I sold my soul to Robert Johnson

What the fuck can I say? Not much most times. Today feels like one of those days when you wake up too early and everything is mirroring itself 1000 times over in your head because it's too damn early to process all the information at once. Then after feeling like that you have this dream state feeling that consumes your vision and your breathing and so forth. That's how today feels. Probably because I've been on a two day bender. Either that or I sold my soul to Robert Johnson and he forgot to tell me that I had to sell my soul to Asmodeus if I ever wanted to shred on guitar and face Steve Vai in some Southland dive bar for shred-bragging rights. Nothing is really going out as I planned in this move to the lower 48. But I'm going to say fuck it. I've had a lot of things drop me and I've dropped a lot of things along the way and I'm still breathing...and still feeling like its all just some fantasmic incorporeal world. What the hell? You can tell yourself many things in life but you have to live up to them to make them happen. If you aren't prepared to keep what you hold dear and struggle with its bounds then you shouldn't tell yourself and everyone else your ready to slip through the extra dimensions that help you get to that great ascension or personal climb every nigga, chink, kyke, and spic strives for. It's all diluted to a certain point anyway isn't it? Like you retrogress the more you fill your brain with memory and you end up finding out that the whole time you should be experiencing new things you are still thinking about old things and how they habitualized you. A perpetual shit motion of granduer in a constant domino. I polish those factors a little bit with a bottle to make them seem more dismal then they are but there are certain moments that weigh you down like a ton of feathers that piledrive your legs into this concrete bluewhale that forgot how to swim. The vacuum doesn't seem so bad though does it? At least it's ad infinitum instead of the cosmic weight crushing in on itself. Although the dualities are structured so you can't really understand them yet only feel how they are swirling their squiddy hands all over your Jack Daniel's breath ridden whisky dick soul. All in all I should be happy that I'm still present in the past and future tense and not in some gutter farting and holding out a sign asking for some pennies for the alchemicalhol. I have a feeling of regret somewhere inside there and I can't seem to shit it out of moy yed. I don't know what it is stemming from but its calculating and aching. I'm about to slip into some spandex and vaseline to do a long night of rolex dismanteling(sp?). Eat fourteen potentiometers with salt and chase that down with plumming tape. It makes it so you can talk french polynesian and you get this wierd David Letterman gap tooth between your third eye and your pelvic bone. Pretty cool thing for beating 76 hours of missle command. I'll defend the fort while you scan pictures of the Virgin Mary and put them on black market fleshlights. Whowaaa! You sir...are a liar. Nannybooboo. Peace out Sabertooth if you are even dead. RIP one love for Jah. Jah mommas so old her shadow died.