Splatterpaint for a while.

Open up your brain and let what's inside pour out onto the page. Maybe we'll learn something from the experiment or maybe it'll just be a bunch of disconnected thoughts woven carelessly together under the guise of narrative.

Throw shit at the walls and see what sticks.

I'm looking for that gem in the quagmire, the needle in the haystack, the diamond in the dogshit, the illusive truth, a moment of silence.

It's easier now; I remember when we had to dig. The plethora dilutes impact, you'll never appreciate what you've got when all you're used to is abundance. Remember those that have nothing before declaring your boredom.

Freedom.

Freedom to bore yourself shitless and share it with others.

Freedom to eat yourself to death.

Freedom to hide away, freedom to say absolutely nothing at all. Do your best to remain docile.

"We regret that all our operators are busy at the moment. Please hold or try again later."

I'm sick of the same three chords, the same cycle of empty protest. Don't tell me you didn't see this coming?

I'm just circling dates on a calendar, counting down the days I defeat myself. The record is too short. I can't relax before I need to change it. It keeps skipping. I'm throwing my turntable away.

I'll call this modern art, for lack of a better expression.