Just the story so far and the 8-Track tricks me into thinking it. I get the motion to move and release myself as a martyr. No job undone, the 8-Track tells me so. I listen to a job well done and the moment in time that I think it becomes a memory of lessons lost (or filled away for rainy days: unfound). My latest greatest ideas are all melting before I can think them, My face that becomes the fact and the fact becomes statistic. Heaven helps those who help themselves to the spoils. The radio releases the music to our souls. I heard a song once, version unfound, keep searching for the factoid lost that hits some day. I hear the sound, 8-Track tells me so. Release the job of work for yourself, release the job of the world. Sit back and take what they owe you because they owe it to you. I hear the planes landing in my mind, the planes have not yet taken off. 8-Track has lessons for me, I get them in my hands and follow the simple lessons. Life is a map to follow and I have followed what I have found to be the lessons. 8-Track displays the lessons in its workings, not on the magnetics. I replace the pads, I rewind the slack (the stretch) the tape plays the songs that I have not displayed before. My mind is made up. I am the made up one. I have heard the sounds before and the heart of it is beside me. Where oh where little lost bygone be gone days dog. There was a little lost way to be found. I was that. I wear the place of days be 8-Track. 8-Track lost its voice. I've been like that. The days and days be placid and the sounds played off like stacks of the unThings, stuck with them and staring, mine are all mine and standard.

Brendan deVallance.