wine and pretension

Someone turned on the 'random play' button that controls the circuit board over my soul; my experiences all come at a rate that follows a song pattern, but there is no continuity from one track to the next, except this: I somehow remember hearing this song before. There is a small rhythm or pause that gives way to a familiar da da daa de da of a ramshackle 1970's inner space song still floating through the waves and flesh, and I am the receiver. I am constantly looking for the pattern, and every time I see it, immediately it is erased by some sun or passing person, and that original pattern now superimposes over the flesh or the bricks of a lover or shoe repair shop--now it is a part of something else, something that is like it, but not it. I accept these in-betweens, and move from one piece to the next, staring into an empty theater where an audience is not, because I have only come to watch myself, after all, I'm just another piece of the pattern. And so on an on I find this to lose it, and lose it to find it; each band, project, lifetime is a pale grasping of the whole that only yields crumbs, and I am a hungry motherfucker.