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Sick affectations.

the music and the mettle to blur the lines between me and either path of wrong or right… the stage fright, as a wall and a character the likes of which are facing down like opposition from a distance of the missed chance, but the timing was off for me I say… a polite sound check would have been okay, but much like the music played, there was haste to make the stage… the off-kilter tirade after the other acts had displayed their talents and wares, and made their ways to the stairs with time to spare, while the rest of us sat by in lonely chairs chattering on about the days’ adventure where… the sounds of the friend and i were danceable digital surges matched with a crashing metal thrashing guitar work, the beats were built to dance by as the few on our team did, but i felt in offense for the lack of preparation on my part… this, however, does not always deter the creative mind from its predestination to weave, and wander lust and all those other unstable traits of fate… born into a cruel state of confusion, at first an intrusion into the world of the parents, those things that slept together then… where did all these unusual things come from?… in my head, there are places that no finger can touch, but every warped jingle seems to find just so appealing somehow… sadly, the hiatus from creative action is never taken on vacation, and always bends the will to the way it works… some casual menacing man that describes himself with such a candid valor, but mysteriously attempts to hide his brain from the depraved, with their lunatic swastika fringe embedded to spin… to declare the conservative win, developing like a flower in the economy of sin, and meeting the shoes of the wandering musician…