Festival! Festival! As if waiting in line for 48 hours wasn't bad enough, at the end of that line is an empty vessel just waiting to be discarded the day after the toxic wrapping paper is set alight in the fire of another holiday season. All the joy once held at the thought of spending 99% of your earnings to receive the 1% gratification you might have possessed at the end of the stick, not the carrot, of marketing, is now mired by the realization everything you do is an affirmation of an addiction to petroleum products, to oil. From Vaseline to pill coatings, from cds to dvds to prosthesis, from diapers to condoms, one day it will be time to pay the piper.
And you've waited in line over two days, sacrificing any of the so-called joy of being with your families, of having a relaxing day off, of doing drugs or slutting it up on-line with some serial killer on one of the many soul-fracturing social video networks available to you--you've waited in this line to worship the only god you've come to understand and relate to as a being of infinite guilt, shame, and horror. Kneel before Zod, and listen submissively to what the media will tell you of your next decision, and only then open your pocketbooks wide, and feed the frenzy of power that will only end in the tears of bondage demanding more obedience. Happy Holidays to everyone!
Once each and every live DVD you put out starts to sound like every other one, it's time to make a change. You keep wearing the same clothes, you only listen to music you listened to 10 years ago, and most of it you made yourself. You're getting old man, and the only excuse you can find is you. That seems to be the only excuse everyone else is finding as well. But that's ok, you're the only one who cares, dearest friend. Put on the LP (that's a Long-Play record, a petroleum disk that sits on a magical spinning table while a needle is placed on it, and the sound is sent from the petroleum disk to speakers, that produce sound), sit down and stare at the popcorn ceiling, and hope something good happens...
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