Constantly we’re consumed by our thoughts, even the stronger compassion dwellers can be refocused on emotion or issues and gender nomination. 
Amidst this TV reality show our lives have evolved into, unless nominated to define ourselve as best, the audience along the way, resounds us as impartial, not worth their dimes. 
Sharing the waiting time, a lady, that of my year would have me as a teen. Of then my probability of void-fil would have involved adjunct riddles, or my favorites poem ending with –wash it all down with a cold cup of sic.
As not to betray my age, and invite the rebels, that our coffee be taking far to long, I had by enchantment the inertia of this song, my recline by a skip down memory lane. Accredited all involved this including our barista, and the song present, Les Miserables: master of the house.
At first it became an awkward recollection of a word or two, and the only you know ability I gave, was in search for some play by Jon English or one of those other artists not I mention of them. 
My memory was shod like trying to remember an ‘actor’ from in play of a memorable scene. For some reason, I had to know the hum of these lines, and I did, well I do after a full verse, and today as accomplished in random this is today’s cup of coffee:

This Album of tune’s were on my play list of last year, even though the album’s more dated then of resent. The music here is refined into a soulful electronic display. Trusted with beaut lyrics and a combination of ambient vibes with an upbeat electronic sound. 
Credit to James lyell and Hugo Gruzman. Flight Facilities. Album: Down to Earth.

Electronic music of the last decade, in Australia, has evolved into melodic concoction. Previously struggling with mass produced and a more forged electronic beat: from 2000 to 2007.

The concept of this Album reminds me of Inflight Entertainment; by a UK DJ duo called: The Karminsky Experience. This CD along with another remix of music call: Espresso: ( Latin in vibe ) both extraordinary albums, but a rarity, on the web. Maybe it is due to some copyright infringement. Anyhoo, enjoy: Flight Facilities.

It was the day to reverberate a collective listen an profoundly introduce the falling of the sky. 
I sat in the yard of history’s abode, drenched in the smell of a two day recall of measured success – remembering I had being more acquainted with the family dog, then a prospect for introduction. 
Conjointly keeping the barbecue food and forecasting my doom. Inherently I had out-lined my chance to immortalize in fable, to those that I had not succeeded. Even the remedy how long it had taken to come about. 
Influenced with Lego’s best stories my charming endgame was at the whim of glory for her. Nothing refined more than a display of tradition. 
I had lost parlez-Vous Français devolved at-self and my courage had been reduced. The centerfold store was to unravel, and I was not to lose. 
The fading day light couldn’t come quick enough: The peg had been brought in; the suit was lost in a rehearsed pretense. 
All was a loss to that ring-tone, that reminded me of my failure. 
Rather than goad my audience a fleeting thirty second display of ineptitude took place; his troubled and not of this kin. 
Art vs science, Parlez-vous Français?

Cry** **Love** **Tomorrow**

I have loved and lived without 
Emotions remain are same 
I vow not to have wronged 
Knowing comes from rain 
I suggest acceptance 
Physically my clouds have bunched 
I open a locket to her heart 
Bereft a cause only death repairs 
I surpass the year one less word spoken 
Invitations a wordless tutorial 
I love the without regret 
Harmonics that only you fret

Jeered up on frenetic loyalty with only those undies I received from her as I am told to run: 
He’s home and he’s coming to check on me, 
“What about my shirt and socks?” out the window go, don’t look back his coming I can hear his keys. 
Get out the window I’m fine, quick kiss me, go. 
The drop remain a pulsive break to the right, and there I came to a holt, my brother-in-law checking to see if I was still on for tomorrow:

The stigma of my sigma, as you watch with prying eyes, my data filled TDK, enveloped into the dash. 
This renewal for my extroverted, trail blazing peruse of our lost street. Longing for our friendship to rebound from a crushing demise, the affirmation has processed and as I press forward, windows down, I summon the accelerator govern the brakes with automation refueled. A desire to roll and chasing at 40 RPM on the esplanade, in a perpetual happiness, we cruise abound:

Last drinks; mate I’ve had enough of you. Eat my food, corrupt yourself, for a wanton of word’s. Jaded memories or a pilfered thought, it will not matter; what you have brought to tell are no words of mine. 
I had never response to sink this ship, and I am inviting you on board; this word you have on present, wasn’t presented my way. I did not call you a coward, you can be but not in my eyes. 
You did not want to sail, and that is fine with me. Fix those word’s I’m not that inclined, you’re cowering from intellect, so please shout me a drink and wish us well.

