Warming Up The Brain Farm

Dear God,

The patient’s best intentions have sadly faltered.  Despite his newly installed varnished brain, and being force-fed gallons of viscous demented liquor, he is determined to obtain the new chrome spider’s trophy.  He dreams of becoming the scorpion who never sweats.  Quite frankly I’m sickened to have this individual infiltrate my headspace.  He talks of lascivious laughs haunting his every second, as the clock spits clicks, time speeds by in the form of a neon snake.

Massive delusions?  Very probably.  I fear for my safety.  He is as weak as his fellow man.  I am now surrounded by hypocrits, liars, drunks, clowns, fools, sycophants and the desperate.  I insist we barter with the moon, to sell the patients cohesive lyrical maps, in exchange for a vision of the future.

Stricken with grief, I have no choice but to turn to lethal toxins, hardcore punk paste.

Allstars taking over.

- Lo-Fidelity Allstars, Warming Up The Brain Farm
One of my favourite openings to any album ever is this curious monologue that, for some reason, reminds me of the science fiction of Iain Banks (which is even more odd, since I’ve never read his work… how could that happen?) and William Gibson.  I’ve formatted it as a letter because the opening “Dear God” isn’t read like an exclamation.
I will be slightly embarrassed if this turns out to be taken from someone’s novel…

Warming Up The Brain Farm

Dear God,

The patient’s best intentions have sadly faltered.  Despite his newly installed varnished brain, and being force-fed gallons of viscous demented liquor, he is determined to obtain the new chrome spider’s trophy.  He dreams of becoming the scorpion who never sweats.  Quite frankly I’m sickened to have this individual infiltrate my headspace.  He talks of lascivious laughs haunting his every second, as the clock spits clicks, time speeds by in the form of a neon snake.

Massive delusions?  Very probably.  I fear for my safety.  He is as weak as his fellow man.  I am now surrounded by hypocrits, liars, drunks, clowns, fools, sycophants and the desperate.  I insist we barter with the moon, to sell the patients cohesive lyrical maps, in exchange for a vision of the future.

Stricken with grief, I have no choice but to turn to lethal toxins, hardcore punk paste.

Allstars taking over.

- Lo-Fidelity Allstars, Warming Up The Brain Farm
One of my favourite openings to any album ever is this curious monologue that, for some reason, reminds me of the science fiction of Iain Banks (which is even more odd, since I’ve never read his work… how could that happen?) and William Gibson.  I’ve formatted it as a letter because the opening “Dear God” isn’t read like an exclamation.
I will be slightly embarrassed if this turns out to be taken from someone’s novel…

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