The funkiest slowed down beats sound like cicadas in summer humidity, with the threat of whippoorwills every now and then, and you love it because it envelopes you, and even when you think about the foxes that might lurk in the dark beyond your human sight, you know they’re little playful things, and pose no threat. Even the coyotes want nothing to do with you, because you’re the biggest threat of all, because you haven’t joined the symphony of nature yet. Maybe you think you have, but if it’s only on the conscious level and hasn’t returned to our collective subconscious, then we ain’t done shit, except too much. We got one foot in “living natural” but only the little toe and the other foot (our right one) is still firmly set down in the false comfort of wealth’s abstraction, which the humanly blessed amongst us hoard like oxygen in a punctured atmosphere, while the rest of us clamor for scraps and dream of becoming free of the struggle of trying to exist in a world ruled by these abstractions.
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