Hell! I don't know!
A Pastel Blue Atomic Bomb is
A Pastel Pink Atomic Bomb is
My Dads Pastel Lavender home
is right smack in the middle.
A bit of sarcasm for you nostalgia
buffs. Wishing you were back in the good old days, crying and cringing
under your desk at school, a pooling of urine for our Beloved Loving Fathers.
My hair is greased down in a Ducks
Ass. Pink Pegged Pants and Black Bombers.
I know I am going to die, so what
gives with all the rules. What am I doing in school?
Why is God kissing the Popes Golden
Why are we behaving for a Bleeding
Jesus? What is worse, nailing a man to a cross and letting him die in a
long bitter agony or hanging an Atomic Pastel Bomb over a innocent child’s
head and letting them whimper, shiver and piss. And then to top this off,
you mentally or literally smack their hands with your Golden Ruler.
And you wonder why the sixteen
year old children are putting flowers in guns?
And you wonder why we rebelled?
I am almost sixty years old and
I still think you are Golden Asses.
Who is begging who to bite the
Red Bomb is our Rosary Garden?
I know! I know the answers now.
But do all our children know?
I didn't mind all the pastel back
then, but I was scared of the stinking bombs.
Children want to live in the Garden
of Eden. Let them live in the Garden of Eden.
Don't let them die in some smut
Build them the Garden, not the
A Green Mist
To sway opinions
with voices of light.
A bit of sarcasm
for you nostalgia buffs.
It may have
been Pleasantville for you, but it was not for Pleasantville for me.
be learned by dropping out and living in poverty.
Words & Graphics by Tomas