"beautiful eyes" just doesn't feel quite right. But why? Why doesn't it feel quite right, to say that? Could it feel right at the right time, in the right setting?
I could go on a long boring americana tangent starting in the early sixties and burning out my mind, eight miles outa memphis in the mid seventies, meanwhile compile reams of love songs, and even more just dirty ol lust songs.
I see beautiful eyes, I mean them, I want to say so, reflect, directly, you have beautiful eyes, I say. It doesn't sound like me. My threshold for revulsion at cliche is lethally low, kills 99% of the bacteria I could have grooved with. And there's hilarious funk like LYMYP, and Alphabet Street, and that's where dynamics really kick in, cause when you're talking about beautiful eyes, that lusty stuff can seem kinda gross, a gravity well best left alone.
This is indeed an unprecedented breaker - the potential dynamics are familiar but the rhythms are not the same, this river is different, I can't say which way the waves will break. So that lonely lustful feeling, seeing beautiful eyes in my mind, trying to write it or say it, then finding it doesn't feel quite right... I can't say if it'll prevail. I can make things what I want them to be, at times, sometimes [that's like alda time].
Regardless of how I feel or what I write, those eyes will still exist, they're mercurial, persisting like an element. Maybe this is a half-life of a half-life from some era with leaking pipes and still-lacquered floors, robust in the dust.
That's the thing about glammer-magic and power. It comes from within. You can crick yourself and trick yourself into acting like just enough of a god to get things done, in other words, a human, right-sized, maybe a little on the big side, for his britches I mean, and it's incongruent cause he's so diminutive, but a noble spirit embiggens the smallest man. So suck on that. Eat a bag of dicks. You've got beautiful eyes. But I MEANT it, cause I don't normally look, so on the rare occasion that I do, you gotta know it MEANS something when I SAY it, not in some abstract way of how eyes are, but about the eye of my beholding it, you see, the reflection, a gift? I offer a gift, but I can't offer it humbly, I gotta own a part of it, just gotta wet my beak a little, you know? Like like like like like like as if I would make a simile out of it.
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I'm working out new ways to perform and record. They take the form of melodic fragments, half-assed renditions of half-remembered songs,...