(Future Flash & Alien Visits 1-11)
I‘m headin‘ towards a mushroom-door, said Braun and was headin‘ and the best girls feel most eternal and time is designing another day.
Stay in your own door, I said and the brown mermaid didn‘t really say but felt: “the same way” the monotony of fools‘ gold in the ever-circling one-sidedness # then there is that pad-pick and the step into the other world # roads # and roads of no pretension: a true look washing away all that zero-existing complications based on nothingness # and the time unmasked and the sunbeaten plain and all soul # this is the inspiration behind the changing real and the melody of life is one with its music: what is your message? – Turn to the divine is the message. All comes from that and ideas and images group themselves in the key-state of being. # I feel something and I follow that something # and then again it comes renewed and you have to go some miles with the matter and atoms rolling by and electrons triggered by nameless sounds and sweet timeless confusion and time-intrusion # recalling the previous hour, the hour before the hour and all that and the golden dust descending and the unbuilt futures and the unsolved futures and the candle-light in the third basement under the cadillac: — and later shifting real and ice-cream elvis and juke-box candies and honey, unbelievable honey # and streets like doors and houses of many doors with shadows of the tangible and figures void of shadow: unrealistic salesmen and unmarried women and all of them speakin‘ and all of them sailin‘ and Braun pushin‘ forward his first pad lovin‘ a brown mermaid # the turntables are stretching in front # and you wonder # still all the keys may change into one # and at that moment you are the one # tonight I am busy, you know # many people and this big show # I usually don’t speak in front of a museum, ∞ but now that I am here I will speak signs of an extraterrestrial language ∞ most of your ancestors, I tell you, do not really know you, so why bother even if you know them? The brainwashing-society recently started to lick your ass ∞ and the bad news was that you liked it ∞ anyway, pleasure is of no meaning unless you eat it with white and black ink. See you again during the apocalyptic rail-road chase ∞ wear your limousine neatly packed ‘round your waist and don’t forget to leave a note saying: “Dear skeletons, this was the last time I voted to be your president.” The paranoia-society nowadays is taxing kisses ∞ only if you are masturbating 30 times in front of the police-officer’s daughter he might be able to finally chew his boots ∞ still you shouldn’t pay attention. Latest Buzz of the Hipster-Gang decided to paint your chewing gum ∞ and all the chewing gum-people had a good time and a big noise too ∞ but the really funny thing was that you hadn’t any chewing gum at all ∞ and me, I won’t sell my underwear either or be afraid of them stealing my toilet-paper. The holy mouse society planned again to fuck the cat ∞ but when the wolf came in, they pissed off all together although he was wearing a red cap and was telling stories ‘bout frogs and vaginas ∞ and that’s the true story. The truth-selling society recently had problems with a table although it was pasted on the wall and had nothing written on it, had nothing inspiring to say, wasn’t heroic at all and wasn’t even a table ∞ but some still might go out and try to be somnambulists or wash umbrellas. Cemented ashtrays, wall-paper automobiles, blessed fire-arms and holy pencils for horny people, economic wars and angels in blue were the colors of the latest declaration of the shopping-list establishment society ∞ and the temperature was fairly well and the sky partly cloudy and the traffic was moving slow.
Lyrics & Music: Michel Montecrossa, © Mira Sound Germany