Muse Ack

What’s that sound in the back room? How can this
be happening anywhere in the world anymore? Does
that mean that hope is still alive? Does it mean that
we’ve still got a chance? The punks did shit, so they
got sad, but let’s look at our label less selves.

The simplicity
of doing what feels good. The magic of what makes
us happy. How could such an obvious idea feel so
beautifully new? Something so obvious, the absolute
fuel in the face of demise. The tiniest living lights

guiding us to the ultimate truth. Everyone. Every
where. Ever. That is so utterly the point. Peel back
the fabric to focus on the frame. The feeling that keeps
us whole throughout our god given days. The beauty
in skilled sound. The skill of beauty

that moves the world.
The world of beauty that emerges in the minute moves
skill implores. The life in poetry that so simply explores
the motion of fingers, voices, skins. The act of being
portrayed in the duel sounding song. Where has such truth been?

The motion of a soul, broad, bold, scolding the silence
that dwells within. As love, luck, loss, lust sit in waiting
of this direly tireless human condition. So lucky the few
to move that to the realm of effect. That is the essence of life,
living, god. In his own image. Because even he can’t rock

like this. The sound! Terrible longing of what you could be doing
right now! To be on the other end! Still, this is the best you’ve
felt in months. What a world it is we’ve found ourselves in.
Beauty living in sound, so let us always be crying tears of joy
or pain, as long as it’s entirely human.

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