Art Electric

Stab of fear hits my psyche like a bolt commanding thou shalt not, want not, fear not...danger, danger, glam slam, artist wannabe to see that risin star of originality. Don't blink, 15 minutes goes real fast in HD plasmatic storylines refined to sell. My bell sounds to get back to class act writing no more fighting to sell it, cut it, slap it, tap it, for elements lost in immortal shangrala scripted for the arc of triumph victory in scene 4. Don't make it heavy, don't make it light, bright with nitro they say. A young boy loves to pay for destruction no instruction when image is king and words waste down the far horizon of synapsed cerebellum cellephaned but not fresh in cognition. My ambition drives me to abate the state of decandent demands for medias thirsty soul. Go spin the pen in graffiti on the Great Wall of idealogical foundation, bringing salvation back to cement jungles roar. I feel the tired and hungry heroes storied hearts of freedom soar.