Fuckup Money

Well I got through another breadpacking Shakespearian drama. Five hours, but it felt like fifteen. I did what I had to do. I did it my way. Well sorta. With my style anyway. With a flourish, a flanged flourish. I wouldn't do it any other way. No way. No sir.

Now I've got some Fuckup Money.

Easy, hard, not exactly pointful. A symbol.

Nah, forget that. Who cares? Fragmentary.

Sedimentary. Elementary my dear. Nah. Nobody.

Cryptic dust desposits hardening to marks, brands of... nah. Forget that.

Music won't do it for me. Maybe cyclo will. Have I earned it yet? I can't decide.

No, I'm not far enough removed yet. Still seating in the serrated dealings of cycles.

Icy cycles, the whims of the sick cyclical centrefuge.

Some nostalgia might work. Erpland by Ozric Tentacles. Yes, a nice slice of the past. Hallucinogen remixed Pteranodon, that's how I got into this outfit.

I'm actually enjoying this. I feel no pain. No fevered ego flange. No, I absorb it and it absorbs me. The flavor of enlightenment nearly feels real again. Nearly.

But my agenda was to perhaps shut my mind off.

Life amplitude modulator. Maybe it's time for some modulation. Some hardcore blink. Maybe routines have grown ravenous, devoured reason. Or maybe not. I can't quite say.

Well I got through another breadpacking Shakespearian drama. Five hours, but it felt like fifteen. I did what I had to do. I did it my way. Well sorta. With my style anyway. With a flourish, a flanged flourish. I wouldn't do it any other way. No way. No sir.

Mario Circuit three, open for srelickintendure...