Back then past used to, I’d have fear my Dragon’s, never sold the idea that you could exist. Now ever-day the system fails me. 
My gorgeous dragon, seen in windows 2004, animates those skies with Dragon Rain. 
Lucky self, as to closed in, I keep inside away from those dragon spell’s. Remembering the future and always ask where came the rain:

Somewhere between sincerity compassionate and insincerity, I take, a drop of ethos. This song like many from the early ‘nineties late eighties’ would so play to my juvenile heart. Song writing of the time had its music betray society’s relevant happenings. 
Todays music need not have the same betrayal of emotion, relevance to an issue or cause. Social media has resolved at length, in a good way to relevant inharmonious actions that are of a destructive manner. 
Music for myself came through an archaic form of value, mostly radio TV, and the purchase of CD’s. With a connection to a holistic release of times value. I would connect slowly to the political environment about. 
This type of sound was poetical and betray an issue that were relevant then and is today. For now issues resolve through Facebook and often other electronic media. The savy of our time have leant quickly to make monies from an ever changing political landscape, as of their self need. 
The ‘metoo’ establishment allows unsavory and wrong scenarios to come to light and in-relate. 
Bemused by an ever changing political and commercial infrastructure, I am forever on the hop, not to acclimatize too my surroundings, but adapt an understanding of ethos. 
Individuals of inspiration, are at a wealth of audience, and cloaked in aspiration: my today will be cut short of a body in self interest, I will play them this ethos, and if the tune is well, then the body will not deconstruct after reading: 

Do do doo do doo: a lyrical beat to poem’s and friendly voices everywhere.

Very catchy to someone who might be expecting them Dr Worms?

The way to yellow mountain, this cause you have, you live here? You’ve the kindest views all round, why not with the people’s? “Where you stand and see as far as the eye.” Though I cannot see any mountains, you have the most fine home. A suburb to your every direction, they must visit you often for their, ingeniously aligned air you have? “What you see will prove fitting for chatter, and nevertheless, then occupying my time.” I provide this is yellow mountain then? “You stand correct” why not live with the frivolity? “I have claim to all the land about, yet I isolate, accused of trying to snatch the kitty from another’s mother:

We all talked, about things of colour, of the missing and loved ‘sketching out our walks.’ The weather didn’t matter to them, spurious in design they were. A collection in upturned jumble, fabled from the day’s end, oh how I’d find, my most imaginary. Friends.

The variant around my very round semi, round half/three-quarters of forlorn compunction. Her day found in rounding, oscalating within times square, this her tangle of honeycombed philosophy, was to entice abraded ray’s of demeanor in angles of imbued imbalance.

Brighter The Gold: love your work, a colloquial I use to bond with a friend close.
The frenetic pace of this tune blends to the mesmerizing vista, that on account I remember, but never quite catch.
Used to be the closest to me, could admire my loss for the unexplained, and I enjoyed the I know, you know’s.
Then as I have resolved of old to be ancient of others, this youthful video, reminds me that what I used to know, i know was uncertainty; a visual to the world about. Energetically I am to find what lie beneath my distrust, in the complicate, to resolve the question. A practicality to I know.
My unknown to remember, the cause of this ill feel, has not resolved, yet the I know’s you knows have:

Dinosaur jr
This be a guitar rift, strumming my fame, I knows not why, this overt tune be me. Within us all is a natural defiance to succumb of pain.
This sound, resonates from an uneasy place in my life. Many tunes like this one seem defeatist on many levels, but even if the lyrics were of another speak, this amazing rift is what the nineties had installed.
These words then had not much of a meaning to a rewind of observation. Articulate in consumerism and bound in aspiration, my negativity too the uninspired, has a belonging with myself to this day.
Although ‘Joseph Masics’ words are of a self serving nature, feel free to withdraw from your hood and choose Dinosaur Jr. Best served with a slice of lemon.

Tonight somewhere at a time in a place a paw of monkey shall lift a push bike from a place (don’t chase) to a moot.
They will peddle there on a bike lifted out of spite, (don’t chase) and if you might I’d like that bike brought back.
No, questions asked (there was no chase) just keep it real. I like my bike and I enjoy to get around. So tonight if you keep an eye out for those damn mighty annoying band of Monkeys.
Might all be right:

It is probably passable, a mystic’s dream, whenever I look twice as far as the next word, midway between mind and heart; a configuration of word’s evolve. Nirvana to me had reasonable lyrics and a sound that belonged to an acoustic style evolved. 
There is an irony to the band’s evolution, and of course that grand silence that bestows Cobain’s demise, and my pen is not to scratch any dispersions. 
‘Territorial Pissings’ is the short fast thrashie song for my today, a passing mood, as i resort to this sound to purge any creative block. 
Nirvana didn’t jump out of the blocks, from the nineties, at me; Rage Against The Machine, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, then Prodigy all had for myself a more usual discover of abandon cure. 
Territorial Pissings don’t just play it once. 

Our corner is just around, and the five year-old that has brought you to and from, ‘pedals there and back again.’ Lyrics: Pixies. Song: Skegss. Triple J recording: here comes your…….by The Velvet Underground.