Inbetween The Liners

MGMT, four letters, five minds, sixth sense, second sight?
Rock'n roll is 50 years old, but we are still speaking in tongues
What would Aristotle make of wop bop a loo bop?
A zen mantra for our bamboo times? Expect the unexpected, I heard
As any fool knows, usually impossible

Nine months, the pregnant portion of a year
Spent in their company
Hasn't led me to deceive, I know MGMT any better than anyone else
No tomes from me or type-tapping critics will reveal that

A five-part puzzle beyond Rubik proportions, for you to twist and shout to
Never mix stripes and spots we're told
Ha, it's actually a beautiful clash
Hell, here comes the paisley and polka-dot too
Watcha gonna do about it? Love it of course

Congratulations, their second long player is something precious
A gift, to lovers, to others, for sisters, for brothers
To live to, to love to, to look at, to listen through

Eight songs, some short, some long
A shy-eyed journey through the dichotomy of their lives, through their souls
Sunday bacon for the Monday generation

It's working, love or confusion?
Reality, Contusion, Subterranea or sub-fusion?
The Quest begins
Song for Dan Treacy
A man, a mystery, a saint, sod?
Were we all made for this life?
Some give, some receive, but Dan Treacy smiles

Flash Delirium
The natives go all dance-hall stomp, as something strange in the water
Forces a flash time strobe-cop emanation of the will
Delusion extrusion

Siberian breaks
A pop surf opera, after the storm the loss of ego
Breakers on the beach
Hangin' ten with the Hodads distraction
Then Sandy smiles as the sun squints its way
A new day, cleansed, ready, surf up, piss, or pass the pot

Someone's missing
But who, and why?
Just a thought, feeling or a moment of doubt lying in wait?
To revealing a gateway
The door, consciousness, a lines

I found a whistle
Hope, reassurance
Thee bogey-man triumph of the plastic surf totem
The motion of notions, spells, and potions

Braine Eno
A smile sent out, a wink, and a chuckle
The mystery of time
The air traffic controller of sound and space and subterfuge

Lady Dada's nightmare
The mind falters, questioning, looking for answers
Lock-loop images stray into fluorescing cotton candy crimes impervious
Then, the release
A primal scream for the 'how generation'

More Dada than Gaga, more drinking than thinking
Less arty than party
Time takes a rain-check

Congratulations
The half-arsed hugs of routine celebrations
Realizations, random aging
A world in tatters?
Glitter that matters?
The hollow victory and then sleep