LoopDiggers Sunday Roulette N°147

outsider

The Dragon

LoopDiggers Sunday Roulette N°147: Chick Corea Edition

Chicks Chocks

And You [Sunday Roulette #147]

4 hour flip. 
Original Track - https://youtu.be/Hp5B64jXbu0?si=uKfbRXLC-26BWYl7
MOSNAR DET - Remixing, Drum & Bass Programming

Loop Diggers Sunday Roulette Challenge 147 - H A T E R Z

LOOPDIGGERS SUNDAY ROULETTE N°147

Much like the pain experienced when you finally give into that desperately needed sleep, or the extreme nausea when you force feed your self to allay the end of the world, cigarettes hurt me as they help me. They bring about the chemical knowledge that my unfettered schizophrenia will soon ebb, giving way to a somewhat more reasonable self. But, do I deserve such a reprieve? Can my lungs hack the pain? Have I traded any of my soul against it? I usually battle for a good while before giving in, snatching at the pack, invariable breaking the first one, or lighting the filter. But, now with slightly blurred vision, I can resume the regularly scheduled mental battery I subject myself to. I’ve always believed that when it got too bad, I would end the game, but with this level of hallucination, I wonder, would I scare my self out of it, and just lay, arched in pain, and scream until I stroke? Sometimes I long to be one of those clumsy, brutish, twelve-pack boys - self confident to a flaw, beating thier way through life with nary a care. Men completely unaware that just within reach is another world, one of over education, over analyzation, deep contemplation and well, debilitating panic. But a meathead I’m not. No, when I abuse the people around me it's cleverly disguised in a cloud of self righteous indignation, as if those other than myself are just too stupid to see why I’m right. Such attacks are engineered on the fly, with veteran accuracy, impenetrable logic, and lies manufactured with a certainty that only a mad man could conjure - because mad, I’ve come to realize, is what I am. stark, raving, mad. But, with what elegance I display my facade. A gleaming image of a genius, kept back by the injustices of the world, the idiocy of my comrades and the sole knowledge of the perfect way. Control freak? Ego maniac? Perhaps, but with out a doubt, I’m always right. Yes, one more cigarette and I’ll be on top of the world again, razor sharp senses dulled to a slight grin, and eventually, if I make it there, a few beers might knock me out. But first I’ll have to crawl around on my hands and knees looking for the burning toast smell, and what is that fucking sound, anyway?

UNGLUED CONFESSIONS (LOOPDIGGERS SUNDAY ROULETTE N°147)

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LoopDiggers Sunday Roulette N°147

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