Endless Now By Lou Toad

Lo, he who findeth himself betrothed to the endless now, and with wisp of wick and whimsy foretold the dagger ritualistic verbally assaults the woods-senses and metallic naturalists spake between the folds of the greenery to upset the balance of computerization. No heroes in this tale be told but instead widespread monsters make mock of the cranks and gears and searing cold that shakes the trees and leaves the leviathan to compleat his thesis on pigeonholing predestination. Fragments of froggy courts and violent sports trail down the chemical highway to make sure the made up is played out exactly as it was never meant to be seen.

In A narcotic moment of creative bliss you approach a door. Do you dare to open it? Or hast thou kept inside all the miscreant self-consciousness of your youth? Did you expect a lot of gratitude when you did what was only natural and never supernatural? 

Was The old Grandstand Bluff overlooking the High School where you psyched school and left the flowers to rot and used the distraught as material fed into the great machine, gnawing metal teeth of the great machine, eclipsed by a cyclops and destned for denial, lore travels in bonds unbroken so remail calloused and glued up.

The only possible peace a release a skip and jump over mountains of nullified creativity. Scraping mooncaps under microphones and the duct tape jones that hits wrong. A crass and corpse recourse to the basic functions.