I see myself a world, a universe, fading quickly effortlessly and silently to sleep. Lazily, fearfully giving up, not in, to everything floating around us, distracting us, taking our minds off all that’s important, all that’s real. All of us remote controlled, glossy magazined, logged on, air-conditioned. The whole new world snoring - falling asleep trying to live. Too easy. Letting go of the planet and flushing ourselves down a giant black hole into wallpaper nothingness. Mind body spirit self fading away into the grey suit yawn of radio static whilst little white mice run the wheel in a furious effort to get going. It’s a cold and broken empty place where we pay the rent and make sure we don’t scratch any of those spotless walls of squirting custard jism. We went from being something, to being human.what’s next? Floating off into never dreamer ever land of cockroaches scratching at the timber floor whilst weeds devour the porch and the president prime minister queen says everything’s gonna be OK.

Well, it fucken ain’t. We gotta turn them all off. Move out of empty ABC news and empty our selves. Become empty then fill up on what’s real and essential and delicate rosy soft petal white. This is the story. Smell it, hear it, taste it, live it. Wake the fuck up. We’re going quietly, and steadily without a fight into never-ending dreamy days of hungover night. We gotta cut the cables, throw the modems out the windows, quit our jobs, burn our uniforms, call a bank on our cell-phones and then leave them turned on in the middle of Walmart, scratch questions onto McDonald’s restaurant tables, never ‘Yield’, unplug the air-conditioning, kill the cruise control, cos it ain’t OK. We’re fading from the inside out and that’s where it starts and blows rippling out into pointless arguments, assaults, melees, border disputes, fallen twins, Operation Enduring Freedom collector cards, refugees eating grass to stay alive whilst countries are unwilling to help.

But.but only if we could wake and see everything for what it is. The alarm clock’s ringing fucking loud. These are the two biggest roads diverging in the yellow wood of history. And only when we stop hitting ’snooze’ will we be able to take the road less traveled by, take the one that makes all the difference, and wake the fuck up. We have to dance on our own, smell the rose, taste the apple, feel the silk, be with our loves, hear the guitars, shout the truth, see the sky - all that never-ending bottomless Saturday morning vanilla blue. We need to notice we’re breathing.