You're acting out of kilter with the en-masse. You overstepped the boundaries of accepted social norms. You leapt over the barbwire fence of society-imposed self-restraint. A shell-suit woman stares down at your action, eyes like fists, pummelling a bad psychology. "Be normal. This is what your super-ego is telling you." It's a strangling truth and you need air. You make a run for the nearest open space but before you can get there a flock of seagulls teem down on it and snap at your heels, shit everywhere. Nobody wants you happy. Not even the birds.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Streetside smackdown
People look at you incredulous when you break into a fifteen yard sprint then revert back to walking pace. Stomp repeatedly on a discarded cigarette butt for more than a few seconds and the police stop you for aggressive behaviour. 
You're acting out of kilter with the en-masse. You overstepped the boundaries of accepted social norms. You leapt over the barbwire fence of society-imposed self-restraint. A shell-suit woman stares down at your action, eyes like fists, pummelling a bad psychology. "Be normal. This is what your super-ego is telling you." It's a strangling truth and you need air. You make a run for the nearest open space but before you can get there a flock of seagulls teem down on it and snap at your heels, shit everywhere. Nobody wants you happy. Not even the birds.
You're acting out of kilter with the en-masse. You overstepped the boundaries of accepted social norms. You leapt over the barbwire fence of society-imposed self-restraint. A shell-suit woman stares down at your action, eyes like fists, pummelling a bad psychology. "Be normal. This is what your super-ego is telling you." It's a strangling truth and you need air. You make a run for the nearest open space but before you can get there a flock of seagulls teem down on it and snap at your heels, shit everywhere. Nobody wants you happy. Not even the birds.
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