There's a war going on for your mind. Media mavens mount surgical strikes from trapper keeper collages and online magazine racks. Cover girl cutouts throw up pop-up ads infecting victims with silicone shrapnel. Worldwide passenger pigeons deploy paratroopers, Now it's raining pornography, Lovers take shelter. Post-production debutantes pursue you in nascar chariots. They construct ransom letters from biblical passages and bleed mascara into holy water supplies. There's a war going on for your mind. Industry insiders slang test tube babies to corporate crackheads. They flash logos and blast ghettos. Their embroidered neckties say "stop snitchin'". Conscious rappers and whistleblowers get stitches made of acupuncture needles and marionette strings. There is a war going on for your mind. Professional wrestlers and vice presidents want you to believe them. The desert sky is their bluescreen. They superimpose explosions. They shout at you. "Pay no attention to the men behind the barbed curtain. Nor the craters beneath the draped flags. Those hoods are there for your protection". And meteors these days are the size of corpses.

Not much more than something that needs to be told it's still doing its job once in a while. Terrell, yes, I am myself in every way; there is no escaping the reality. I meet people who either love me or hate me, and the only thing I can say is hurry up with your decision. The blue truth is that I'm just a good guy in an evil world, and I seem like the greatest villain around. My schematics aren't in possession at the moment. I have issues in my life, yes, like everyone else.

But I'm always in the mood for a conversation.