Just a little pinprick. Wasn’t that a scrap of song lyrics? Okay, okay, okay, just a little pinprick. There’ll be no more ahhh. Yeah, Pink Floyd. Not the one that air heads and acid heads with their ice cream habit listened to while watching the vertically challenged inhabitants of Oz dance like San Francisco queers down the yellow brick road. And where the hell does one end up if one dances like a fucking queer down the road constructed with red bricks? No one ever says. No. Not that one. Not that song. Just a little pinprick. Comfortably Numb. That was the song. Fuck. But what was the album? Does it matter? Well, yeah. The Wall. Another Brick in the Wall. The song about not conforming. But then you have to balance that out with Comfortably Numb. The song about being institutionalized. Because you think that the pinprick is a good thing. You’re thinking jojee and the sweetness that flows into your veins like the moonlit breeze that insinuates itself through your window in summer. You’re thinking joy popping with Aunt Hazel and the thick mellowness that drags at your eyelids like sandman sleep. That’s not the pinprick. Because after the pinprick, there’ll be no more ahhh. The pinprick takes that away. The pinprick is the fucking yellow brick road that leads back to nice, normal Kansas.
Fuck that shit. I’m dancing down the red.