Byline: Bleeding the Legend
She's got an attitude, she's so damn rude.
Her moving parts are evil, her ways wicked. Outrage and unrest are her game.
This engine makes you paranoid when it decides to paralyze but we have to find a way to keep it going, keep searching for the password to her heart, the login to her soul. Looking for the fix isn't as fun as getting it.
A pound of sound coming down, tornadoes and thunder rip the land like tsunamis of dust, spinning labels on turntables.
Getting touched in ways that subjugate the clear disconnection of heart and mind, earth and space is uncommon for the commonplace.
I'm sick of being stuck making music for the heart, unable to cure heart attacks or diseases that infest, infect daily living, commuting, knowing, learning, relearning. I rumble toward a great rumbling, a climax to cleanse, a finale for all time.
A degree in humanity doesn't require tuition. The ability to feel is the only prerequisite. We welcome a great recovery that washes away the dark recession, the soul gets a kick, a sensational uplift.
Contemplating capital truth, it is true that if you play as a kid, you'll work hard as an adult. If you work hard as a kid, you'll play as an adult. Bottom line, you gotta work if you want to play.
I want to labor in the playground for profit in the form of fun, mixing paint, painting a mix and leaving missing parts so people find pleasure in finishing the form.
Keep creating for nothing else but to kill time, stoke juices, make mistakes and find the right doors by bypassing the wrong paths. If you keep it up you'll find everything's dead except the legend.
And legend maintenance has its glory and its stagnancy. This legend, this woman can woo and charm, turn our hearts inside out and outside in.
She can be so damn nice, such sugar, such spice.
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