Anarchist-Rewinds Speaks

         When I think, I think I. When you think, you think you and when we all think together its a completely dreadful...something or other; nevertheless fuck it. I'm gonna write gibberish and I'm gonna write true, through and through without a clue. I'm gonna sing and prance and jump high and low, take a many drug and say hi to you. Cause what is life and what is death without smiling back into the blackened abyss? For this is a completely wrong-headed account of a world filled with doubt, strange but true, I weep the nighttime blues and sing for you.

         I want to bring you new life—A brand new life. A life filled with dire dreams. A requiem, I should of said long ago it seems, of a world, an anarchist world underneath the streets. Though you may of found it hard, to dream but never sleep, where I to reap all benefits of this place made to be. Of course its all but gibberish, I seem to ramble on, where I a lost musician with a band to follow along and maybe possibly to carry on my song.

         Some nights know me lonely and some night hold me tight and other nights altogether don't even seem right. My head all fucked up with dust and weeds in toe, smoking up the devil's rocks and the needling angel's glow. Maybe I'm fucked now, thus way the dreadful gibberish does flow, round and round and round and round the obligatory does go. So, I think myself a thinker, a fools tinker, with no other place to go. I'll retreat down my rabbit hole, where no seems to know. I hum along and that's where I sing my songs and they are completely all wrong.



-Christian Andrews