So long to the High Octane Generation and all its faulty errors who have at long last learned to live without beauty or any of her manifestations can just sit here on this bank of sand and watch the river flow ... black and backwards
Praise now the plastic tunes and tooth whiteners, the square boxes, the straight liners, the lighted paths and hand sanitizers
The vague spectrum of knowledge, that bumbling self righteous light we have spit into the very eye of the atom
We the High Octane Generation have been weakened by a pathological need for fuel injection...
power steering...
solid state ignition...
and push button road side assistance from a revisionists dash board savior with blood in its feline eye.
but time was when we had our valves ground down
we had our hearts bores out
we had points, coils, and rotors
we had bumpers
and brother we had chrome
Back then we could bleed our brakes...
advance a spark...
torque our heads...
and there was no damn check engine light cause we checked our engine everyday
we sat with them while they idled and listened to their intonations and layed our hands upon the valve covers as we breathed the secrets of our hearts into their manifolds.
Yea... and we were masters at the backseat acrobatics because all that was just humpin it up inside a poem that we knew by heart, you see these machines were just extensions of our understandings of all things material and spiritual to such extent that speed and horsepower were just not quantitative realities
no they were allegories that fueled our passions, prove our ideals, and mapped out our interior destinations across the crooked fields of time.
I have no idea what has happened to this High Octane Generation - why we can no longer burn rubber while we resist lifting the hood to see the power and how we have arrived at such a place that owning a car that can park itself is nothing to be ashamed of...
Praise now the plastic tunes and tooth whiteners, the square boxes, the straight liners, the lighted paths and hand sanitizers
The vague spectrum of knowledge, that bumbling self righteous light we have spit into the very eye of the atom
We the High Octane Generation have been weakened by a pathological need for fuel injection...
power steering...
solid state ignition...
and push button road side assistance from a revisionists dash board savior with blood in its feline eye.
but time was when we had our valves ground down
we had our hearts bores out
we had points, coils, and rotors
we had bumpers
and brother we had chrome
Back then we could bleed our brakes...
advance a spark...
torque our heads...
and there was no damn check engine light cause we checked our engine everyday
we sat with them while they idled and listened to their intonations and layed our hands upon the valve covers as we breathed the secrets of our hearts into their manifolds.
Yea... and we were masters at the backseat acrobatics because all that was just humpin it up inside a poem that we knew by heart, you see these machines were just extensions of our understandings of all things material and spiritual to such extent that speed and horsepower were just not quantitative realities
no they were allegories that fueled our passions, prove our ideals, and mapped out our interior destinations across the crooked fields of time.
I have no idea what has happened to this High Octane Generation - why we can no longer burn rubber while we resist lifting the hood to see the power and how we have arrived at such a place that owning a car that can park itself is nothing to be ashamed of...
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