They Call It, We Sing it.

We writhe, constantly, struggling for a comforting angle and an explosive release, which eludes our constant dance; our spasms are in vain, a hopelessly decadent self-deception, filled with our greatest desires and most significant fears.
Alas, we spin. We spin our own way, we crash and collide and bounce away. Nothing ever really stays the same. Our careless half heart pursuits managing, some how, to expand into a potentially serious situation for which we have not prepared, in anticipation for not really giving a flying fuck about the outcome in the first place, for being indifferent to the outcome. Not needing an outcome but applying by halves, then becoming alarmed when the pace steps up and unseen machinery chugs along.
Fate and choice intertwine. Some call it Karma, I call it the explicit inescapable reality. I am where I am because of my choices, but I could have made different choices. It is impossible to truly comprehend "what if" because each decision echos for an eternity, and after its done, you can not have done it any other way. Mistake or not, it's already been done, and only you could have done it the way you did it. Live with the regret or learn a lesson and improve.
Or let fate drive the car, just done be surprised when you find yourself on an island built with bad decisions, or in a ditch of existental crisis. Hell, it can be an existential crisis anywhere at any time. Don't ask the question if you really think you don't care about the answer. But don't fool yourself into thinking we can train the responses, be conditioned and altered to perfection.

Dr. Pill and his sexually deviant mistresses all agree, that the drug for you, is LSD.

Billboards preaching the end of civilization while civilization is distracted with glowing rectangles. All hail the all mighty rectangle.
Our Rectangle, who art from heaven, hallow be thy apps, thy browsing be done, An thy entertainment be done in church, as it is on the train. Give us this day, our daily distraction, And forgive us our firmware delinquency, as we forgive those who envy thee glowy rectangle. And lead us not into arguments with fanboys, but deliever us from arguments, for thine network connection is harder faster better stronger. Work It Harder Make It Better, Do It Faster, Makes Us stronger, More Than Ever Hour After, Our Work Is Never Over.

Drop the bass motherfucker. IF you don't... hell, I don't even want to think about what happens if you don't. That is a nightmare I am not willing to embrace as of yet. So feed me sexy imagery and sick beats, feed me your delusions and fantasies.

And now I think I'm done. For now. Never really done but the words just kind of trip over themselves. remember when i turned the lords prayer into a daft punk song? that was cool right?