Byline: Rebel Plan Sequence
Writing on walls and watching others make do isn't an exercise in passing time. Embedding truth in activity is sport for kings.
In youth and beauty wisdom is rare but not many get to jam on novelty songs about drugs and monsters. Redemption finds its way in strange places.
There are no hot new lunchboxes here. No nostalgic backdrops. Maybe it's not enough to be niche perhaps it's best to be several niche.
Interviewing werewolves is some good time but everybody knows graffiti kids got it all over most everyone.
Virtue and fame meet in the middle between error and avarice during primitive millennia with madmen armed without the proper metadata.
Mixing it up under moonlit midnights, the time comes when we all need to get our operations sorted and find out if we are any good at staying low and creating snowy nothingness from crystal mysteries that come crashing down around us.
Hip city rockers rock tales over cocktails, jump up from widescreen emotional dramas, sweeping stillness over fake landscapes.
Hurrying up and waiting for past anxieties to catch up with present tenses and pretending to stand by and allow music to merely become a part of the performance when it is the sake of the performance is idle time.
Outlines were meant to be trumped in practice. The mistake, the experiment is what the scheme is about. Rebel plan sequences scream out for graffiti contexts.
All the roots get eschewed and chewed up but dead men don't rise from dirt and everyone's soul is sealed in the same soil.
Calling my love my torment and my torment my love is a fault beyond the roars of gold and great variations in the night.
No burnt out artists who happen upon success by living up to art as a service profession can claim that they're not so far from beautiful. But stories and actual incidents do vary and being wild, wise and beautiful is way too dangerous a combination to fathom.
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