Those with words that poke, and minds to focus upon all things orthopaedic are coming, the killers play and I think of she who questions the fate of those who shimmer, she is gone, and I await her return.
This is just another in a steady stream of therapeutic poking’s I have received, they are a monument to the health system’s inability to replicate information correctly, a fact I will forever be reminded of.
Morningwood play,this excites me greatly, my love for them is best expressed in an allusion to the love an obese person might have for fried goods, chicken being the most noted and stereotypical candidate.
I can hear the employee’s bantering’s, at least I think they are hers, I hear the voice but I have yet to lay an eye upon her, this calls into question not only my sanity, but potentially that of my mother who’s conversation with the invisible employee I am overhearing
Oasis now play and I brace myself form the flood of translucent pink emotions that will soon fill me, making me warm, and bringing about the need to hold someone and sway rhythmically with them as I wave a neon glow stick in the air as a tiny part of a semi-synchronous movement with the 9,998 other Oasis fans, each of us slightly offset by the others complete lack of rhythm and timing.
Paffendorf’s La La La Girl plays, and as I imagine it’s semi-pornographic album cover I want to dance, like Napoleon Dynamite might dance if were on speed in a room full of other people who appreciate trance as a genre.
Placebo play and I think of a hobo in a dusty dilapidated shack at 11:30 on a Thursday night, heart thumping in anticipation of emptying the thick black contents of the syringe into himself, as long as I’m wrapped in this beat, I am that hobo. Listening to “Every You, Every Me” is a metaphorical Christmas for me, I’m transported somewhere new each and every time I listen.
Scooter’s playing and as he does two things occur
- I wish I had legs so I could render upon the world my ballet, which I have entitled “How not to dance in public”
- I wonder what it would be like to actually shoot a DJ, I imagine the blood spatter would be somewhat rhythmic.
The smashing pumpkins play, and I’m taken back to my youth, and a copy of the original “Hugo’s House of Horrors” game, to enter the house you have to have the key, which you will find by breaking open the pumpkin, which took me a great many years to figure out.
As Bullets With Butterfly Wings plays, I imagine I am a bat, flying around screeching a biting people, which is new for me, usually when I hear this song, I’m well and truly in the mood to destroy things.
The musical journey will continue as it always has for me, but for now I can not provide the words for you to accompany me any further, because I have a pressing need to insert foodstuffs into the appropriate orifice.
[UPDATE 9:28AM Apparently “playa” is recognised by windows live writer spell-check as a valid word, and I feel the need to throw up.]