Musing to the Muse

Golden amber is flowing down my throat. The ink is flowing and the cigarette smoking." What more do you want" he thinks to himself, as the Stones play in the background, and liking the wooden panneling of the old pub around the corner.
--Throw it at me they said--

--Here the chairs think for themselves, they have metal studs and are holding bits of cloth.--

You look at him walk and just the legs mind you, and you would think that it was a woman.
The Woman, sensual and masculine.
What is he doing in this den of misfits...?

Dreaming of things that are not there. How good to be with your destiny without the hassels.
There are no reverberations inside the head. Only the smooth amber flow of thoughts. Turbulent sometimes.
There is no emptiness, obviously, because such things only exist in dreams.

There is a song that tears to the East. "Ground control calling Major Tong"

I am starting to get strange pressure changes in my ear. The right one. It's a funny feeling because i feel that i am diving without going under.