Where’s my face?!
Oh. It’s on my face.
Well, that comes as no surprise.
This morning is presented and therefore at the same time brought to you by the sweet, soothing tunes of Midnight Oil as they reach for my ears and drag them into a world of imagination and fantasy that allows me to escape this wretched existence that is full of little else other than pain and misery.
Oh, Midnight Oil, how you carry me away onto better times in dire consequences of need upon your magical sliding cloud that roams the land in search of the real thing that needs to be found in order to avoid the cemetery in all of our minds, hopefully leading to some sort of land where we can escape the dreamworld and enter the golden age that surely awaits us beyond the shipyards of New Zealand.
Instead of telling us that we shall not be released as we are all imprisoned in an arctic land, where nothing grows aside from the enmity within the Australian spirit that does not run an ultra-marathon in boots and slowly, yet surely, this is indeed an action that will most likely not see ourselves being crowned king of the mountain, but fighting with some sort of power and passion in our hearts in order to reach something that allows us to go beyond screaming in blue and all the way down the Gunbarrel Highway, hopefully toward somewhere off in the far distance that may be considered at the very least the best of both worlds.
Still, with all of that being said, I’m sure that Midnight Oil have other things to do, such as getting back to Kosciusko, or at least to Harrisburg. There will certainly be times when they must abate from my sensory receptors and instead go and find out where the U.S. forces are so that their nod-providing can be prevented. Perhaps they will take many along with them, for there is much doubt and unfortunately we still live in a world where seeing is very much believing, rather than having belief built around collected evidence and research.
With all of that being said, who can stand in the way of the poets & slaves when they’ve been away too long?
It’s not as though they’ve been living underwater and gained the gravel-rash of the barest degree due to having too many sins of omission after founding a common ground with many of their ilk.
Midnight Oil certainly are carrying me along a journey of many ideas and adventures and these are the things that will hopefully help us remember the forgotten years, for too often too many people are willing to have a short memory about what has happened and instead would rather waste away in paradise, which is a real shame as it doesn’t take too much to stand up and work toward preventing rivers running red, but then again, it’s possible that sometimes people would rather never read about it
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 09:20:95
Well… uh… yes.
I think I need to eat.
Written in The Attic.