A night of tumbling cylinders spring the psychic locks of head and heart. Certain rooms are finally opened, others walled away using the most delicate craftsmanship. Questions asked and answered. Knowledge where there was only a skid mark of sense. 

And the tumblers keep tumbling, the doors swing open and the windows shatter and allow years of ghosts to finally be free, be well, sayo-fucking-nara. 

 

And it allows us to finally orbit the real issue, the not available option, grayed out on the screen. 

 

Do The Fix/Destroy. 2-3-4. 

 

Do The Fix/Destroy…and kick.

 

Its a new dance craze. A new cuisine fusion-ed from inedible elements. 

 

Its a new form of literature that can’t be read or a beautiful new sun discovered that is bearing down on us, will surely kill us, growing daily. 

 

2-3-4.

 

Now….and option is a choice. And we don’t have any. That’s the magic of this new viral sensation The Fix/Destroy. It has a set standard within the linguistics of the phrasery:

 

You cant fix one thing without dismantling another. 

 

We can’t fix us without destroying them. 

 

And kick.

 

There is no choice’s within these choices 

 

2-3-4.

 

So take my hand, my friend, and twirl with me. They’re calling this one just for us.

 

And kick.