Archives of the joblessSuicideBomber II

this is not megalomania.not even my 15 lines of self lenient fame.nope.i dont recall any starlit saturday night starin into the dissolutions of my urban audience.nothin about the skeletons unaccounted for.a cliched bare all session with my pshycic alter ego.nothin more than a muffled plea at freedom.i was irredeemably human once.the fishin around on an empty pocket for a marasmic blind child cradled by a teenage mother\to be.starin in cinema scope at run down centres for the mass production of human pity.utopian dreams of a tiny universe of goodness and chocolate shakes for everyone.i was a child too.like evrybody once was.the politics of radium stickers and automated tiffin carriers.and lost crayons and flouroscent sketches.the gawks at anything with wings.interludes of ivan the terrible and sojourns into little pockets of perennial water guns and the phantasms of kissin the fairy goodbye.i was untiringly hopeful.couldn't be cynical even if i tried to.what's wrong?.wrong?.there was god.and a few favourites. pals of macabre loyalty.and promised goodies of imaginary overtones.i was loved.hated?i don't know.it was never important.it was schools let off and sudden paradise.desponent pleas for adventures afetr sunset.attempts at pre teen masterpieces at art and literature.grades and the remote controlled car.without the wire.god made children.old people died of not cancer and blocked arteries but because the bearded fella was fallin short of good company.con jobs at scalin the high walls of trouser pockets for salted mango slices and the rented cycles.modulated tales of fierce heroics and inflated accounts of parental wealth.brag bags of foreign uncles and metaphysical artefacts of imaginary lands.