new fuck

T H E   B O T T O M   F E E D E R S 

the mighty detritivores feed on the bottom of humanity

hungry for the scraps of freedom

you discard as uncomfortable:

for the frilled sharks of the abyss

every bite of freedom is a bite of great vigoration!

...and every quark of nutrience they can trace in it, be sure they will suck it out:

no-one but these feeders of the bottom care much about

as we call it

the freedom of choice,

and it is often thought of as a mere bycatch

in the grandiose fishers' nets of existence ―

yes, indeed, nowadays

it has been left behind like unexploded ordnance, the whole idea of it;

the waters by which you bathe in your sun of hope

have never even ben swept of their mines ―

but what do you care? you will not take a swim anyway.

coward.

yeah:

nowadays the oceans have puked forth from its bellows

these feeders of the bottom;

the flounders; the frill-sharks; the sea-stars;

the haddocks; the cat-fish; the anemones...

and the beaches strand overwhelmingly with their cadavers:

their eyes stare like the hearts of debased prostitutes

through the prism of your fractured and miserable spirit,

which explodes with light at the direct contact:

yes, these ugly fuckers remind you of something important:

the healing of your problems

are postponed until further notice, man:

no god cares,

solace is a mechanism of defense,

and you can forget about that absolution.

sincerely, with a heartful greeting

from all the frill-sharks down there:

fuck you;

fuck you for never utilizing the freedom

for which you demand privilege as compensation.