the music thumps with the crunk crunk bunk. electric fiz lyrics float across up and down airwaves en route to my ear section. the room moves with the flingy swingy sensation of being sick. the horizon runs against you, swim flying above you. cartwheeling furiously. This will not end well. the conglomerate of the universe sings toward you with wisps outreached. You are a victim of the collapsably expandible universe, with it's weak fluid styrofoam at each end, barely holding the gate figure up. You feeel your body riveted to its bootstraps, to afraid to twitch a muscle cell. your hydraulic jets fire into your blood, urging you to leave rest. You kick through doors, and flap fly over skyscraper to skyscraper. A dim dusky hollywood moon sets over the hanging bridge suspender, a furious ever-remeniscent chase scene ensuing. You are clearly being chased by the music, you are essentially, it's owner proprietor's son. You are finally assaulted by the notes, and you relinquish your reigns to the enemy. which has cross turned into an ally, because you LIKE the music. So before you hate spit on ideas, don't run from them, and let them pick up speed, embrace them, and live


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