Mar 01st A.

Abstract shifts in view of time, the month has turned and so’s the mind. Running, running on the spot, can’t wait to start, can’t start to stop. All the causes plead for me, “The Monsters minions all are thee”. I cannot do the things you wish, but it’s not my talent that’s shoed with ish. My heart is broken like my mind, my belly works, but churns and grinds. I see a chance to me it calls, but I won’t take it please recall. Every being upon this north, of profit, bills, and things they talk. No hope for futures only ‘Nows’, from cow to calf, from calf to cow. Give me something free of it, this steaming mountain made from bits, of shiny-shineys, baubles, bells, objects worthless at death’s knell. I need to work but not for them, the scheming, greedy business men. “Sell it! Sell it! Sell some more! Sell until your wallet’s soar!” Bleeding notes are worthless tat, ‘Churchills’, ‘Queens’, and other prats, it’s only paper in your hand (Or plastic’s now the growing trend). If you have it while it works, spend on buildings, land and earth, or buy tools plenty, plant a tree, build a boat and sail to sea. Pointless things are killing me.


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