Dope City Jailbreak

[tectak]

Another Edit...?Hi fluo,
A long time coming...doesn't mean big changes but subtlety WILL do. A line by line only this time. You have convinced me you love the piece so I will not disavow you. Here goes.

I wanna be a parasite marching across red-light districts, I do not object to the moden parlance...ever. Is "wanna", though, cerebral enough for the piece? I feel it does the character an injustice. You will see why later
protected by fluorescent umbrellas and atmosphere, love-inflicted. I cannot get the juice out of this meat. What is "love-inflicted"? The protection, the fluorescent umbrella...or neither? If "love inflicted" IS stand-alone, then make it so. A comma is not enough to separate the thought
I wanna disappear in a flurry of red traffic lights and get hung up
in Sunday-newspaper murders that shout lucid profanities
to the skies in searing daylight. OK . It is a long sentence. That "and" is the problem. You have TWO wants. One...to disappear. Two..to get hung up. They are arguably (and sensbly) mutually exclusive. Make it so.

My head's trapped in a ferris wheel's neon parody, This where the"wanna" talk becomes pervasive. You have no meter that I can discern so why "head's" when you could say "head is"? Let "ferris wheel" be the descriptor then "ferris wheel neon parody" reads easier. Who's mouth...why, your's, of course. So no need for "my" and the very awkward "mouth's"..." My head is trapped in a ferris wheel neon parody,
mouth ejaculating wormy, mechanical blood..."
my mouth's ejaculating wormy, mechanical blood
in place of the words that dissolve in gastric acid. To be frank, this gets too thick too soon. Some of the meaning is lost in the sound of the words. Sound is good but it should not drown out meaning. Just read it to your milkman and see if he gets it.
I swear it's not my fault it's the morphine so please, commafter morphine otherwise it is unclear in meaning. Is it not your fault it's the morphine's fault, or is it not your fault that the morphine is faulty? Harrumph.Comma after morphine for me but you my prefer comma after morphine.
forgive me period

Can't you see that I just wanna leave? Disappear into the collective
conscience, crowd of undulating teenagers at a sweaty concert, oops. Something wrong here. "crowd" is disconnected by grammar/syntax. Read it out loud. Sweaty concert or sweaty teenagers?
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive? Way too crowded. Find another word. What is crowded pollution anyway?
I lie prostrate in front of you so please,
don't make me beg That would be interesting anatomically...but I am letting my imagination run. I know what you mean but do not feel that lying prostrate signifies anything regarding subservience or submissiveness or hierarchy. I lie prostrate in bed...and go to sleep

I'm living in the future already (packed my bags a few years ago), So are we all if we write anything in the past....and the present is SO fleeting. Not sure what this is trying to say that isn't patently bleedin' obvious. I would loose this line. It is pseudo-profound which is not profound at all
but the only thing I see is the past.
I criticize you for not seeing through my eyes
but I'm dead on this linoleum mausoleum floor anyways. This is an unconditional "but". How does "but" depend?

Forty three windows shuddering from forty two floors
towards a horde of immaculately groomed owlets in tuxedoes Hord. I cannot envisage shuddering towards anything...but as the rest of this piece disappears into its own syntactical crevice I am left bemused but unamused. Capitals all over the place and misplaced, words given new catagorisation for the sake of...what? Companies/companys may be a pun but I have lost confidence in your drug-free condition what with neon pink clouds and the definitive but lower case Satan...err...upper case himself. Whaaaa?
riding neon pink clouds that elevator to the ninth circle of Hell,
sharing companies with the satan Himself.

Articulation exists only in corpses. Or, if you want an alternative closing line " The dead are only stiffs for a while" ...and the point is?

As last time, there is some worthy thinking in this but the concept is much smaller than the piece justifies. I think you are padding it out and don't know it.
Best,
tectak

[]

Edit.

I wanna be a parasite trolling red-light districts
under fluorescent umbrellas and love-inflicted atmospheres.
I wanna disappear
in a snowflake flurry of traffic lights and get hung up
in Sunday-newspaper murders, shouting blurry profanities
to the skies in searing daylight.

My head's trapped in a Las Vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set
against a black hole. My mouth's disgorging
wormy, mechanical blood: a lighthouse guiding
prostitutes to their sandalwood-incensed brothels.

Can't you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of undulating teenagers at a sweaty concert;
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?-
-desperately alive.

I'm here and now, and I'm dead
on this linoleum-mausoleum floor.
Can't you see that?

[i]Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of Hell, sharing company with
the satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.

Original.

I wanna be a parasite trolling nightclubbing streets
under fluorescent umbrellas and
love-inflicted atmospheres. I wanna disappear
in a snowflake flurry of red lights and get hung up
in eloquently articulate murders, shouting blurry profanities
to the skies in searing daylight.

Head’s trapped in a las vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set
against a black hole. Mouth’s flapping
wormy, mechanical blood: a dirty lighthouse
guiding parasites and prostitutes to their
respective brothels.

Can’t you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of rippling teenagers at a sweaty concert;
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?—
—desperately alive.

I’m here and now, and I'm dead.
Can’t you see that?
—god!

Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of hell, sharing company with the
satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.

[[this has already been edited from the sprawling, messy original. hopefully it's more poetry-like. personally, i like this, but please rip it apart because i'm obviously biased. also, i used capitals! who's proud of me? i still prefer no capitals, though. ]][/i]