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BsP, Poet Laureate of WhatDothLife

Wonderful style, hand rolled ciggarettes, Foucalt in his pocket, BsP is coming to a show near you. Ben recently stopped in at some Boston shows including one with the Pilgrims and one with The Images (feat, Pete ala Death Pesos). Read below for wordsmithings of our resident Neal Cassady

Death sales fall short with Pilgrims

It all happens at once,
Nothing ever happens/
What’s impossible/
Starting to takeover-

Time no longer supports the line
A nasty traverse
Spiral

Those goddamn modish sympathies/
All the fucking Amphetamine/
Elvis’ pantless performance
Foucault caught Aids in San Fran
Keruack died- was never forgotten as he should have been

It Ain’t pretty and we’ve lived this long
It Ain’t Pretty and it never ever was
It Ain’t Pretty and the Pilgrims can’t do wrong

Like Dylan at Newport they take the ax to expectation
Like Thomas drink is simply a symptom
The Rythym the Rythym the Rythym

The lack there of!
Freeeee
Just playing

Set your self esteem on auto,
Do what you want to,

It ain’t pretty anyway

Look at the dance,
It’s a fifteen person mob
There is simple individuality
A marxist poem

Joy Division induced seizures
All of them, there ever was-
Rolling butts for boys with hair,

Teaching teachers lessons
The cinnema aught not
Advertisements and

The apocalypse, that would be something.
Something beyond a scope of reason and
Intelligence has trained me to deal

30 data from know.
30 days from right now
The size/scope if apocalypse? In terra bytes.

It wouldn’t be a hard drive.
Why so sad? The Pilgrims asked the lad.
Mom she was in bed
Attacking my dad!

Rehab behemoth- play me a story,
Put something on tv, I miss my wife
Make it gory-

You seem to think James Dean was an authority!?
An author no less than of
An
Achillean story,
Set in chills
Balls,
Wells
Blacks with bobs
Wiggin’ out in all their hereditary glory!

It ain’t pretty,
It never was
It ain’t pretty concluded the story
It ain’t pretty,
It ain’t
It ain’t;
It

2: Amphetamine Stone: Insecure 114

The images?
awesome,
Yeah says adderal child to the
Bunny man.
So much leather in the land of the vegan
Is the party over or is it just for health?

The lack of selfless amphetamine consumption
In the poly gen, ultimatums-
Orgies
Pie throwing
It’s all stepping on ties,
Falling offcoathangers

On an unearned trail of entitlement lost 120 years ago,
Self indulgent white girls,
Ego bashing white boys
Can’t kick
what show your insurance card,
That bed
Kick ass it’s yours,
If he don’t become dead,
We will lose this white settlement

Too much heroin for this white moby,
Not enough of a crystal to get him going
The silken pubed irony,
The sappy shit calling himself Buggs bunny.
A trial of 10 month relationship
Sounds of gagging ’cause it’s not funny
Lyrics of carrying hand guns self inflicted wounds

No longer any woman for him to call honey

Bloody and arrogant those sniffling eyes scared to move
They shut up for a whole,
Set up for some better tunes.
The ceiling collapsed the universe has jammed through
Reflections of the bass are clear
The snare rattles the covers clean
Blues Traveller sets the scene.

Now what the fuck is this?
The kid from the Phoenix is out?
If this be’s a show for him?
For music ain’t any hope!

And yet a cloud burst,
That black rain does fall,
Pessimism as the ground spins,
The stars making rainbows
In the runoff of mascara.
Bad facial hair
Aerosol deodorant
Old spice cologne
Pete Frampton perfume
Dream’n on 1976 prom.

Dear god I need a whiskey,
For I’m the only one who moves

These kids pumped up with amphetamine wish they stayed at home

No dime, no drink, lost hope
Lame hype, at least they are older

The kids with ampdstiffed bones.

3: Can’t Shit with you standing there

It’s so tight, dem brown shoes,
Turn’n sphynx to silkworm
I’ve godose lack of fiber blues

Still smoking over creamy watered down coffee,
The Bowery dissentery just makes me squirm
Sorry not today for an exit only screw

Got ah sneak a snake through
Low riding jeans, for plumbin sake
Still got that lack of oxygen
From pushin’ and gruntin’ till my face turned blue

4: royalty exiled: save face

Nearly empty an hour til Tuesday,
Something free at a ZuZu frontier through middle
East, a block owned corner of cambridge,
No college no parties in Middle East now
Andrew got fired- W.K. Shock rock Doc

Then leaving decidededly returning quickly
Pulled by that rhythemless distortion
As Sartre exiled to the fringes of existentialism propelled deeper into
Maaaaaarxism

Again Sartre claims it was Marx that conceived the ideology,
As I in the throws of Cambridge concieved the dance
You’d think after a Pulp Fiction,
The Mods, and you know music
Drugs,
There’d be a dancing, the first f in our play- the only
F in ucking but no just this one girl.

That Buddha bellied zebra-
Sexxed the shit out of the room-
That second set, always a best bet
Nigh, a noise a beat, distorted slim.
But now the sexed slut opens her womb
Shakes her hips.
Lets her lungs go- the stones stand stiff

Led by my crotch
The incandescence of trodden sequin
Her on her knees, can’t bee caught
Ne’er by the camera nor the half full beer can

Shot through full of ampules; of sound Amplified
Her screech was for more; sex personified
I buttoned my cardigan, and put on my jacket fearing hello
Booked towards the door and nearly cried, died and forgot my new bowler.

5: Seasonal Haiku Autumn

Crossing the river
He busted out the window
Fall came to an end

6: 21′st gen blue

It is so clear, where do we go though
A culture of complacency, all commerce centered on sex
Corruption defined, lust life
Lust for life, tailoring of a terribly
Outmoded model, poly-
Then a new gender,
So many new genre since graduation day.
Too navigate the world,
I made a terrible plan-
Based on tradition
And look where I am?

7: le sam

It started in deep depression.alone
Seeing things.
Starting to bee seen- noticed by animals
Attacked, followed.
Trusting Laying down I am safe.

Entering, a world, a simple door,
The homeless. A comfort, a rich child,

A baby 4, or 6 whatever a little myazaki doll hands me money

Thank you, hero.

What little lady, you goof

A hundred dollar bill

I am not a soldier, the jacket a fraud

Take your money- save your money

I must give you something, to see how it is used.

A simple dollar

A deaf woman a terrible communication. Piles of hundreds beside here. An 19th century doctors bag overflowing with foreign monies.

Hospital, hotel, hospital

8: lost chains- an ode to the west

I’ve looked for you everywhere

All ive found is the same Asian

With flat shoulder length hair

Eyes so black, in pretty clothes

Or shirking insecure athletic wear

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