I want the chords to be so loud that I live them. I want the melodies to be so succinct and perfect that I cry. I want the lyrics to be so appropriate that I remember first loves and moan with nostalgic longing. I want the song to match my harmonic mind and create liquid blissss.
I want to clench my fist in defiance to every emotion I don’t relegate to my heart. Weakness I crucify with shadowed eyes. I clench my teeth at the pussification of empathy.
My dream is to be a twisted soul on the sea, a Winslow Homer painting of futility. I lick my lips in sexual anticipation. My vodka sits waiting. It requires fortitude of the taste buds and the stomach – yet the promise of imbibed bliss beckons. Should I finish the handle?
The driving factor is the mixed melodic banging beats by Tiesto. In search of the Sunrise II. Could beautiful Ibiza partygoers experience such existential bliss and self-awareness? I want to grok, fuck and consume Sarte’s and Camu’s essence, an orgy of mid twentieth century absurdism.
So many mindsets, prophecies and determinations pushed through these keys.
What more should we wish, than CH3CH2OH – a common occurring, easily found, mind enhancing, blessing from the heavens.
If there is no God – prayers should be duely rendered to the god of intoxication. No other idol can so bless the human spirit.
I moan in mindless, receptive, Pavlovian emotion.
Why ever think when such a fulfilling escape exists and resonates?
“Animals learn death first at the moment of death;…man approaches death with the knowledge it is closer every hour, and this creates a feeling of uncertainty over his life, even for him who forgets in the business of life that annihilation is awaiting him.
It is for this reason chiefly that we have philosophy and religion.”