Thursday, November 12, 2015

Have you remembered to hate yourself today?

Hate yourself. Ate yourself. Date yourself. Rate yourself. How do you measure? What do you measure? Too little too late, too much you, too much of yourself by measure by volume by my word, by my word. Measure yourself by my word. Too much you in that shoe. Fill big. Feel big. Clothes make the man but who made the clothes that you can never quite fill out, feel out, suss out, cuss out, dress up for your dressing down, raining down laying down, lay me down to sleep. Bags of eyelids at my feet. It's late. It's later than you think. Think fast! Live fast, die faster. Live slow in the know in the mo, in the show, flappers and dappers, gassers and prodigious sassers all to the tune of the masters, fasters for whom life is but a show. They grade down, they review, they tell you what to do. Line! Stage whispers, death's sisters, hissing 'til your ears sing. Dears, sing, arrears ring, the orchestra swings by the rafters all in tatters. Music sheets to the wind, anyway it blows, the whole damn show, who wrote this crap, step back, back in line just in time as the pendulum swings, as the headsman's axe rings, they cut off your line but there's no room to soliloquize anywise, every poor player tries but ad-libbing must be demonized. The director wrote the show, staged it, lit it, sounded it low, never rise above what you show, what's for show, the director's a CEO.
Look, tomorrow's just another today. Play it, lay it, day-by-day it, autograph it, monograph it, stereo-cast it, but how will you know if you never quit the show, step outside the three rings, that your acting stinks? Hand out tips and quips, drips of wits, for a life worth pursuing, for a death worth accruing. It's your dime but it's their dollar, it's a joke, it's your yoke but it's their collar, pressed and shined, Armani-ized, never quite sized up, measured up, rated high enough, dated high enough to eat your way up the food chain.
Hate yourself yet?

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