Level 7 - Loquacious
Join Date: Apr 2012
Location: 901
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Two Bones Too High
Wind blown from a saxophone. . .
echoing in the breeze,
down dark wet streets
neon lights and the deep red district.
The heavy breath,
sweaty mumble,
the spit and the tremble
. . . of a drunken monkey man
fist-walking his way through the drizzle.
Fist-walking to his own damn beat
shuffle, shuffle, step
shuffle , shuffle, step
bearded fellow he is,
wearing a dual-beer helmet
His eyes swirling in psychedelic ecstasy
he lays sleepily supine onto the greasy brick road
and suddenly floats upon a supernatural phenomenon of sorts,
the type that sends microscopically massive and geometric rips waves out into an
ever-enlarging
spherical
wavelength
yes a spherical one
a frequency of electro-magnetized matter
that carries my man down the strip
as if he were comfortably crowdsurfing atop an endless, endless
expansion of Tool Fans,
right down the one way road of life,
sleepily in bliss, dazed, confused, sedated,
and blissful.
A deteriorating organic sleeve traveling upon a cushioned force of vitality.
The monkey man then dreams into eternity
sleepily riding his monsoon of matter further and further out
into depths of space and depths of existence, inconceivable
He dreams of you. He dreams of me.
Tying off
Tortured Veins
Tourniquet
strumming our vessels like fuckin bass keytars
boiling the steel
then
riding the juice through tides of lava hot blood all the way to our own internal Shambala
shredding the damn keytar all the way
Fuuuuugggggg
Fuggin shreddin'
And upon our slippage into a dream state of our own. . .
We dreamt of the monkey man,
fist-gliding down the boulevard
dick tracy coat and hat
puffed up junta, heart tattoo,
with those wild crazy eyes.
__________________
Say hello to my frontal lobe.
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