hollowood

hollowood

Holy, holly, hollowood, hollow plastic.
Give me a limelight. Give me paver with a handprint.
Give me a line of coke.
A diet plan with eggs less yokes.
Cut and paste bodyfat.
Super V I P´s climbing the polyester trees.
In the plain famous complain aimless have the front page fame, shameless sameness.
You got all your clothes in the latest trends, you got your exclusive circle of friends.
Got a look good for the camera lens.
Hollow mansions, estates. Deep swimming pools, shallow swinging fools.
Strut and waste your continental cuisine, perfection in the fashion of your life through a magazine.
Passionate your a palm on a lonely boulevard.
crashing fate made you plastic in hollowood.
your face appeals, copy a love song. make a movie from a book. Smile and spend, smile and spend my dear.

A purple sofa

An arrow aiming at the sofa, shining purple leather sofa.
It was new and bright and now it´s ruined for life.
That brilliant couch you can never sit on.
How deep can it´s cushions be.
A comfort you could feel just by seeing it.
In the rain somewhere now drenched.
In the sun somewhere bleached, beached like a whale.
The arrow points like a wind accusing.
The waxy surface of the purple sofa dropping off a waterfall.
No space in the house anymore, just a forgotten object.

Friends would howl.

How did your friend grow such teeth?
Sharp white canines extracting blood from bodies like juice out of fruit.
Needing to feed off the victim, your friend would howl.
Ungerminated human minds, trying too hard to comprehend.
Understanding is nothing.
Destroy the weak and feed again.
Deserts fall under such teeth... Easy villages of fools their blood as thick as paste.
Feasting on communities, your friends would howl.
Seppish would shiver in comparison.
Dawns of lifelessness.
Ungerminated understanding.
Blood thirsty and drought striken.

The drone masses.

The sharp south, young people´s razor stares. An era awakens.
Cheap intoxication, alleyway bums feed, expensive clubs where colourful hollows expose their needs.
Through streets with compulsory shopping experiences, monitored by elevated security eyes.
Sleeping through existance, minor nightmares about lacking credit... Recognise.
The promise of a serpent, it´s power cooking in the drone masses.
Awaiting it´s venemous bite.
It becomes mobile and visible.
The sharp south as a dinner platter, young people´s fight to express against photocopy minds.
Doctrines are wolves in sheeps clothing. Serpents that have not yet shed their radiant skin, who stray beyond our vision and then strike on the diamond hour.
A blunt north is set like a trap, full of nests of poisonous creatures.
The eastern machine feeds a western apetite.
The drone masses step in rhythm, with no strings attached.

Reflections in her smile

How does the face ignite such a brilliant smile? I thought when I saw claire.
Sometimes you could see her glow, it appeared.
How much grace or vision can a woman be given?
In Claires creations you can feel the wonder through islands and fountains.
Beaches that move like caterpillars, her secrets about the land, and worship of mountains.
Checkerboard landscapes, lonely dunes, there people stood and chickens fed.
A place where sisters played flutes and hills and angels wings were spread.
Where big trees flowed green, barked brown and daylight spoke in tones of red.
Claires eyes chased people and horizons as her mind swam in colours so vast.
To conjure a miracle on the surface of a canvas.
Reaching us with her paintbrush, reaching our lives with her touch of psychic.
The objects of our pleasures and of what afflicts.
She burnt in luminous sparks her wick lighting up a world obsessed with convention and money.
Her creativity surging and expressing itself through her hand and paints running.
As our wicks burn, we too express ourselves to a ticking clock.
In the rapids of time wearing down as river rocks.
Claire´s soul may have embarked, yet her smile ignites in our memories...
And her painting is eternal.

Won´t see it in the circus.

Won´t see it, we just don´t want to...
Dream not to be a rat... Not to be some clone... Traps and tease, supermodels doing nude trapeze.
Dream of being a satisfied cat, eternally satisfied.  Pre-orgasm status.
Supermodels at the circus with freaks and elephants. Pre-orgasm existance.
Ringtop red rubber slumber, you´ve slept your way in.
Some strange romance trapped in a tent.
Some pre-orgasm entertainment, with hoops on fire, and some fast talker with a whip.
You won´t see it in a circus.
Rile the audience maybe.