That BoY NEeds ThERaPy

By tdf, June 1, 2017

I hear more than I wish to know,

I see more than I wish to feel.

Its fucking humanity, or at least, the majority nearby, the young and the old I find on the train on the way to work several days per week, who are either looking at their phones, or speaking shit, or staring at my mangled snout…the latter of which, I have some interest in, for they are seeing something different. Was he in an accident? DId  he come off worse in a fight? NO…I was mauled by my devil hound as I woke wanton for nowt but a hug and holding close of the nearest and dearest creature in the world as I know it…I suggested to someone today, after finding myself bored and bothered with my repeated explanation of my…impression of a Mummy…’I found your honour insulted, so demanded a duel…and came off worse for wear’…Nobody laughed, even smiled…I scurried away, feeling decidedly nonplussed.

The energy, passion, soul and vital essence combining to produce something sublime…I must head back to Berlin to try find Her…HIM/HER…them. For there is more meaning, more movement of Anything That Matters To Me, from their random collision, than of a thousand ‘artists’ I see…anywhere.

You see, the thing is…

I have read and lived and traveled and studied and believed and hoped and loved and adored…and everything I have learned, I dislike. And am hurt by accepting, or revolt against by seeking the wilderness, the Sun as my alarm clock, the soothing sound of the nearby ocean my lullaby.

When  I love a WOman, I yearn to hear her voice, not see her face…

I find myself prancing on a precipice…with the abyss beyond beckoning.

It is merely a question of how I wish to jump.

For this path of capitalist drudgery,

paying into a system which promotes and rewards with gold deceit,

is not for me, nor is it for Oscar.

I have to head back so far to find living joy…

Yet when found, I hold the earphones close as can be to my ears leading to the essence…

turn away from the despair and seek the Dreamers.

I have long admired Eyedea…yet in this video I relate to him more than ever before…for those around him, sober, and so desperately trying, contrast horribly with a drunk lunatic pouring out to the world mangled madness main-lined from the Essence. I mean…the others rhyme well, sound wicked, yet all seems somehow rehearsed, and EYEDEA is merely and SOUL-LY revealing himself.

 

Fuck the Fake, Love the REal…I agree with everything Michael Larsen expressed in that song. And hope I could blossom, aspire,  to rightfully put my Self in such beautiful words.