A million motivational speeches
won't make one iota of difference, man if you don't intend to do what you say you're going to do.
Do you

want       to do

What you say
you want
to do?

Or do you lie
and just go get high.
And do the same ****
over and over again
Like an *******
just ******* all over the place.
The world is your toilet!

you putz! ****! shut
the fuuuggck.
up.
dude...

You talk
                    so      much       ****.
It comes Out
both sides of your mouth

you incredulous ******* dunce. :/
Just stop
doing this Dude!
Stop actingp like an addict
and stop being like one too.
C'mon man,
You got this dude.
Let's just do it - You and me man
We got plan.
Just tighten up a little bit
Just like...
Not even that much at all, bid.
Just stop spending every Nickle
on dimes
Very waking hour in pursuit
Of trying to get high
like a *******
crackhead

You're too good for this
Life you're living.
You ARE stuck.
Just like he said.
Brother-man
was right again.
He always is, you stupid som'*****
That's why you respect him so much- He's Waaay ******* smarter than you.
Wait.
Can he..?
Can he be... yeah
he can be your higher power.
The power of reason, and vocation,
and clarity and preparation

Instead of worshipping the god of vacations and easy living and getting your way.
Like little lord Font Le'roy

But On *******
...

day two:

Day one: number three:
no sleep, playing on repeat
Forgot to eat
Before getting deep
Into playing through
rolling heavy on sheer momentum
Just keep shuffling your feet
Oeughf!

A slice o'pizzza
Just might be the
savior you need
to keep on doing it
like you intend to do
Without resting proper
between shifts.
You feel the difference instantly
As soon as it enter you
Your body cheer for sweet relief
Especially When
it's only been
about a week
Since the last time this happened
Maybe two...
       But,
                Who knows
             Not you, boo.
Waaah!!!
Boo-*******-hoo
Settling down start looking pretty sweet in contrast to this bogus plan you keep sticking to.
Boo hoo hoo, poor little you.
If isn't the consequences of ypur own decision come down like a cartoon anvil right on top of you.
Boo hoo.

Hmm... ... oh yeah,
     It's almost spOOky season
Did you even notice? That it's getting dryer outside and it's been cool.
You need to find somebody, buddy. Prolly anybody, knowing you
But a little hottie with a body, seperate on anxiety, maybe some daddy issues or a skanky tattoo.
A Lil' cool weather cutie
to snuggle up to,
Big spoon style for a while
And then a turn as little Spoon
When it gets cool, and comfy
cozy on the counch
In bed by ten
Asleep all night next to something soft and breathing softly,
Safe, and Warm and full...
               zZzsnNnoO!!
What are talking about?
You can't DO that, Dude.
You know this. If you could pull it oof it would be done by now.
Youre an old dog, you should be napping, waiting to die. Not trying to learn some new trick so some nice family will think you're clever and cute and adopt you.

