Category: Planetary Status Reports

Get into your FORD ECONOLINE van …

Stop at the CHEVRON, and load up on gas and cigarettes and whiskey and love …

WE’RE MOVING!

WE’RE MOVING to an AGE!

I’d say we’re moving to an age of scrotal enlightenment, and one day crab cures at 7/11 …

I’d say we’re moving to an age of one night stands and old time’y cocaine festivals …

I’d say we are being pushed, to the event horizon, of a lost world of dollar store nightmares …

We’re building our cliff dwelling lifestyles not far from the old abandoned school, we’re chopping up woodchuck spleen, and adding in some pepper and watching it bloom … we’re moving …

I’d say we’re moving to an age where JESSE JACKSON sells Teslas to jackals …

I’d say we’re moving to an age where douche bag priests take pictures of swallows …

I’d say the KRIEGUZ-REALM has fallen, and all the old demon lords are dead …

I’d say my Jezebel proctologist is done testing my urine for poo, and done testing my poo for champagne … we’re on the MOVE.

We’re heading west of S’compton, as trailblazers and weird fantastic freaks. We’ll make magic as we make hay and sell our junk sausage to old miserable pock faced shit heads who run the swizzle game and feed on girl glass. It’s an age of mountains on fire and the aerie world of regret spinning out of control – our own minds melted by time’s stale torch.

We can hack it on the high seas, dodging whale carcass and decaying reefs. We’ll build a home on plastic land, the giant plastic island, the continent of crap – and our children will feed on the motor oil fowl, they’ll run from shark and snake, they’ll BBQ bush meat and simmer in urine duress. As we bleed, our path is more clear and the land is further away …

Because we’re moving …

Moving to an AGE.

[curated: 3/10/23]