I was furious

(sugary prose-based irrationalisms; 'high falootin'-ness factor': 9)

I was furious with life, it flowed out of me, I was smiling in sunshine and clouds parted for me, I was sailing on a river of diamonds and the moon made of dynamite, I looked inside and the man gave me an axe to hew out a life. There were many men inside, I had to calm them, they argued, I was worried but when dawn came they were all one mind, and we set out from base camp to tackle the summit. There was rain and wind but we knew how to cover, the hours stretched out like fingers searching for the key, a moment to make a break. The captain told me "In heaven, we will be pirates for good, we'll steal love back from devil, and angels shall cover the earth with sugary flakes sweet wines and dream waffles."

My ocean is an hourglass of watersand, swirling into whole, turned on its head every ten minutes, always sinking and rising and drowning and exploding. "There's no reason not to buy back your soul," she said; "I'll buy it back and when the mounties come and the men from the government, they'll see what I did - I did it in self defense... to save my baby." She speaks rubbish, but in the syllables of the fundament, rhythm echoing from gorgon caves, eternal weapons to beat back demons turning everything to stone. We crawl from mud onto sand into light of day. It's a wave and particle, a miracle of science, a mystery at the basest level of physics. The professors sat around, threw up their hands one day and gave in to the mystics, it’s an argument that won't ever go away, so let’s make the best of it. Something coming 'round that corner bend, a shaft of white light, raging softly into night, fighting that good metaphysical fistfight.

Draped in the machinations of a monolith, sucked on juices swirling colours and mixing paints, we have this electric machine, it makes everything into the same thing, so every man is a retinal scan, then it takes one thing and interprets it in ten million ways. It's the legacies of Einstein and Newton fighting each other not so secretly that creates this confusion; everyone needs some basic education because the basic questions last forever, so I will teach you what to ask.

The mute men appreciate me, they need me. But oh I need the loud men, the angry bastards, I cower in fear from them, and they'll never understand how much they inspired me.

Why does the lady sing so sad? We listen so much to the prayerbook jingles, we’re so religious, we get our rock n roll blues from the Book of Job.

Is that all the beauty you possess? I give you all my respect, but don't you dare touch my paycheque. Who stole my ideas? I'll steal yours, ask the unseen fingers clicking the other end of the wireless. I just wrote 12 songs and lent an album to the universe. I got raped by Napster and Blogger and Google. I don't have a lawyer, this isn't my intellectual property, but at least I'll have my audacity - because this is an act of charity. I’m so free like Lou Reed, to what can he be compared and how can he be classified, casually living your hipster ideals but he doesn't even give a f**k.

The muggles free of magic there are so levelheaded and tragic - so here it's angst and dirge, binge and purge; walk, crawl, in mud and smoke, amid the slugs, potato bugs, hoped up on drugs, eventually conquering the labyrinth with Ariadne's rope.