Tubular


Getting down and dirty late in the night,
by on little time,
getting through all the darkness to light up my mind,
figuring out how to finish this booklet of pampering the god within
choosing to stay fragmented just to keep the machines at bay,
keeping them standing on the edge
waiting for me to get clean.
whatever that means to them today.

So deep into the end of time, the moment when I stopped writing about now.
The time when we froze to stay cool,
so the dog days of summer wouldn’t beat us down,
so my digital fingers could not see how I wrote this with just my mind,
but I typed in stereo, and so again it looked like I affected the same old mass communication of wide-range symphonies.
Are they fake or are they real?
Are they phony, or are they still on the phone?
are you still calling me back?
Are we still online and is this three-way call still a menagerie of musings?
can we move on to say that this is not the worst crank call I’ve ever dealt with?

Is there a way to continue without costing us money?
there must be something I’m missing here.
You must be out of the loop, and thank the lord for that because we finally can move on to another subject of the truth.
Are we moving past this constant?
are we presenting ourselves in the outfit we wish?
does your attire match your wardrobe?
does your match strike a deal with the beuro?
Is your armior got a mirror?
can you see me?
is your reflection recollecting the past from when you nailed it.
To the door.
to the hall.
deck it.
another jingle that reminds you of a time when presents were a gift, and another tune that made me forget why we do this all the time.
another time to say, wait a minute, where am I?
You either lost me or we gained some respect for your consideration.
Drop it. Leave it. Back off. quit confusing me.
Without this separation of division, this unification of selfless identity crisis has me figured out, and now I am in trouble once again, but that’s ok cause I was never meant to fall out of here again. I can go down, cause I can always come back up.
The reason is ambiguous, and that is what I do best. Confuse those that are just now getting with the program, and now we really got a good old fashioned plane of existence that is chaotic as ever. As it was always meant to be. Don’t burn me at the stake for realizing that across the pond they smoke a fag on the daily and nobody takes offense.
Americans are so out of touch. And I am one of them. I must have been born in the wrong century. Bring me back to the era of Shakespeare and William tell, I’ll shoot this arrow, this head that I have smithed that is finer than the point I tried to make ages ago. I am reviving the movement of days when Mozart would write an entire orchestra’s sheet music down moments before the presentation, hand off the copies, and make them play his stream of consciousness fresh off the press. It was so grandiose, so gargantuan, so fulfilling to the crowd that the people would run out of the amphitheater losing their minds at what a genius his creations were! What fantastic music! What joyous conflicting mesmerizing features. What made this atrocity to be banned from the crown? Is that historical fact? I’m not sure but its a great story.

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