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  • Writer's pictureJames Kidac


the dance floor had empty glass cups and fury butter cups. it was a riot, orchestrated by loud and rude sounds.. or musik if you consider a certain shasha or gaga as a serious artist. there were hands all over the place, feet stampling on the checkerboard floor tiles. it was another day's work. he wore a smart shirt and a cool pair of jeans. he wore a smile and he was part of the carnie. the disco ball sparkled in the dark, unassuming, and shaun couldn't keep his eyes off the silvery thing, all curves and over elaborate figgimagiks. his broad shoulders were twitchy and nerves had both set of his fingers quivering. the room, the people, shaun, they were like the heart of an idea beating, pushing the envelope/elephant/retarded bear of comfortable folklores into reality, and hoping for a day when ideas are not shunned by ignorant fears, but by consequences in forethought. shaun you billy. in musik some people found they could be human and real, not the people we always project ourselves to be but aren't. that doesn't mean abandoning values or being pompous. it just means we live with our sexuality and make conscious choices. oh yea some need that kind of extents to be grounded. others would recommend a tight slap, but hey, to each his own opinion and his or her own karma meter. shaun, he had a long nose, and small feet. he was "fly". in moments, an empty glass was projectiled at furious pace towards his head. duck! very funny. i am shaun the sheep. woah! oww.. madness on the dance floor prevailed another day.

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