i take small vacations from my waking life. i must. i put on headphones that play the soundtrack of my reality. me floating through golden gate park and in to amoeba. i begin to believe i am connected to All That Is Good. i navigate my way through hip-hop and spoken word by label, illustration, artist, anything speaking to me. then i screen it with the appropriate employees and i return the way i came, listening to the gems i always seem to find. like before. ranting rapping speaking and just at intermission melting into piano electronica flows back to news bulletin messenger carrier skillz throwing down east west thematic dreams of the scheming. similac child malnourished omnipotency we'll see. sister slow move out the way, what drives a brother like me to display war scars and poets i birth from my hand, i grow sadder with maddness supply and demand i serve demons in saucers i stole from your kingdom i've fallen i'm scraping the tips of my wing i'm invisible usually sometimes i'm pouring like rivers of answer i must be ignoring.

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