Blond leading the Blond – Journey and dissent
It wasn’t that long ago that someone said what a long strange trip it has been. The phrase has pretty much summed it up regardless, of how high they may have been and we still do not know what we are looking for.
It’s blond leading the blond baby and we are stuck in it.
Cracked out, whacked out, smacked out on the home and heart. Home and heart! Hell we are just trying to stay warm under the viaduct with far too much noise pounding pound pounding. Sounds like someone somewhere is running over a soul.
It’s a blast from the past with all that big hair careening blonds leading the blond on a once in a lifetime trip to put yourself in Los Angeles but, no! this is still Toronto isn’t it? My boulevard of broken dreams, shattered illusion and one way tickets. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. No Sense no feeling. Everyone is searching for their Olympic glory. The root cause, of the what about me; the not in my backyard, the sounds familiar. So I guess it really is true that we get the government that we deserve. No, there will be no armed uprisings; public safety don’t you know. All warm and fuzzy; hot and cold. The weather, it’s affected our motor skills. No hand eye co-ordination. We’re barely able to walk and chew gum. Hell with all those coffee shops about you can just imagine what would happen. Armed and on a caffeine high.
Looking for the pretty that is not here.
There has been a lot of talk but, everything’s all blurry. It’s all fuzzy logic and fuzzy thinking. Fuzzy wuzzy fozi bear. I think I need more morphine to maintain this Sesame street scene. The trolley car rails are telling me stories of arms with more tracks than Amtrak. Of people found frozen with fear, must be that deer in the headlights syndrome. Of bewildering arrays of the faux Hollywood hip caught up like a bit players. Follow your dreams they say but, beware of that fork/folk/fuck in the road and what do they say about the less traveled? So there you go, all frozen like Pompeii lava casts. It’s what those cats need. Pretty sad if you think about it flip flopping fish out of water and out of their minds until they are covered over in layers of the same shit they’ve been feeding us. The new reality, the Enron age” You may triumph on the fields but, against the powers; there is no victory. We’re all just a government mandated two-step away from the Waldorf Hysteria.