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Manage episode 330222831 series 3357033
Son of A Gun in The Wild West [33]
Culture Vultures dining on the carcasses,
of unsuspecting artists who recently departed this, culture that acts as if everyone is targeted,
& surprise, we are, whether bisexual or bipartisan,
or both no vote only the onset of consumer communism, swimming in a mainstream socialist monarchism,
a subconscious stream of consciousness, consumed by a constantly contradicting,
condition of post modern consumerism,
an avalanche of retail therapy & the avant of avant-gardism, doesnât have to be a better product or improved edition, just has to be better packaged & effectively marketed, sold our souls for glitter not gold the ego is an extortionist, donât own anything anymore not even our own cognizance, lost every investment like back when The Great Depression hit,
just look at what the mass media market did,
our collective memories & ancient traditions all but forgotten, rewired genes in designer jeans on intoxicants, symbolizing a degenerative disease like Parkinsonâs, want to end this madness but donât know who started it, so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness,
as we absorb Virtual Reality & ignore Actual Reality we slip,
into a vivid collectively created occultism of Oculus, Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences...
THH3 142 â
Neglecting the blueprint,
everybodyâs a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent, ethically bankrupt lazy played daisies too spent to invent, futilely trying to copy Jay-Zâs original Blueprint,
but no body has a DJ Clue what to do or where to begin, nor a Ty Dolla to spare still everyoneâs got their two cents, all opinions given without consideration for common sense, no motivation or wisdom taken from the Grand Architect, what good is giving good advice if no one is taking it,
or even taking the time to listen they just dismiss it quick, showing off trophies boldly donating charity checks, acting like champions we bare & beat our chest, wearing foolâs gold & blood diamonds to gain respect, sitting on the throne but weâve won nothing yet,
honestly it feels like we havenât even started yet,
still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance, slaves of an alien race hand on hearts we pledge allegiances, with our unquestioning obedience & faux pas ambiance.
& itâs all almost over for our entire empire,
so every moment better cherish it,
bleached white robes with Chipko sandals,
we hold the reins to Her Majestyâs chariot, whipping the 500 horses to a froth with no compassion at all, our Kings are all Pawns & our Princes are the pettiest,
whipping in a Cadillac crashing into a pole then walking off, driving in the fast lane living the fast life gets you buried quick,
THH3 143 â
so I try & pace it & not get too wasted still I feel very sick, seems like itâs time to go but honestly Iâm not ready yet, though when captain screams âYou move too slow sailor!â, thatâs when the times up & itâs time to depart this ship,
but you canât rush good art & Iâm an articulating artisan, so I keep being an artist until departing on a martian ship, artfully getting away with The Heist of the day no pardoninâ, in a constant state of affairs is why I havenât married yet, which of course means no divorce from any or all of this, so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice, love is star crossed & colorblind in itâs brilliance like Edison, & my wondermind shines in wonderlandâs luminescence, as I illustrate illustrious illuminations of wonderment,
off every possible edifice in this hedonistic edenâs Matrix trick, eclectically arranged ambiance in this Electric Renaissance, is enough to effectively deliver this rebelâs renegade testament,
I write light before I become just another martyr,
for the Martianâs master plans,
my words are honest sonnets,
on tablets of mono-cultured monograms, mono-glyphs that shine like a lighthouse beacon,
on the top of the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith...
This is all honest in all honestness. Here at the docks,
THH3 144 â
with assorted Goddesses & narcissistic walruses,
all the way up going down under,
not trying to be negative but the only thing Iâm positive of is, Culture Vultures continue dining on the carcasses,
of unsuspecting artists who recently departed this, culture that acts as if everyone is targeted,
& surprise, we are, whether bisexual or bipartisan,
so stay up, keep up & keep open your eyelids,
because The Hunger Games have just started kid. This is all honest in all honestness honestly kid.
& Iâm open to discuss almost everything,
except religion & of course politics,
so if youâre having an issue then tell me what the problem is, & maybe we can solve it quick,
& just admit if youâre involved in conflict,
& maybe we can resolve it quick,
just please donât blame the Dalai Lama,
or Barack Obamaâs broken promises,
see we all have soiled wings,
just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses,
as we dine on Soylent Green,
served hot from the melting pot of concubine colleges, with Charlton Heston & a Smith & Wesson concealed, just in case drama pops off & they want to start some sh!t, canât be too careful especially these days see,
THH3 145 â
wrong right black white day night everything has itâs opposites, so even the kindest animals,
can turn into carnivorous cannibals when all thatâs left,
is blown kisses well wishes dirty dishes,
corrupt princes & spiritual paralysis,
this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius,
& the end of our passing genesis...
ButwhatdoIknowIâmjustaSonofaGun,
on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list, dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine,
a bunch of empty cartridges & some fellow Philosophists, in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood & Billy The Kid, clean as a whistle mixinâ addictions with additives, inventing new recipes with Dirty Harryâs pharmacist,
as The Good Bad & The Ugly along with other accomplices, takes shots off dancing in acid rain eating on magic cactuses, howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes itâs ridiculous, laughing phantasms absent minded off the absinthe mix...
Alive,
right here,
left for dead,
insane & out of practice with,
no clean water in the canteen to drink,
& circling are the Culture Vultures just above our heads,
thisTeenageWastelandhasnopurposewith,
THH3 146 â
riff raft rats that canât act & jack rabbits that lack genitals, religious radicals in the crosshairs of deserted desert tortoises, tumbleweeds & inbreeds, snake oil salesmen on pedestals,
you see these badlands are so bad thatâs itâs painfully obvious, they can make even the most stout professional professionals, fill with doubt, seem, & act like just silly little naive novices, can get a massage out but no happy endings in these vortexes, thereâs nothing left to see here in this mirage at all, except the bloody reds of my rusty gun as it tarnishes...
My visions getting blurry bodyâs stopped,
but my mindâs still hurried exactly what anxious exhaustion is, & Iâd escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay & lay, because honestly Iâm not sure if I have any other options left...
See I knew I would go,
I told you before everyone is targeted, so soon it seems,
Iâll just be another one of the unsuspecting artisans,
the Culture Vultures overhead dine on when feeling peckishish, & in their ravenousness Iâll be torn apart in bits, terminated,
no Terminator, but you can bet, like Arnold said,
âIâll be back.â,
as if I just started this...
Î LaLux Î
- music by Brock Chavez
9 episoder