An individual squirms and writhes between the world's fingers: "Are dreams simply ink funneled into plain brown business pens? And whose initials are these...?" The empire's corporate architecture turns to face the sun for the very first time. Someone has stepped out of line. Yes, a CEO sits on the streetside and gives life to six-stringed mahogany. His tired tie and loosened collar to admit defeat. The man's briefcase, leaning against the base of a nearby streetlight, testifies its lifelessness in great, white text: "We Are Only Fiction."
The name rings out as a question mark against the direction of our lives. Are we simply waiting to be cookie-cut into what society has planned for us? Or is there something more, something bigger, something for which that flame inside still burns...
The protagonists in this story boast slicing, melodic guitar work that is, if even possible, rebelliously sweet. Punchy basslines are cast by a hero whose scream is commonly mistaken for a dragon's, and the beatmaster brings it all together with a foundation that would have the big bad wolf exasperated. Meanwhile, a voice resounds to challenge the process and redefine the freedom that makes life beautiful.
We are on a journey, and we are in a story. We are the words, the plot, the characters, the music. Our stories have a beginning, and they have an end. We are, in fact, only fiction.
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thank you for the add! i absolutely love the music. and i also dig your appreciation for chipotle. i've got half a barbacoa burrito in the fridge left over from this morning.
