(dictionary.com lookup: quip)

Let us baptize ourselves with whisky and wiggle our elbows in deep purposelessness. And chant whatever word happens to fall in front of us. To declare the message of this new century. In words of never!!, and words of soon... And words that quibble, and words that wound. That anything might just as well be anything. As with anything else.

Let us not mean business. Let us not take opportunity. Let us not snack. Let us not bite. Let us not “otherwise”. Let there not be anything “furthermore”. Let us not honk. Let us not be reasonable men. Let us not ask why. Let us not stare. Let us not try to look beyond the inch of darkness before each one of us.

This flesh is fake. This flesh is fucked. This flesh is a wiggling jolt of insecurity. This flesh stinks of the vile that causes bad conversation. This flesh higgles, niggles, squiggles, and continues to rhyme in so many bad ways. This flesh was laminated by your mother with shame.

There is no purpose. No point. No reason. No fairness. No correctness. Nothing justifiable. Nothing worth a damn thing. Nothing true. Nothing beyond this moment.

And there isn’t anything you can do. Not anything beyond this moment.

What will you do with this moment? Oops, too late cause its gone. And so on...