podcast willy.

looking at the sky tonight i had to ask myself where ive gone wrong. it would appear as if the volume and pitch of the vibration that is my life have been muted. at least there is still a sense of wonder. and i suppose i should be grateful for that. this is exactly what got me thinking: the moon seasonally clear, tycho's crater visible with the naked eye, and the promise of autumn hanging on the conscience of nearby living things. a choked squeak from the throat of a bird.

we share this pathetic squeak. it was our encouragement and motivation. what now? the sound of beauty is a quieted pale tone. something greasy and nefarious has blessed this vibration. dis-chord in the aria of the angels. i remember something different.

maybe we should blame our parents. doing what they could to keep up the cheerful guise of something marred with self destruction. sowing pastel rhetoric to reinforce the withering pasture of good-nature. or maybe this is exactly what breeds hope. the slow realization that civilization bloomed some time ago and those partially responsible for draining the color from the carcass have replaced chlorophyll with krylon.

there is no one to blame but ourselves.

weve gone from lovely tenors to miserable maestros in this degenerate opera. a harmony bent sideways by the will to control. unsure if its now proper to moan along with the sour notes of hurt and hate. confused, we're the disgusting bloody remnants left over from the inevitable abortion bred out of eager creation. its true. we are absent any trust because our pillars were built with balsa wood. rotten from air humid with millions of souls in disgust.

so heres to a deviant culture, burning bright with the friction of perpetual descent, claiming all for one in the final hours. take what you can before someone else does, im sure you'll need it.