whiskeyfightpit

I need a good whiskey rampage. Mixing it up and passing the buck or whatever. Wages for labor is what I think is destroying me. I'd rather have a small ranch in Montana somewhere and some big ass P/A speakers that would pump out some massive HELIOCENTRIC WORDLS OF SUN RA and Peter Brotzmann's FUCK DE BOERE. I see a big open wheat field with a bottle of Jamiesons and hallucinogenics in the blood. Does it really matter what I could be staring at? There is no such thing as wasted time. Volcanic crying out from Coltrane/Pharoah Sanders' OM from the computer CD player. I just wanna cut loose and let the fucking chips fall where they may. Maybe we were a decent species once. Positive Mental Attitude.