Astronomers of the Strange
Los Angeles, CA, USA
The music’s too loud. Turn down the lights. Someone’s talking backwards, telling me to pretend. Folk alternative. The finest in false pop. Artificial imagination. Gain separation. The hooks are often extensible. No erasers while attaching words to the wall. My demons shouldn’t be the only ones who get to dance. Sincere thanks for the sweet industrious cooperation. Now lie out under the stars and black holes of inexistent masters who whisper sweet nothing’s into the fever that says reason sex music static. Follow the delivery truck until it’s over. Open the escape hatch and count to forever.