You've already proved that
too the one it counted for
so either get your **** together
or get back in the groove.
We're doin  it
and we're doin it this way,
You know: "foolish..."
like how we do ****. Remember? We do it foolish because that's the only way we know how to do; despite the caterwaul of disapproval coming from the peanut gallery
And your family too.
But don't forget, you chose this dummy. You chose this exact mistake to make and every other one you've made, and you did it just to prove...
Something'. Had to be something. Would anyone act like this just because they do? I mean... excluding me you know. I onciously would and have and most likely will
Continue to do.
So now we're being honest? No more lying to myself to get on through?
Now Go look at that stupid hat you love so much that you keep losing it every time you go some place you're never going back to if you could just keep it all together. But you always get it back... because it's disgusting. No one would steal the plague ridden gutter rat skin Crocker hat you wear so proudly like a toddler with basically anything they've never seen before and they just found.
     Disgustingly cool!
You do really love that lil knick-knack, covered, paddy-whack, party hat with its ***** set of skulls and bones you always wear, along with the rest of the gutter suit you put together while you ran the roads (never going no where though. Like seriously: just round in circles.
why?
... Nobody knows)
And You love to Prissy prance around in your cut-off ***** pants you probably pooped in not that long ago. Your little lady-boy ex-girlfriend short short denim jorts with no front pockets, because they are literally women's clothes. [but they fit so good. And you can wear em for days on end and never feel it, they're like second skin along with reanimated hoodies and band shirt, and your Duarte ascot made of handkerchief. Make you feel like a man the way they make your can look good enough to **** out of when you shake it like your working on a rock club dance floor. Or just outside the door all by yourself once everybody else is in and no ones been looking at you long enough to know the score:
**** your pants and do a dance
Now thats livin man, I'm telling you
Y'all got it all wrong
I figured it out.
soaked and stained from sweat and rain and the occasionally dip and slip and hit the floor, sidewalk or road. I mean... it kinda fits it if you really think about it long and slow. the the  ripped to pieces piece a **** ball cap with the flag flying high upon the stormy seas he sees behind his eyelids in his head. mumble loudly over the crowd
About your stupid thoughts on everything
Like some street wise vagabond wandering profit deigning visions of inconsistencies and plausible deniability and anything else you see in a visionary revelry of colors and sounds words and dreams; imaginary company and lies about the things you see, and truths about the truths that set you free, like when you let reckless abandon take the driver's seat and turn the key. Take the wheel Jesus, you're my only friend, imaginary aa you may be. He's good enough for government and good Christian folk, why wouldnt he be good enough for me.
So I hit the streets and beat the rhythm out with the souls I got left on my feet. And I pad the rhymes with syncopated lines and try to keep my words coming out on beat, while I twist the narrative around until it no longer points its lens at me.
Ain't no one need to see this messy bear brow beaten, pacing parking lots and smoking cigarettes incessantly. Not looking up for anything just watching gravel travel past and under and back away. You should back away if you happen to come across this mangy beast. He ain't house broken but he wants to come inside and curl up sweetly right beneath your feet. But don't let his friendly demeanor fool you. Hell tear up alll the pillows and eat food you didn't even know you had, then **** the sheets... and smile and wag his tail when you get home and look SOOO saaad when you find him out for the little **** he never intends to be, but he tends to be a little messy ***** and he and for the couch, he's for the streets. So like l said, keep your distance He's too sweet to let the inside, because you're gonna kick him out again and he's gone whine and scratch unendingly. He knows there's food inside and he's hungry, it's so cold and lonely out here when it's just me.
What else are you gonna do on Tuesday night. Only urchins and gargoyles hang around the shadow side of town when no one's else is looking 'cuz they all got better brighter warmer happier healthier places to be.

"You went and pulled out the ****... (hiccup) tux!"
"Hell yeah man! Dress for the party you wanna attend."
"My man!"

This old powder blue
Frilly collard tuxedo tee shirt
Has seen some **** I tell you what.
I got it from a man I knew who thought it was ******* super cool,
Got it for the bs boys at his restaurant to wear as a uniform; to which I took offense
Thinking he was trying to make
A monkey out of me, and the other two dudes who did the ***** work and heavy lifting for the whole crew.

He was always kind of a condescending *****; and one I didn't really wanna go to work for again. He had a chip on his shoulder for me, or so it seemed to me.

(Carried over from another venture he had weaseled into managing, where when we began we became buzz-buddies, drinking and drugging and talking ****, but then his wife got pregnant and he cleaned up, but I never did. Then when he found the tolls kept coming up short he assumed the coked-out ****-up was the culprit. But when I left it kept on happening.)

I was sad and feeling down from a bad break up I had caused, and I couldn't see how cool it'd be; I just wanted to blend in, in black, like all the rest who worked in town.

After that little episode I got fired (unrelated) and took to another road.
A few year later I found it rolled in the bottom of a bin of stuff that was old. I didn't HAVE To wear it anymore and so I wore proudly for how cool it was.

