Hook your eyesockets into the bramble of lunchtime eatery noise. Conversations blending into tones….high….low…Middle of the pack. Whatever goes in my mind is demonically challenged, and completely subjective to my opinion…or lack there of. What is the meat, the substance of existence. Maybe being withdrawn and elusive is a cocoon of neccesity.
Seven million swamp creatures out of ten agree that they are immune to hypnosis and brain manipulation of any kind. I just use simple “Hip-Hop Economics” my son. This ain’t “Moral hooliganism” or “Unorganized toilet flushing living” ungentle readers, it is real dirty, gritty life. Establishing a center within the (HQ) for “Dream Interpretation” and “Extra-terrestrial Heritage Research.” The research aims to prove that “The Schizo Kid” and his weirdo brethern are in fact the vital link between this world and the next.
“Mega-advanced hyperbolic ion-detectors”, catologued lives, lived, re-lived, altered, taken out of context, then fed through a fuckin’ paper shredder at “Maximum Fuckin’ Speed.” Delerium on the exercise machine at the local gym. Head spining way too fuckin’ fast. Seeing spots, then a sudden flash of insight. “A FUCKING VISION.”I see a vieled beautiful “Demon-Godesss” flashing a smile in my direction. It is love at first glare. Two lost ships, real gone, lost souls. Two “Enigmatic Alien Portals.”
We promptly elope and open up our own “Version Of Reality.” The version we prefer is one of focused madness…channel out hatred of morality and disdain for the “WHOLE FUCKING CONTROL APPARATUS.” We birth 2 or 3 highly intelligent “Reptilian” baby oddities. They are so odd and beautiful that they draw in curious onlookers….and passers by. By the light of the moon the “Hybridized Monsters Of Power” try to invade our cave, our special portal to the “Ghost Realms”, only understood by those who dwell in them.
Exerpt of “The Lizard Boy HQ Chronicles” is as follows…
“Late in the cold evening, sensing the need for an ommision. Surviving someone else’s opinions. Puzzled by the solitary man’s struggle for solace, to drink from inspirations “Twisted Chalice.” Exiled like Napoleon, they say “NO MAN IS AN ISLAND” well, I am in spiritual hell, can you see my soul, can you even tell. I have had my fill wrapped up on in this “Demon-goddess’s” spell, I am in need of her heart, I’m going back to the well.”
The Schizo Kid 2007