...

[Aphex Jihad]

So anyway, I turn on my televiolence set and there ain't any of this kinda
Jewishish comic I've been hearing so much about. Then they tells me he's
been dead for, like, 20 years and unless I can invent a time machine that
doesn't break when the operator comes into contact with a dadaist
performance artist, then maybe, just maybe I can see this guy wrestle at
Madison Square Garden centre. They tells me that this is all impossible;
they has to be kidding me, right? They build me up to dash me, bash me, mess
me around and grind me back to my cell with the pretty white walls. They
tell me I was born to late to know his work, to understand it, and I'm sick
and need to be strapped to my bed, so I says fine, but can the other me stay
behind on that off chance that something comes on the telly.

They say no, but promise me doughnuts and toffee apples if I promise to sit
still awhile. I don't want to, but I have no choice because they put this
big needle in me and I suddenly feel really happy, even though I can't see
the one who can truly fly other than me.

So I see nothing. They don't let me on the computer anymore, either.

the Aphex Jihad

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