Story behind the song
One of my new riffs in the beginning. Moving on. I'm headed for newer stuff. God save me, there are people I hate and I don't even know their names. And I know they have no intention of ever letting me know theirs.
Same style, but there is new stuff on the horizon. I loathe those I have to sing about. No right to make me defend myself from their cursed mystery 'in the know'. They don't know, but make the pain and sit in it they certainly do. Knew exactly whom to pick on all these years to get kudos and get away with it. Plenty of reasons in themselves on a comparative note, but those that are based in truth as it might legally concern me, none. Absolutely none, and there never were. I'm not sure anyone reads this story. They should. It's a warning.
I still have not a clue who they are. I assume they have names. I'll bet their mothers haven't a clue what they do all day, and their boss boy pig, I assume, is not the type you invite home to court your daughter.
Song for the day, from yesterday.
The Robot Is Dead Meat (Day Three) by 2978 AD. A conservative review by the robot on its masters.
Song for the day, from yesterday.
They are not psychic. It's not God. It's not representative of Western Australia. It's just really threatening. Bullies. Word hammers. Hiding behind words, women, their own lights, my uneasy reputation that they generally supply, etc. Easiest way to arrest a man's consciousness is to lie, and they do that deliberately ever morning at 5 a.m., and then some.
Two acts. Actually three. Sad sack, bully, and me. Sometimes they throw in their bull dust sounds good 'word', all an esoteric implication wiggle out of what they are, but that's only if I let them. In ten years I've grown huge databanks in my mind. They have muscle.
They'll be saying a psychopathic "I must be so in love with them", which suits their quadruple meanings for every word nonsense. Monsters.
It's a way of life for them, pretending to be part of my family. Its intended aim is to ameliorate their past, sitting there playing God with gravity.
Like Mab the Witch, forget their names, and their amazing, and their power becomes mute. I'm a sweat bonanza to them, and I doubt they have their own word any more.
Threatening me in earnest today. Internet passwords, bank details, address, bicycle, car, mother's house, to get mates to lie about me for them, or innocents to lie from one of their blackmails, to conspire to kill me and secretly mean it, to inhabit my spaces as soon as I leave, to steal my backpack, to be a serious vicious legend of getting innocent men to top themselves, and I'll bet they've achieved it at least once, and I mean that twenty ways to Sunday.
Massive. Actually still expecting sympathy for their hatreds and thinking they can act and talk their way around me. Quite the non-case. When did that ever stop them. Threaten with menace is not illegal is it? What the hell is the psychiatric definition of the secret world of watching a bum anyway? To out talk the baddie? To protect the citizens of Gotham? Actually trying to sound cool psychiatric themselves. "The Robot is still mad". No. The Robot wipes his chronology with them whenever he choses, and right now, listens to them not at all save as an intellectual, and minor, interest.
Watch them turn into babies. Big men into babies .... "Making noise .. don't know what to do ..." (Avatar, movie, animation, USA)
Thank you if you have been reading this. It will help the future. Thank you is also a word they like to 'get to'. It represents a sort of post-coital love dust.
