Pledge

[more nonsensical than usual]

Got drain leavings to declog. When I'm done you'll hear me every day for a month. Acid builds up in the soul's muscles. Massages hurt the next day. Another twisted neck, case of heartbreak, gut rot. 

Put yourself on the line and things get interesting. Stake your rep on a promise. You won't let down the fans. I mean, if you had fans. I mean, whatever.

We want myriad things, too many to encyclopedize. The massive gut wants more.

Building a tent beside the highway to Dubai, the most overbuilt shitstorm on the planet.

"I just came to say hello." ~Martina

I'm a master mummy; fully drained of fluid in my rocking chair, dessicated but with useful anecdotes. I told the one about the tortoise and hare, and the kids got bored. I said 'ok check out my art exhibit'. I try not to make children scream, but they get lollipop fingers on my knitting needles.  Never mess with a middle-aged man's makework project.

Reconstruct awareness. Reconstruct ray of consciousness. Reconstruct the last authoritative version of your hopes and dreams- -a narrative to disguise your personal chaos. The trackable tale convinces passersby. Need a copywriter to tell the story of your olive oil, pressed from virgin trees in a small town in Abruzzo, so it'll be worth a 500% markup on the big box stores. One taste and you know what your tongue was for.

What words wind from mind, and what from keyboard rhythm, product of muscular bias--easier to spell depending on spacing of keys? Whatever became of the random flight of bumblebees?

Anarchy won't let you be. Sid Vicious, a bassist dead from an overdose, a '70s badboy with BO and sweat stains, blew his brains out on fame. I wanna be, the prince of malarkey. He never know God though. The mass is too predictable, too slow.

No matter what you say, people need to tell you later. Everybody wanna step on their creator.

Climbing Lou Reed's mountain of feedback - he powers his soul with battery acid. Don't be part of the scenery, step out from the machinery, grab your things, I've come to take you home.

Sooner or later you face off with bananas or booze. You've got the love, the handshake, the warmth, you've got the what-to-keep and what-to-cut. Though don't preface with hurried praise - you're telegraphing 'but'.