Fort Awesome

Can a continued lack of articulation lead to a collapsing internal narrative gradually reducing one’s carefully constructed emotional epic of triumph over adversity, to an incoherent wail of vague expression? Nothing incestual about having less moral feeling then a slippery ended riposte to a five star slambaggerkust.

Tonight a hearse will certainly not disappear in your meat teapot.  

The problem with a prolific output of voluminous elegance is that its construction nessecitates a certain dedication to the art and craft of the form. Such mastery takes time away from immersion in the fountainhead of pure experience and leads to a generalised tendancy towards increasingly self-referential and inwards looking meditations. Your big eyes are specially formulated for this exact purpose.

Seven holy cattle prods dart savagely and with a definite intent; the quick and necessary satisfaction of the consumer’s disambiguation of even the most profane.

The patterns of one’s fate by great fortune carry with them an illusion of control so delightful that in moments one feels as though the whole of existence alights on the arrowhead of a salicious, dangerous, monstrous thought. What in truth though, results from even the most extraordinairy existence? A series of patterns so steady and rhythmic they would likely coalesce into a particularly cheesy pop ballad. Perhaps a graph depicting a lusty bike; manufactured from the phattest of timbers. Mighty nice.

What makes it all ok? What makes it all ok? What makes it all ok? What makes it all ok?

Calculated momentary re-alignment establishes a triumphalist summit. Living for the holes, falling through the holes - but if you get enough stuff you’ll win! Free prizes! NO WIN! NO FUCKING WAY! Be a better speci-man and they’ll catalogue you with more excitement, you might even get a multiplier.

What’s better than a multiplier?