I Can Feel It (Draining Out of Me)

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In these strange times, it’s not unusual for something ridiculous to happen. A dog might suddenly fall from a second floor balcony and you’d simply step out of the way and hope that you didn’t get any muck on your shoes. You might go to a cinema show only to find a meeting of angry children taking place instead. None of these things surprise us anymore, and the only thing that we’re waiting for is a big hole in the ground to open up and swallow us as long as it isn’t as boring as the last time.

This flapped-out hippy here is one such person who thinks like this. How many trips has he had? Does he even care anymore? Does he even know if he’s tripping or not, or if he’s here or there or a he or a she or a hippy or a sheep anymore? No, he doesn’t so what he’s left with is pure, raw experience and you can’t argue with that. He goes out walking in the multi-coloured hills and it’s real simple out there where the flowers and the bees are. No way can any of that bad-trip vibe make its’ way outside the bad bread-head city and rear its ugly head in the shared natural consciousness of the goddamned countryside.

Yeah, I thought that too before all the colours started draining out of it. Hell, even if last year was boring at least it was in technicolor and you could tell good grass from bad grass simply by the shade of green or brown that it came it. You wouldn’t have to get down on your knees to smell the quality before you sit down like you do now that it’s all grey. Different darkness doesn’t mean nothing and we’ve got fifty million years of evolution to tell us that. What’s this colour thing mean if it ain’t something to do with survival?

Well, I’ll tell you. It’s there because that’s exactly how we make it. If your colour’s draining it isn’t time to start blaming the bad trips or the evil man in the factory office sucking it all out for his bad-man machine. No way. We’re letting it slip, man, that’s all it is. No-one can let the colours go but our very own selves. We got bored with the last year and the whole terrible business of finding something new to do and why it isn’t brighter than before.

And so by over-trying we made it all grey. Sure as hell we did. We made our own grey hell. Too late.



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