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Occipital Jobe

music makes us move and think about what messages abound in a twilight phase of the industrial revolt corruption bred into us to feed from our entertainment as much as the energy involved in creating more developed lessons and experiential parallels in a strange world like ours, methods and techniques as they define what we confront about all of these items prepared only by such things as in our realized domesticating traditions contrasted with a powerful drive to discover through curiosity the shifting of tessituras or textures between an anatomy of lights and sounds as we can see and hear them, and it is in the music and lyrical aspects symbolizing the volumes (in both senses) for change always to take place not as merely the many economic animals running races for the abstract entertainment of others not participating in these games made for us to play before we had even arrived Here… ensnared by the thoughtless things we experience but do not register left with a helpless jobbery robbing us of our dignity instinct for a freedom in distracted boredom without ideas to enslave or escape made tainted by our faith in mindless idiot dismissal of outside integers compliment to bans and taboos as which can traumatize and confuse our movements, dropping jobbies upon the lawn of any elitist sociopathic blight screwing our ears closed to other truths via the mind-wiping urge designated progress by some affluent side of vying to understand this human plague any further by torturing and then starving the creative impulse through opportunistic ides of mechanism turned modern profits in murderous attempts at gaining played, and the jobsworth fools with their petty wits wrapped around themselves in vicious defensive stance made without a humane common sense passed around like shitty opinions of import mad at the world while sorting through a myriad of challenges we are given the option to venture a wager or bet that the odds are not stacked against who we say we are yet trying to assuage our fears with a Job’s comforter even though it has never worked… the need to excise a trailing of tears and reeling in years spent lurching to the spittle of the money machine mutilating on the tingling spine in the body of nervous youth spending a good portion of their time and motion like water, now mutating to fit the cultural design as predestined by only a few of these truly evil royal pigs bowed to with much bought respect, and made the titanous trivial lords pushing over a Mankind helplessly manufactured to death…

Thanks, khet.