Orly. Sure, drugs can be part of it for many waking voids, but they don't have to be. And, clarity ever at the fore, we needn't be uncleverer than ourselves to unpack things simply. Is this all this is for? We try to leave it a better place than we find it, but tarring and feathering is our programming. I love you, but not in a blow-vick's-vapor-rub-on-my-face-to-this-beat, or even spin-in-these-lawn-seats-with-me sort of way. Skim, assume, drift, and stack cash. What else is there? "I'm here to help, but can only open the door," said some a-hole who knew I wasn't a privileged initiate.
Spinning Tom Petty's dirty coffin like we're lumberjack log-rollers is so post-Younger-Dryas impact. Laugh and the world just thinks you're a nutter, cry and the children will laugh, but fart...farting makes everything so much better. And it's about all the new scratch/sniff modifications seem to've left us 'round ch'ere as we build the 'temple within'?
Upcountry degens unite! Ya suppose. It's just...escapism's lost any luster amid all that's always been exigent beneath the distortion field. There's more light than we can see, yet. But keep calling me crazy. I can fake it. I invented the punchline before most here were born and expired well before that mid-encephalon. Come see some deeds, because watching these words wills us nowhere; and how do we pay hollow forward?
Now I can set this microphone down gently and leave. Nope, don't try to stop me. I mean it this time.
:noyoutakeyourmeds:
