Vision Squared

The man who walked down the street dressed as a television with its belt on inside out could never remember where he was going and when he arrived there he could never remember how he got there. This would happen every day with the consistency of a paved road full of potholes. This used to bother him, but since he has had the cannon installed in his nasal cavity, he no longer cares and now has the ability to turn into a rainbow in the shape of two women having sex for research purposes only as they drove scum crusted cars out of their minds into a puss covered opening in the shape of a wombat on it’s way to a hair cut dressed as a story about to move into your neighborhood and drive down the value of the morals and is that anyway to treat a trick that is going down in a t-shirt with hot rod flames on it as you spin around and plead for the return of something that never left any food on it’s plate as it went to town looking for answers to questions that refused to brush their teeth with the victims of multiple multiplication tables and chairs and people who need to exercise their demons at least twenty minutes a day in the shadow of your mile after smile after a dinner for two different parts of the political process that forms just as soon as you pay your finders keepers losers and sinners all gathered here to slay the economy as darkness dances with a stranger in a suit made of neckties while the sky grows arms and speaks in a sign language no one understands, meanwhile Back at the Inkwell (notorious for her taste in clothes) rapes the eyes of an all night diner just before closing time and out on the streets the hand of god thumbs a ride from a two-tone boom box while balancing the sky on a six pack of white line fever just a half a block from Saturday night.