How is the view from the pot that you piss in; is it not the same one that you stew in?
What about the clocks you put your faith in or the wasteful space you consume in?
How would it taste if that place was ruined?
What if you were sailing in the ocean and lost all your crewmen?
What would you do then?
Would you spew then?
Would you swim for the dark hue ocean or the smart blue shark’s fin?
Would you go for the win?
Would you throw a fit then or get over it; would it stop what you’re doing, would you be through then?
What if they were crew women?
Would that change your decision?
Would that rearrange your disposition?
What of the vain skies of blue in the world that you’re strewn in?
How can one complain at the same wind that blew in the seeds that one sewn too thin?
Would you know then, if you changed the pot that they grew in?
Would they grow then if there was not a lesson, or a clue you pretend to portend?
What would happen if you didn’t, would you happen to have to slew men, pillage the village, screw women and bait children?
Wait, what happened, I thought that you were a “Christian”; would you need to say it again if it were the truth then?
Am I too ruthless; am I yelling from the roof again?
Are you familiar with cumin?
Do you use it when you’re cooking or am I alluding to acumen?
Or the facts that you’re acting and you never know what you do then?
Why is the flu in the air that you breathe in; what would you do if you really knew the reason?
Why is what you breathe out different than what you drew in?
How can you see anything but the season or the things that you knew then?
Is anything you know proven?
Are you assuming that you understand what you ruin?
Is there a hand to protrude with, to rise and ask questions; is that what your true is, do you think you need a new friend?
Do you drink the swill you brew then?
Do you link the will to you then?
Would you sink if you were swimming; is a beginning too soon to end?
Is your patience running too thin?
Is your face raining; is your brain the place that you don’t open and wait for things that flew in?
Are you the sleuth for the case then; do you erase from the picture that you drew in?
Are you a preacher or a mason?
Are you one of the un-tasteless or the one that it replaces; are you having fun with a few then?
Where would one run to then?
Would you end what started without you, when you didn’t have a clew then?
Do you need to define that too then?
Do you need other men to describe that for you then, or did you invent the moo before the cow said it to you; if that happens to be true, when?
What happens to me or you then?
Are we free in the glue that we’re hewn in?
Can we possibly be any more stupid, with all this delusion?
Or should I say dilution?
Does that mean that we’re doomed then?
Am I finished or would you be through then?
Can you breathe with your head in the deep end of the loo bin?
Would you bleed instead of being true then?
Is there a blemish in the stream that you pee in or the rubbish that you call free men?
You must speak for the trees then; is that too mean or fantastic to be proven?
What then?
Is it a clean or sarcastic way to ruin the last words that I threw in?
Is the spleen just a bastard organ; or an empty space to play with nothing to do in?
Is it a sheen you don’t see until you zoom in?
Why do you flee when you find “it” isn’t true then?
What does true mean to you then?
Would you still coo if it had nothing to do with you then?
Where were you when men invented true then?
Where you a thing when it all happened; or do you still cling to what you can’t control then?
Indeed, I must be on a roll then; is it something of the self left upon your shelf to be seen, is there nothing else to do, friend?
…
May I ask another question?
…
Is that what it really means to be a human?
Fartfist's Compendium of Artistic Expressions 