Subject lines are too small!
Jun. 18th, 2004 02:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
robinblokeCaught of the surfing moment of music, my brain sticks out a thumb and jumps the last moped out of town...
I've had these earphones in now 5 minutes, I should probably put some music on.
Who are we anyway? Will I be tomorrow anyone I would recognise yesterday? Shades of species transformation.
Music maketh the memory, the man, the pizza, the little hoops that hold up the corners of ill formed cardboard on lone weekends. Passing ill scrawled notes behind my backs, they own llamas, llamas I tell you.
Llamas with laser eyes and small backspace now, quick, no, too late, it all carries on through a giant field of poison commas.
Smell them as you lay down, the emerald city is just a short walk away, but who took away the yellow brick road.
Most likely it was bypassed three years ago, fell out of use and the whole strip of land was left for housing redevelopment instead.
Welcome to the yellow brick street. Selling soap worldwide to people who have no idea what the world is made of.
Candyfloss, that’s what, a spiral of sugar wisps taken in fleeting spindles of crazy glucose.
Pasted together with willpower, old socks and the bassline in D minor.
Meaning meanwhile, the backspace strikes again. No more minors helmets for you, oh no siree bob. Bob Jim and Jake all watch the fox as he tries to cross the river, the chicken isn't having any of it I tell you, he's covered himself in mayo and is waiting for the end.
Hell is KFC for chickens, you hand out the burgers and wait to be used in the deep fry when the suppliers don't deliver. Pause for thought there, where does the thought come from, is there some mystic person handing up words and letters to my stream of thought like Carol Vorderman on speed? Wildly throwing them into the air as a pac-man-esk creature devours and regurgitates them over and over into a stream of bright white little flashing dots as inky, blinky, pinky and the other one chase you around and around and around, find the power pill, put on the armour jacket, grab the weapons upgrade, bite the bullet, ride the rocket, surf the waves, see the cheese, sow the seeds, seal the dream, cast the line, rock the boat, make the move, sign your name, open your eyes.
Tune in, turn over, make pancakes.
Amen.
Moments can pass you by, pass you like little chicken McNuggets in tiny racing cars, zooming past on their Indy 500 replica track, round and round, don't they know they're going nowhere but the same place they've been a thousand times. If you stop in a frame of your life and look it would you know which way the film was running, could you pass all the chocolate candy trees right by and not even take a leaf. Close the book now the song has nearly finished. Just think up a cliché and take a bow. Thank you very much folks, you've been a great audience.
With three seconds to spare and all.
If this has relevancy to anything it's news to me.
I've had these earphones in now 5 minutes, I should probably put some music on.
Who are we anyway? Will I be tomorrow anyone I would recognise yesterday? Shades of species transformation.
Music maketh the memory, the man, the pizza, the little hoops that hold up the corners of ill formed cardboard on lone weekends. Passing ill scrawled notes behind my backs, they own llamas, llamas I tell you.
Llamas with laser eyes and small backspace now, quick, no, too late, it all carries on through a giant field of poison commas.
Smell them as you lay down, the emerald city is just a short walk away, but who took away the yellow brick road.
Most likely it was bypassed three years ago, fell out of use and the whole strip of land was left for housing redevelopment instead.
Welcome to the yellow brick street. Selling soap worldwide to people who have no idea what the world is made of.
Candyfloss, that’s what, a spiral of sugar wisps taken in fleeting spindles of crazy glucose.
Pasted together with willpower, old socks and the bassline in D minor.
Meaning meanwhile, the backspace strikes again. No more minors helmets for you, oh no siree bob. Bob Jim and Jake all watch the fox as he tries to cross the river, the chicken isn't having any of it I tell you, he's covered himself in mayo and is waiting for the end.
Hell is KFC for chickens, you hand out the burgers and wait to be used in the deep fry when the suppliers don't deliver. Pause for thought there, where does the thought come from, is there some mystic person handing up words and letters to my stream of thought like Carol Vorderman on speed? Wildly throwing them into the air as a pac-man-esk creature devours and regurgitates them over and over into a stream of bright white little flashing dots as inky, blinky, pinky and the other one chase you around and around and around, find the power pill, put on the armour jacket, grab the weapons upgrade, bite the bullet, ride the rocket, surf the waves, see the cheese, sow the seeds, seal the dream, cast the line, rock the boat, make the move, sign your name, open your eyes.
Tune in, turn over, make pancakes.
Amen.
Moments can pass you by, pass you like little chicken McNuggets in tiny racing cars, zooming past on their Indy 500 replica track, round and round, don't they know they're going nowhere but the same place they've been a thousand times. If you stop in a frame of your life and look it would you know which way the film was running, could you pass all the chocolate candy trees right by and not even take a leaf. Close the book now the song has nearly finished. Just think up a cliché and take a bow. Thank you very much folks, you've been a great audience.
With three seconds to spare and all.
If this has relevancy to anything it's news to me.
