# nice attacks of the friend collector queen jane by bob dylan now plays in the lab background researcher henry's lonely head spins with conflicting emotion oh what singular plastic desire will make foolish researchers do in which henry envisions them out there right now at rest behind a rose bush dressed in ir delicate costume of summer insignificant others stuck behind a thick wall of dusty window glass stink-sweating and staring out from the wrong side of ruffled net curtains; elf-hating super greasy suburban weirdos busy with an active imagination soft movements of hair in the breeze - dark eyes and deep summer spacetime curvatures beaded droplets of sweat and water falling onto one's face as they smile down from above in smothering sensuality so lonely and sensually agitated half sobbing: please drag us back to a terrible semblance of half life before we permanently perish from 'terminal boredom' existential depression and crushing alienation by the social non places overwhelmed by facile slogans and hollow artist manifestos - where dingy marginal living is the often heavy cost of refusing standard bourgeois societal norms where once a year they gently bathe in ir back garden gently afloat in a small inflatable chen ren kovia blue plastic swimming pool staring up at swallows wheeling in effortless gold skies henry swanson (desperately lonely): hot dang researcher i could eat a peach all day while the apple of ir eye admires silently-pained inner longing stares of fellow researchers they don't care for genuine emotional commitment and are generally indifferent to the attention - as it perhaps should be due to messing around and within odd texts other scientific distractions and the precise random placement of a single large garden bush one misses the chance to glimpse such sensual living poetry in motion by precisely eight miserable inches (another hopeless plastic pocket lab ruler twanged hard by reverberating scientific sensuality) feeling uselessly stretched-out by forever brilliant unrequited limerance crawling out of one's lousy rented room-cube yesterday to see them sitting pretty on a deck chair near a brand new set of close pals and confidants tagline: 'instant social success through ambient affiliation' every time they appear the question arises: if they don't need anyone's validation why then do they appear to constantly surround themselves with 'friends' here a friend there a friend - everybody friendly; a perfumed coterie and back slapping harem of dead-eyed zombie admirers deeply ingrained in a herd mentality without an original thought in ir collective skull storefront mannequins who actively never once bothered looking in henry's vague scientific direction to say hi; a bunch of cruel hearts society smoothies (thanks a lot) the lot of you go short-pier leap into a screaming primordial black hole eye also try pulling that stick out of your smug arts for once stop tranquillising the world with your media-astounded triviality (researcher henry makes repeated pulling-stick-out-of-arts motion) // republic of bob