clear formatting

sufi rocker's gonna put it all in context
it's pixels... perfection...

it doesn't matter until you wake up after a twenty-seven year half sleep on the bathroom floor - you've fallen - you were never an angel - you were never even an ape - you've fallen from what grace the horned god allowed - and you can't get up - it was those liquigels, they fucked you - no, you fucked yourself - this is the last straw - no way out, you've got to either kill yourself or go to rehab - you can't even puke - binary bugcrawl through the bathroom door, falling on the handle, slipgrip saliva, but no fluid escapes, you wish it could but it won't, you're high and dry, still under the wheel, the wheel of life and death, transcendence is a sick joke

the bathroom floor - you're used to be able to getting up - but this time you can't

but it's okay, you're on the up, your stock is rising - it's a bull market, you needn't think about the crash - you can consign it all to second person - you're rocking - you're a sufi rocker, you're putting it all in context, shaking it out of context like dandruff, scraping it off the bathtub, trying to dispose of it, finding it caking your skin days later - you can't get rid of it, even in second person

well dude, here’s an idea
get all the stupid shit you’ll regret later out of the way

then you’re a blank slate, buzzing on pure dopamine with no subject to bind to – the zen crackpipe