Exploring what sits at the heart
of the abstract acidic junkyard I've got.
Hallucinating gases produce a wild story
that starts off walking
in search of a new wrinkle.

You think you're angry inside?

half-speed heart-murmur salvation
knows how to have a micro-attack
on a super duper level.

you don't see skies or trees

I am so used to the liquid electronic desert,
the second the doors open
I get higher when i get inside.

Warm headlights cut through the muggy latenite
of the strange *******.
All the anger, frustration and pain
shift to
primitive energy (skin tight and mad doper than smack).

does it get surreal?

The desire for an invasion of your body is like a suspicion
overloading the ocean of ones and zeros.

the reservoir is full again.
planetary evolution is merely a diversion.

Look, mommy, there is an airplane in the sky.

*pleasure

Pinball bullpress sizes me up
to see if i can fly.
Straight like an arrow
into the heart of darkness.

they say she's strong enough to withstand
a good piercing, of sorts.
But I know it's all a front.
She protects an achilles heel
that is spread like a blanket
across her soul.
Warm and dark like a cave.
Aware that I'm flying like a bat
hot on the trail of a sweet rock grab.

There's a pain in my back.
Moved my arm to touch you
and feel the clouded steam shovel
rip into what grounded me.
Roll over and save it for that rainy day
that may never ***.

That's funny cause i thought
you were so warm yesterday.

Today I can stick out my chest.
I Feel like the ****,
King of the DIN
and other ambient noises.
But enough about me,
Strap your girlfriend in
And thank god she has a mix tape
that she can
******* to.
(see me.
hear me,
feel me...)
as the last teardrops fall
from her heart.

Does it
reel them in?
Does it
really matter?
Does it
make you see any clearer,
and will you
respect me in
the morning?