Memory ageing, clouding, dissolving. Breathe for me, O coffee machine, zap the brain, tickle the mind turn on Word and Start-up in the poetic mode, tease the creative tooth. I grew up in. WeUre back to Genghis Khan, forward to Mohamed the Muslim, world conquerors riding in on stock options, beheading the rest, making life too expensive to live for those who only want to breathe a little coffee, a little coke, the nothingness of a pleasant day, a mild evening.
World conquest is back in fashion in disguise.
Four or five masters, the rest slaves begging even seed from corporate oligarchs. The coffee has stopped breathing in the pot. The caffeine embalms my veins.