Arising from a false sense of entitlement, the convict, blessed with a laughable fear of flip phones and reversible overcoats, fantasises about a rose that could erase borders. He dreams of a world rid of septicemia, horse racing and abundant facial hair. Who took the pillowcase from the crater where he once stood? Where are all the lethal frappuccinos made from the echo of Geminis? Why is there no man-made equivalent to a meteor? One thing is sure: he who invented the smell of gas wants his voice heard out of wedlock, hence conversing solely in oversimplified onomatopoeia. Faithful to his strict vegan principles, he’d never cheat at hopscotch. So, who wants to be his lovable mistaken identity?
Lovable mistaken identity
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Lovable mistaken identity
Arising from a false sense of entitlement, the convict, blessed with a laughable fear of flip phones and reversible overcoats, fantasises about a rose that could erase borders. He dreams of a world rid of septicemia, horse racing and abundant facial hair. Who took the pillowcase from the crater where he once stood? Where are…
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Swan or pelican
Nocturnal fantasies enunciated with a slur, deer shying away from the dark, spawning tales of a close encounter with a passing lorry. Swallowing headlights with fast food, God on speed dial, obligated to return the favour and give birth to the moon. Crossing the Atlas on a silver spoon bathing in gamma rays, while some…
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Coughing up the funk
Tricked into nude photographs of the self by a granular sense of escapism for generations, stare too long into the skull’s heart-shaped eyes, and become a short-lived meme. Dye your hair blond halfway down, coughing up the funk with a fist in the air, tired of the same blatant use of sub-par indigenous ballads. Ready…