Spreadsheet Eyes
Sometimes the world seems like a giant spider's web, whatever way you wriggle you're stuck. Sometimes the world is full of clowns and the soul of the world wears it's mask. Sometimes the world seems like market day, 'neath the castle of some dark medieval burg. The world, now lost, needs new vision, charisma, a chanting inspiration. Be gone you tunnel-vision money-drones with your spreadsheet eyes, your silken schemes will come unstuck, your windblown strands will phase and bend with the power-amp of a Hendrix song…
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