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Julian Osterman Julian Osterman
Recommendations: 3

Everday Lies Of Honest Guys


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This writing contains explicit content and is only for adults. You have been warned.

The sigils march up and down the penny rose corridors of Washington Heights
Fickle feces flock to gather up their courage


None prevail


Humans waste away with feeble attempts at sustaining life
A trumpeter interrupts the effigy with quick thrusts of wit


Sex is a tool but tools are not sex
Music as a weapon should be sharp and pointy
Lengthy, but well balanced


You can have your cake and eat it too
If it is a substance not unlike formaldehyde
If it is a substance not unlike cake


Little piggie, little piggie
Oh won't you let me in


NO


The life you lead is one of saintly sin


I bleed to know you are a dream
I die to know I am life
And as I forever cross this stream
I'll take me as my wife


Lenny Bruce told me once
Amidst smoke of pots and pans
The good thing about amputees
Is that they like to hold your hands


As I stand teetering drunk on Paul's Boutique
Fighting for my right to party
I reflect on passages from the bible
So full of shit, yet hardy


Not one day goes by that I wish to God
For some higher sense of purpose
The funnel cake makes me higher still
When the funnel's bleeding turquoise


A tortoise is a novel thing
When you clean it through and through
But squeaky clean your nose may be
I hear cocaine residue


Some idiot clout who rides a cloud so furry, flight and airy
Go fuck yourself, you magic elf, and damage kindly fairies


I speak of things with broken wings
And beating hearts untouched
I'll speak again of love and sin
If one or more a hunch


Is given unto mortal men so that they may see their follies
A toothbrush stabs the magic eye
Sending shockwaves through the trolley


No beast of burden or rolling stone
Can keep me from my wares
No deeper shit can step in it
That stains silk underwears


To spy, and spy, and spy again
Upon maidens fair and blushing
To their deaths upon clarinets
Their bosoms go a-rushing


Ne'er-do-well the kings of hell that banter through and through
I smoke a bowl of brains of troll and turn my thinking blue


Melancholy is the soul that traps a fiendish foe
But fuck all that, we're happy cats
That shoot up the meaestro


We'll shoot up crack and heroin and bits of glass and tin
We'll snort some leaves of collared greens
And unravel in our zen


Julian Whithorne a-wrote a play that shatters unseen noise
Everday Lies of Honest Guys who are nothing more than boys


To this play a chorus sings some introduction of a sorts
You heard it now with furl'ed brow
And nothingness reports


Enjoy the play you saucy foes of bitterness and grace
And revel with each indignity
That these could be your last days


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