By Hans Ebert

And so she said, I want to change you- exchange, re-arrange and kinda mentally mangle and manage you. I wanna hold you and fold you and bend you till you’re not who you are. But who you will be according to the rules, you will play according to me.

But things just don’t work like that. There’s always the skinny under the fat. And when the layers are just skin and bone, you clearly see a woman alone. She holds no poker hand, and no Ace of Spades. She’s got no diamonds and she has no face. She’ll sell you out to win the race.

And when the monkey won’t get up and dance, in her eyes there’s only fear. The game is up and the path is clear. Take me or leave me. Best leave me alone. This dog can bite. He always craves a new bone.

He walks with the vultures and speaks to his god. He sings with the Angels and takes a different righteous path. The road less travelled is where he’ll be. He’s a joker and a thief, maybe he’s like you and me.

But what’s the point of conformity? Will that ever get you from A to Zee? Who needs to get from A to B? That’s just a slow waltz dancing nowhere on bended knees. Who needs to live just only to survive? And when breaking even is a pleasant surprise. That makes no sense and nothing much does. Get to that place that still gives you a buzz.

It might be with the girl with sanpaku eyes. It might be her with that Mona Lisa smile. Close the door on what everyone else thinks. Just get out of your mind and have another drink. No one has the answers. They’re all swinging the same hymn. It’s jive and dime store psychiatry. It’s Google wisdom with absolutely no priorities.

Everybody seems so scared to be alone. They need a fix of juju juice from every other Mr Jones. They’re awkward and lost and at their journey’s end. They refuse to see what’s around the bend. And you must if you’re to be free and break that fall. The girl with the sanpaku eyes calls…

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