Shit Factory

YBFJ 

by: STAR FINGER

YBFJ

Dedicated to the beautiful people,  where do they all come from?

Shit Factory

Inventory Weekend, it’s blush, sorted out, picked and screaming to the brink of madness. It’s blush, this lackluster oz-chaotic-system. We slaves rush aimlessly through aisles of dirt and dust, skin cells and material handling, prompted to wear silicone masks enforced to shield our eyes and ears from the dust balls cannon touch.

IT’s inventory week at Hot Topic’s natural spring, once upon a time I was a consumer now I am a producer, product enduser. I hope it takes me trying the machine, no machines here, not even a mouse. And I look good in my faded jeans piercing face, especially when I bet over to log in 7[jg)tx9, I knew he was watching I wore my prettiest thong holding for a chance to bed and snap.

“No machine left standing!”,said Larry over the loudspeaker..”who the <hell is Larry I thought while touching my face and holding my head against the wall.

“NO MACHINE! NO MAAaaachine! Maaaaachhhinessss.,. Wouldja look at that? No machines, only hands that need cream, sooo loquashish, I’m a bit of everything yet perturbed.

                                Xoxo

[Snippy Metallic]

1\30\2023

Have the pearls gone missing? Blue topaz on the rising of the sun.

Once broken sheer hours, now rules Horus, Hathor, Ishtar and the magus; Have the pearls gone missing? My invocation escapes into the rotten steel air, as Jill walks by so fast I hardly caught a glimpse, not even a hint of her gaze. The flash duration, how long can we take it the beauty and the beating.

How long the light lasts

To grow and glow-

Eisenstein action strobe

Have the pearls gone missing?

Electric, karma, adding distance, thumbnails, notes of the correct refraction of recreating, resubmitting-

Sardonoxy, peridot, garnet and the finder. He who freeze’s action and smoke. In the week of frozen exile my lungs and liver began to choke. February, Feb, Feb, the 6th stone cold.

Haven’t the pearls truly gone missing? Said the preacher to the moon. I wrote this at a fashion show. Shit who knows, perhaps I’ll find them soon. If not it’s never too late, Kate, my slave friend.