And I Fly to a Place Called Reality

In a quarter of an hour I depart for reality.  No one will have these fantasy conversations in my surround, these “Cover me in eyeballs!” conversations, these conversations which are really only the pomp mentioned in association with the circumstance of the pointless changing of hands of untold monies that occur in the industry of attention-getting.

Monies told, tallied, and kept dear and near the boardroom gents and lady-gents, of course.  Pardon me for talking day-jobs.

At times words and phrases turn of their own accord, thank God.

Art Brut, “slap-dash for no cash”, as it were, plays day four of their Mercury lounge residency tonight.  Yours truly will be in attendance, and I alight from my perch in the mud to peak above the rim of the towering lotus.

Rock ‘n roll, please, all powers that be.

Some sweet-ass edits:

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