Pink Slad on the Shud-casti.

By
One
There’s a boy sitting atop of his roof
The sun sets slowly,
recoloring the entire sky,
It struggles to leave an impression before being snuffed out
He doesn’t really appreciate it.
He sits with his radio
Obscure acoustic music taints the beauty with cacophony
He doesn’t really enjoy it.
The roof shingles scrape his palms
They shred the undersides of his pants
But he prefers good image over good comfort.

Two
There’s a man at a short film convention
He wanders about beforehand
Hoping nearby moviegoers notice his shoes are made of hemp
The film begins to play
A Little girl stands on an unsteady balance beam
The balance beam bridges across a flowing creek
She performs gymnastics
In a glittery ballerina costume
A Narrator discusses a purchase they made at K-mart on October third.
It’s nonsensical
But the man convinces himself there is deeper meaning,
He puts on a face of understanding when people glance at him.

Three
A girl is in a field of wheat,
She and her friends run about in it
They pretend they are entertained
They go to further lengths,
They pretend they’re transcendental.
They shun Society
They shun technology
They take pictures with their digital cameras and post them online.

I am there with them, hiding back, wishing I wasn’t
We are unique because we are alike
We are a people of contraries
We are the proprietors of hypocrisy
We are independent together
We listen to vinyl records with horrible quality
And pops and cracks that make the record sound like the 4th of July
We are judgmental of everyone but ourselves
They’re too judgmental of us
We are the only ones who will ever truly understand anything
And we are unlike anyone else…
I got John Lennon’s glasses yesterday.





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