Red Music Notes Dripping from my Slit Wrist
We produce exposure, with our vane face on a ten foot poster, an impostor of importance, hey look at me fly! I can’t even see your faces on the surface of the earth, but you produce exposure, not for the talented, not for the artistic, but for the beautiful features - they break down like a lemon. This is my major complaint about music, the radio is not the sounds of artists, but five puppets in which they pull the finger strings of the puppets who pull the strings with it’s guitar, or how about the big business rapper, who repeatedly threads a theme into your head that gives you a downloaded thought that thinks, “I am better than you are!” Oh really you are? Napoleon soul syndrome, I ask myself what is music, raw and real, expressed with abstract rhythms, we’re bring Picasso back to life to wring and sing for us, the real people left in the world, and to understand what the real people go through in this world, and all the beauty realness brings, but music should not be vane, greedy, and needy for attention, what I’m saying is fuck promotion, if they notice they notice, and those who do shape your soul.
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