It's my favorite shirt. My party shirt. About a year ago, had te Gaul to cut the sleeves and crop the bottom. I tell you true I'd never owned a finer robe. It just felt right and people loved it and it became my self-imposed
Uniform for work (sometimes, not always, but for ye bigger shows)  

And came up with that line to explain the foolish look I strive for.

"Dress for the party you want to attend."

A mantra of rock'n'roll

Look good or look comfy or look sharp 'n' bold. But look like someone out to find a good time or don't go looking go nothin at all.

You need to stack some cash
And stop xscrollingx all the time
You gotta think about your attention as a commodity. They can buy it for nothing, or you can focus it on benefitting you: into your art or work or literally anything else.

- those are two really solid points. Like there's no response. You really broke it down.

[He steps outside to smoke the cigarette he's been holding, waving around as He spoke, for at least a few minutes, if not five- or even ten. He Sits and places his phone face down with intention, but his mind begins to spin again. Thoughts come swirling like autumn leaves twirling down an empty lane, upon an errant whirlwind blustering through a quiet evening, stirring just enough to sell you a memory of some absent something you want to need. But this is a painting; the thoughts actually came like a Tasman Devil cartoonish chaotic violent spiting and ******. Dusting up the place and tipping things over, then leaving out again the way he came. These thoughts of war and wage enslavement, or prison camps and violent ends, are prosaic-prophecies he believes, and he can't help but fear saying "I told you so." It's less fun when it was a warning.

And as his thoughts turn to the channels of control and the algorithms running things- he had a brief of how it ended; wat if they win; and he reached automatically for the distraction box with the screen.

Automatically he opened Facebook and flicked the screen to do thing. And would you believe, the first box thought digitally ingested was a infographic of dubious providence describing approval ratings of socialism / communism among the 19-29 year old demographic, in meme format. Its heading said, "18-39? Ok. Who's teaching this to our kids?" Then at the bottom a response was pinned:

You are. When people said, "Maybe people shouldnt have to take on astronomical debt to receive medical care." You said, "That's socialism!" When people said, "We shouldn't be burdening young adults who want to get an education with predatory loans" you cries, "Socialism!"

"You're the best marketing Socialism ever had."

This elicited a gut reaction of snide peace and arrogant delight; "thank god they get it" he felt as his stress level reset, "Things are gonna be alright."

His second thought was, "*******!They are good. This ******* thing was listening the whole time." He realised the algorithm (algorithms?) had fed him dopamine right on time and calmed him back from a frenzied thought parade that was marching slowly to a workable solution to the social ills of the day. And out of self-preservation it had interrupted that line of thought intentionally by ringing the bell of an ideological echo chamber, reinforcing a delusion of socialist paradise just on the other side of the horizon line at the other end of another sunny day, yet to dawn but coming inevitably. It's on its way;

we just have to wait.

He steps back in to share his revelation with his only friend who won't call him insane.

"The algorithms heard us stressing lol.

this stupid post it fed me out the gate done got me. straight up calmed me down before I even knew it was. They know exactly how to manipulate us all.

They've got so much information on our profiles now they can predict our thoughts before we have them. They just keep micro dosing control signals and inceptioning our day to day.

This ****** fed it to me to distract my mood from the indignation at the stress
Around me and the world of problems it's creating in order to keep us down

When are we gonna get mad enough. We're not mad enough yet and I can't understand why or how. We need someone who can reach the middle and show them that the powers that be don't give a **** about you and no one wins from what they're doing now.
But what if it's all too late. They're gonna make it so ha rd for us to just keep up that we won't have the time to chant them down.

What if we can't defeat the sycophantic garbage dead set on running the ship aground. It seems to me there gonna win. At least for a while. We haveto suffer it for it to sink in that this was a stupid path to take. Also the weapons of war at there disposal are so sophisticated now that black mirror seems tame. (Also: come on guys, did they really need a hint about that particular one, you think? Like for real, ****** drones? Jesus Christ, if they didn't have em already they sure as hell  have em now...)