- Vol. 04
- Chapter 06
The Yellow King
I was tangled in all the wires — Music was stopping — at first wavelength slowing, Try and equivocate the happenstance and turn, whether a stubborn ox, or mule's brittle bones, nothing is pretty anymore then. When only a yule- tide would suffice. Oh is he sweating yet? Or is the drool dripping worse as dried ice. A sweltering sunbeam. A melodramatic escapade. If one can only hope this planet, our planet is but one island beneath, a shared sun. Even if life is bona fide, twenty thousand light years above the sky. But what's beyond that? I'll take Dark Matter for 700, Trebek. That's a daily double, if it isn't too late to pass — The girl from Stanford to my left seems better equipped to tackle; because fate would have it that I'm already committed to a different shackle. It's unique. The future is not bleak, a random tangent could never hold its own against a tandem, ahem, if it is not a word, then — play, pause, rewind preferably something from the 80s.
The Yellow King
Else T Bone Burnett sounds a lot like Leonard Cohen.
There was nothing for me to do, battling a bout of a swine aged flu.
The thing is, that, the drug store I that I went down to wasn't in Chelsea, and the abuse I sustained was far more than my fair share.
Jimi talked too, that it's just a change of climate, perhaps. I vie wishing he'd never said that, to me. He was also talking to me.
Douche was the sound a splat balloon paintball gun will make. Consequence is how this entire axis will gyrate, eloquence is now intrinsic the governors say. It’s rude, how surface level they appear facile struggles come late when they don't expect a hassle conundrum is a funny word when uttered by a character Paul Giamatti might play it’s already so dark so spark back up the flame! Oh when the saints Oh when the saints Bailed on us. Hum-drum, Now I’m left with a ringside ticket I can’t give away.