the repeat on the song has gone on far too long, but I love it so I'll keep on playing it. The grey matter of the day rises like bread in the early afternoon. No radio shack lady, I don't want to give you my email, because I'm afraid of all the spam. the typing isn't happening so fast because I'm half an apparition of what I've always been. the ghosts of the night and memories of the day will always haunt me. the splitting eardrums and headaches of the world will always coil like a rattlesnake in the high noon sun. I can't believe that this idea, this thing, this steadfast pattern repeats itself like metaphysical wall paper in my life. The bluetooth headset that I broke by sweating too much, it wasn't waterproof and running all day made it soak with perspiration.
The modicum of success the sheer brilliance of sound waves penetrated the night. We all seek refuge in the islands of our own minds. I can't say that I will never say anything. I'm kind of programmed to speak my mind even though 90 percent of the time I'm wrong. The dust days, ask the dust and the devil dust of the broken hearts of a million man army. the Armada sailed due east looking for the empire of broken dreams and staccato beats. we can hear it the silent cheering of groups near and wide. It's the winter Olympics and everyone has heard. We can hold hands an remember what it was like to be in love, but those dreams are like a swirling tempest of wild things and emotions to the beat. we gotta run this course, because there is no recourse. We have to keep on living because that's programmed in our nature. the technology plus music, plus airport extreme may have saved my life. Everything is getting better because that's the way it should be.
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