Wednesday, 17 October 2012

A Portrait of Kenyersel

Well, howdy there my fellow machines, my fellow cogs of the universe. Kenyersel is back once again, with a heart felt fuck you. It's just part of the Kenyersel ideal. Nothing to gain. Nothing to lose. Is that not fine and dandy?
I'm lying here in my scratcher analysing the weeks affairs. The weeks events like, and I can safely say that everything and nothing has occurred. The weekend involved the usual tomfoolery.
Midnight clowns flood my peripheral vision as I stand in the alphabet club on Sauchiehall Street. There is an acrid stench of conformity about the place. Not my ideal hang out, you see. Full of carefree machines. The cogs are finely oiled and spinning away nicely within this joint. All moulding into the same structure. Aye. That's crystal fuckin clear. So I drink more and more. I'm only here because of my acquaintances, and they go anywhere where there may be a so called 'piece'. That's a bird, or a lady if you prefer, machine. Are we posthuman yet? Cuz it fuckin feels it sometime ken. ken. ken.
So, it's the smell of conformity and cogs in here that are confusing Kenyersel. I'm not saying Kenyersel is not a cog either likes cuz he is if you are too. And, let me tell you my friend - you are a cog. A nice and shiny one too. Our infrastructure is the binding joints and the oily slime that keeps you turning is Kenyersel. So dinnae worry, I'll keep you turning, machine.

No comments:

Post a Comment