Continually, we do this to ourselves. Carving ratchets out of balsa wood, so malleable, so soft and driven. We could not have done this without the lenience the lapse of the gods, the olympic laps of the gos, a different play on words to provoke thought or laughter, something of screaming success or deeper fortification of cancelled remarks. my past, why delve into it, I would hate that media to seek out horrific details, but there are exposures meant for limelights never understood, hey so glad to meet you and that you found your way here to the site. You are not glad. you are paid. We watched the moon switch between phases in the covers of a tan black white striped comforter. It was bright enough that I could see the outline of your body, the curves and the silhouette of your face so I could educative guess where to plant a kiss. watch what grows when you plant a kiss in the right soil. the lips expanding or falling to pieces with fresh piercings, the pain giving a pleasure that never remembers. a fearless and directionless leader through the hallways of torture. we are both now stranded in cold and delicate air, the stagnant clouds between mountaintops when in between there is no god damn movement for something like 12 hours aside from a journey over to dinner, but the same vegetables come out and the same vibes reintroduced us to the mold. no reason to stay up and listen to those old songs and think about sex. help get it in. whatever. I'm out to make something of myself. If I am good enough they will notice no matter what personality I hide behind. Reel in those outsider personalities, this all needs to be closer synthesized into realizing the real me. there are lines to cross and bridges to make or to burn, invention of teleportation without second thought, we could become the band that gets famous for a hundred reasons, oh that guy who helped build the frame of that house is now in a famous rock band. oh. huh. stadium rock show. make up and hairdressers and moody lack of individualism. i cringe to think of myself becoming a puppet on that silver screen. the image becoming less me and the music becoming less me. i could always quit so there is always an out. but here there is no reason for that to happen. become a great musician first and then doors open once genius is discovered. far work to become genius. in over our heads. in over our heads. in over my head. speak up less and with less inflamed inflection. what happens when i settle and the ground is a repetitious cycle of repeated fact and recorded visions. the conversations always nearly remain superficial now... sad development in this story. i need a friend and i dont want to play video games and smoke weed all day.
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Allergic to the counterproductive afternoon. Drinking beers and eating the food that ruins the shape of the body, the rounded belly but it is a life cycle to be involved in and evolved in, smoking huge joint and watch comedy, roasting charlie sheen and two half episodes of south park one starting in the middle the other cut off near the middle while musical distraction ensued. persuade me to cut out the drums in order to consider them to rap up the party life after a long night of anit sobriety in order to free style compare originality in layers of words and grooves but the distraction ruined everything. Devil laughs and understands our strife. Vengeance on the slaughtered dreams.
Oh, for a cultural revolution
