listening to metal.

i guess that's just how it goes, my duders.
i listen to a soundtrack and it controls my head, heart, and hands.
precursory percussive powerpoints indicating the colors and shapes
my monstrous paws will repurpose with poor materials and even worse planning.
uh-huh.
that's a thing.
don't believe me?
that's dumb, because i can prove it-
check the heavy metal warrior poet teleport:

uh-huh.
i'm channeling my long-haired bearded-weirdie,
in throwback attack-type fashion.
skulls with beards and hats.
that's my thing.
oh,
and underbites,
wherever applicable, as often as possible,
to reflect my tenacious bulldog-like barbaric spirit.
that's sort of how it's gotta be, neighbors.
you don't have to like it, but it has to happen.
-
i'm an eight-pointed chaos-star of crusty wreckage these days.
every direction, every time, arcing and aching in tragic trajectories,
meeting every new morning from the previous night,
and making the same old mistakes at every new opportunity.
i choose the wrench every time,
because really-real mutha-uckers do what they do.
...and that's kind of my thing, y'know?
three-hundred and thirty-three half devilish digits on the clock.
that's when i woke up.
what the F* is sleep, ninjas?
it's what's missing at 3:33 A.M.
magic numbers, in thirds, across the nighttime skies.
and the laying down or lying down, or whatever it is,
which of course is usually both at once,
a lay, a lie, a wake-up call across the boards across the universe
in secret decoder planagram shorthand;
undercover and uncovering the overlaps and intersections and missing pieces.
what i mean is-
i'm more than just a little tired,
and there's still and always miles more to go...
y'know?
yeah.
today is the day all over and over again;
never quiet, never soft.....