SONG OF THE DAY: Don't Stop the Music (kudzu'd)

I have been struggling to affix my mind upon the fixations just out of focus beyond the fuzz in front of my face. The fog seems thicker than usual, so much so it goes beyond just my brain and seems to have begun seeping into my heart as well. I’d like to see my doctor about this but my doctor is a nurse practitioner and she doesn’t have availability for a couple months. I get texts saying they can see me earlier, do I accept, but no matter how fast I click accept, it apologizes to me and says the visit is no longer available. I sat there, waiting for it one day, and it came and I clicked accept and it still apologized. I think it might be a cognitive test they are running on me before my actual appointment, to time my timeliness in response to the little technological devil I am forced to carry around as a compadre in this modern hellscape. I’ve been practicing not carrying that little devil more, but unfortunately, in order to log into my job, I have to poke the devil, and also to pay my bills, it requires poking the devil in a secondary manner to assure the demons that have built all our existential infrastructure that even though I’m on a different larger devil that sits on the desk in my bedroom, I can confirm it is actually me by clicking the little pocket devil. I do gotta say, I am at least thankful these are shitty Yakubian devils, who don’t actually talk to you and whisper horrible poor choices into your ear with sweet siren songs of temptation. They can trigger my addiction genetics, sure, but they lack supernatural powers, and always will, and that will ultimately help cause their failure. I think because I am aware of that, that’s likely why the fog is thicker, because they fluff up the algorithms at me, as they know my mind is an old Pangean mountain contrarian type, so I’m more resistant to the influence of influencering. But also, I am aging, with a beard as grey as trash barrel smoke with a healthy heaping of plastic Dr. Pepper bottles, so my neural pathways have more potholes than they used to. Oh well. There is a twisted music to the words that meander through my mind, and they won’t stop until the day I die, and perhaps they don’t stop then. I won’t know until then, when me and the reaper iron out all the details.