“When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”
Only a fool would try and explain what was occurring in those days. There is no sane reason that it even occurred at all. Roxanne was sleeping by the pills, communicating with the dead. The President, that fat headed grin of a man, was cascading over the idiot boxes, a claymation character actor elected to lead us through those decadent days. But who could blame us, our flags flapping in the wind. ” I have a theory that the truth is never told during the nine-to-five hours.” The servants were turning weird and running naked through the lawns, cocaine country on the binge of madness, the vultures we were called syphoning off all the gas from the middle ground, getting high off the fumes, as the stocks soared, we were playing far out into the sun, with no clear intentions of slowly down, other than to run the white rails, revealing a reflection of the doomed. ” What is it about being born free and rich beyond worry that makes people crazy?” The American Dream had been Xeroxed, forged, the vicious lawyers giggling at the reporters, with a hand full of dimes, these were the times that we revealed in. I was just busy unearthing the truth, distancing myself from the crazies as much as possible. The ex-cheerleader does sex shows in buffalo, while the bartenders made mary bloody as the commercials sold us the truth on MTV. The race was wide open upon the seas and the skies above, bleeding with our colors, as we stayed the course, Jesus where will it end? In this crash-course of an era, “they were all just unemployed lawyers, pimps and stockbrokers: Politicians in a word….”The great come down, the withdrawals of the 90s brings this all to a close.
– Josh Fleming
An Ode to Hunter S. Thompson
Word Inspired By: Gonzo
Words Recycled and Rearranged with my own, taken from: Songs of the Doomed, from pages: 209-322 The Eighties