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Massive Attack “Inertia Creeps”
Reality is no friend of ours. More of an acquaintance really. As the thing with greykeeper, and we say this sincerely, is that it seldom lives up to the brochure. We’ve been up for foreclosure numerous times; as we started to grow weary of walking straight lines. And while such emotional times have done their double darnedest to harm us, wouldn’t you know, each dicey endeavor has actually seen fit to arm us to the nines. Every time reality bites us, we clench our teeth and bear bloodied incisors. Any budding lion-tamers or rabbit hunters would be wise not to get too close as we’ve been known to suffer from lockjaw. But that’s what the stick of Brighton Rock’s for. A sweetener of sorts to lure you all into the mouth of our madness, not with sinister intention, more a case of divine intervention. Should we work on comprehension, then perhaps we can commence apprehension of said demons and they’re always more than up for the mention. Sure there’s tension, unbearable at times, as the thing about confines is that they tend to be a little confining and it can be tough stretching out when reclining. So we either sit around pining for a much-needed break from reality or we simply go find it.
Enter fantasy, a place where mystical unicorns fire dazzling beams of bright light from their alicorns. Where flower faeries never grow excessively hairy. Where trolls don’t have Twitter accounts. And where it is Ulysses responsible for delivering the sermon on the mount. Our imaginations can run free like ferrets on speed and all that we see really can be believed. Providing reality isn’t still midway through chewing what it has bitten off, of course. You see, it’s all just a question of gravitational force. The universe will either attract or deflect fantasy, depending whether we’re capable of not looking at shit rationally. Bank too much on logic and we deprive ourselves of anything cosmic. Thus, we miss out on all the fun stuff that comes with giving reality the old heave-ho. We simply don’t leave ourselves anywhere to go. And that just seems a shameful waste of boundless imagination. Fuck dictation. No really, strap on those alicorns and give it a good sound shafting. Sounds way too much like grafting.
Nope. Spirit us away and we’ll gladly come and play. Indeed, we’ll look up all dewy-eyed like a couple of undernourished strays. We want the fantastical, the otherworldly, the vaguely sinister, the totally fucked. All of that good shit and, just for luck, more besides. As it all exists within the stronghold of the mind. And it’s ultimately all about prioritizing. Should we archive every fantasy then it can hardly be surprising when the walls close in around us, snuffing out our true horizons. It’s an agonizing process watching eyes begin to die. When the only thing we wish for is that one Azure skyline. A place where we can transcend humanity and leave behind the vicious circles. Spiral back into control just by simply letting go. Perhaps shift into vapor just for the caper. As anything goes where the red mist she blows. Our wonderland is noir, a most tenebrous bazaar of the most unusual suspects, not the ones for chasing cars. Driving us to very welcome distraction. Kissing the asphalt and groping through traction. It sure as bloodiest hell beats inaction.
Pain my only gain
Coffee my hardcore drug
Mental health depletion
Am I me or am I it
I no longer know
I don’t care, just spit
Furious rage from my tortured rib cage
Moving swiftly back to the affirmative as we don’t have long to murder this. We could sit here all day dallying; but would much rather you “Pass Us The Valium”. One double drop of the good stuff and reality will unfriend us on Facebook. Which we guess, in a roundabout way, helps keep shit real. It’s chronically ironic that a lifetime catatonic can be summed straight up through logic, don’t you find that tragicomic? And that’s where Valium comes in handy little dissoluble capsules. Restlessness, anxiety, withdrawal, seizures, insomnia, not to mention spasms – all appear to be on the hit list, and these fraying nerves of ours could really do with re-enlisting. Jacking in to that which is freakish, something with a dash of uniqueness. And we happen to know just the pusher. The valiumfreak, as she is commonly known, can hook us up in the time it takes a cock to doodle-doo, and if you don’t believe what we say, then check this out for “how do you do” .
Morning has broken motherfuckers. And it is the valiumfreak irresponsible for miscontrolling the wrecking ball. This is the kind of welcome we receive each time she administers her rather bad influence. It’s no damn coincidence that she catches us out at inopportune moments, as that happens to be her specialty, and the valiumfreak goes about her shenanigans both calmly and professionally. Does she fuck! She’s a whole gusty twister of wrongness, but then everything right in a person. The world would be a better place, should her condition worsen. Go figure or, better yet, think bigger. A tornado doesn’t slow down to carefully map out its trail of destruction. It has its own whirling views on formal introduction. No wonder the cocks are rattled. Let’s face it – cometh evacuation, whoever grabs the chickens? And is a solitary thought spared for the shrew? Don’t even think of asking how the rodents are doing. We’re fairly sure this ain’t from Ratatouille.
Ah, the price mice pay for their one fleeting moment of fame. This customary greeting is like a spritz of freshest meadow air; as it knows not how to be anything other than frightfully sincere. No strategy for demeaning, just tears of pure joy streaming, as we laugh our asses off at what would have some folk teeming. It’s a peek-a-boo for taboo, an eye poke for public decency, and the easily appalled may well tune straight out of her frequency. It’s evident not everybody gets her gallows humor. They treat her like she’s some kind of moldy malignant tumor. Way too gross to boast of knowing. A basket case who just keeps on growing. The kind of pulsating lesion who would earn Tom Hanks an Oscar, just to snatch it from his cabinet. Merely to mess with him, you understand. As what is life without whimsy? Other than depressingly flimsy. And there is not one thing morose about this particular mortician. Fully qualified no less, had we really failed to mention? Must have slipped our minds amidst all the cow bell. Perhaps the following pictorial would have something to do with that.
Seriously, someone really should inform the Pentagon as this valiumfreak is gone, way gone. And guess what? We’re gone too. Indeed, the toe tags were attached on receipt of our very first hit. Birds of a feather hath been known to flock together, irrespective of any changes in the weather. Thus, every time chaos ensues, we stick like the craziest glue. After all, isn’t that what chosen family are meant to do? Damn straight as crooked we are not. Shooting straight to clear a path, not to mention raise a laugh, and couldn’t we all do with just one or two. Granted, this has a habit of leading directly to three and four, but who’s counting when the bounty is so grotesquely handsome. She may hold our last wits to ransom, but we pay up every time. As the valiumfreak is true and real, designed in Crystalline. And unholy fook, does she shine. Indeed, this is precisely why we deliver this verse through rhyme. You see, our beloved sister gets us every single time. Beautiful honesty. Brutally funny. Not just dutifully sunny. Incurably so. Thanks for the hook-ups, Freaky Freckles. And if you would be so kind as to keep up those simply divine heckles. Tell you what, we’ll leave it to you to wrap things up. Heaven help us.
I love gore so what?
I love horror so what?
Am I weird?
Is it wrong?
Who the fuck are you anyway?
You’re as different from me as I am you
Only God can judge
Artwork designed by valiumfreak