bones

ready when you are, this scene is a catalougue.
ready when you are, mail order, over the phone, paypal, 'buddy, the chorus is coming up, shipping is free.
ecstatic about opportunities to be a ruthless sap, sticky beauty gel in my beard,
not only mediated by images but strangled by them, lost threads from dollar bills.
a hardcore band playing silkscreened t-shirts across town.
and pop-punkers yelping each one inch promo button across the stage towards teens..
the sounds are only spectacle when combined with a hotel of images, a swanky list of items organized in, what, a plot? a dinosaur rampage? a shank of paperwork .? abs. eyeliner and limp promises of glamour. ready for glam once again? it never strayed, the glamour, it never faltered, it is still falterless, admiration flips through the pages of models sexing the strings of a nude electric guitar. this too can be yours. appropriation of the spectacle into the music industry was the day the music died, and it was long before buddy holly and the big bopper were tragically incinerated, it was before the war of the worlds and wizard of oz and warner bros. it was the day the holy ghost performed in his nightgown on the breast of death valley, mining for gold, singing soulfully the textile price cuts over the groan of a shambled oud, magnified by the postal service.

you've got to be ready when i am, i'm ready tomorrow, and i'm setting off fireworks to record the damage. burning the pages that host to the new wave of ennui.