too blessed to be stressed
I woke up one day in LA after falling asleep to the news in 2020. I burst through to the other side of the infinity mirror where I could hear echoes of father John Misty singing the same song over and over. His voice was mine but pixilated. It doesn’t matter anymore, my band doesn’t matter! Celebrities are fading and losing their function. Art is being replaced with commercials and ads. My former self screams through the void.. LIAR!!! but there I was.. still white, still straight and still a man. I don’t like violence but I do. With nowhere to turn I fantasized of a different world . A world where people understood the value of whites. Not for their "power" and brutality but for their souls. Whites have souls too. Only some have “soul”, but none the less, whites have souls. I think there has been some confusion recently about that. Anyway, Michael Jackson didn't do it and I took acid and had some visions. It's a shame more people now don't understand the value of myths and god so that they didn’t just worship people with more than they have. BUT in my dream which was dictated to me in a wonderful "black" accent (not Kanye's voice, think Eddie Murphy when he played his mom in The Nutty Professor) we were free and connected to everything and each other through spirit. I hope you can appreciate the excruciating pain I'm in. ENJOY THE MUSIC!!!