in the still of the qua night D. prepared to read his poem for the beginning of the night's podcast. With the advent of Facebook all the noise of his youth had come crashing back. He didn't give a fuck. It was all about expression and the journey into the night and how far one could take into the realm of the imagination before snapping before the onslaught of reality.
rain in the 'qua listening to tangled up in blue with the itunes on channelling out the superflous noise of America...reading about how to channel information...
with an angle...
for a buck....
...fighting off the thought that no one cares...
one more time into the poetical dream...
brown hues of golden leaf written on poetry...
darkness going hand and hand with thoughts of glory...
which way is it gonna fall?
it's about the information, right?
it's movement...
the way it is marketed...
the way it is shooked down....
is your information important or has it gone stale?
Do you work with your hands for an honest living but move no information so you're barely making it?...
america at fantasy in a cowbody movie...
shooting everyone up...
unfortunately, these actions have consequences...
I hope I don't get the mess on me...
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1 comment:
you see it's like this. it's a clique. almost like high school and college but not quite so informal. once you break into the inner circle you're in the green, fancy suits, golf clubs, yachts, etc. those in the inner circle don't move any information they don't need to... so I wouldn't worry too much about getting the mess on you as much as staying out of the circle... on the fringe of reality in between wealth and poverty where the information really moves that's where you want to be and that's where you are. once you're inducted into the circle there's no getting out and the hand you shake is the devil's and you're brainwashed imprisoned monkey in a golden cage.
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