your vulgarity

Old MacDonald had a Pharmaceutical

The rakes shall sweep the leaves of the fakes

In that dark blue sky you still keep, through my stained glass laptop you try to peep. When will you ever sleep? When the sun burns open my eye?

PATIENT WARNING <

br>We see ourselves printed out on a zerox again and again and if we are not careful, we may end up just staring at a blur of ink. NEVER TOUCH ME UNTIL I AM DRY. (It will smear.)

The Rabbit has pulled me into the hat.

(The wetnurse enters and sedates Consolation of Philosophy)

"His nerve scales are a bit topsy-turvy Doktor Morpheus!" she shouts.

The physician whispers, "Sleep, child."

(He exits the room, pausing to straighten a framed oil painting of Antonin Artaud and closes the stained glass door.)

"SOON ALL OF THIS WILL BE PICTURESQUE RUINS"

“THE FUTURE BELONGS TO THOSE WHO CREATE IT.”

We are perfect and ripe just before decay, no?

Knowing this, a new consciousness, inevitably kills the old. One of the most painful things a person can experience is the agony of change. If you are sitting then you cannot understand.

If you truly love a concept, a vision, a person, an ideal…You cannot waver, or surrender to habit. Do not feel fear of what will be newly gained, and do not try to jump in a grave when we need to pay our respects and leave a tragedy.

We are brave and we are NOT uncaring. We care…I care… about the soul of what I create, because it IS my very soul.

Amusing. Will your happiness drive you to despair or viseversa?

When I wake up, it will be a new day. Tomorrow is closer than yesterday.

The Grin has Found Its Cat

Goodbye my Strawberry Ripples.

“Mais rien ne peut exister, si l’on raisonne.”

Waheguroo Jee Ka Khalsa!

Waheguroo Jee Kee Fateh!!