fuck this and bless that, the hip priest chops it all down. division, split infinity, 'that's a mighty big call brother,' some goon says but the hip priest don't care, he's plugged in his old jazz muse and strums some rare chord, like a vibrating echo, it's fired itself into the cosmos searching for an ear.
they say he's like your favorite uncle, they say he's eccentric and wise, they say he is a genius and a beast, they say he is divinity and they say he will burn at the stake with his heathen sisters. i've always liked him, felt a strange irresistible gravity, as i spiraled on my crash course, i always, thought i'd like to catch a flame from that fire but i fear being burnt alive. anyway's old mission moves on, slides across the road trips and the negative vibes, chopping up your cynical jibes and your subtle threat, he scoffs at the world leaders, the lunatic fringe are the majority in this upside down world, it's the repatriation of the new normal, orwell saw the future, he wrote the book. big brother big sister, who cares, they watch you scream in room filled with rats ready to gnaw out your eyeballs, they fill your mind with the heavy memes, the government is a global entity, you're life a commodity  your art a number, your thoughts implanted, originality is the enemy, don't be a sheep, don't be a lamb, don't be a fish, don't be a bee. be beyond programmed. but those rats have sharp teeth and room 101 is the world now.