A story of building up like – brick by brick several stories. A new construction – he said when he’s done, his people’s Hall of Fame will need a new induction. A building can be a hall, right?
His machine was running smooth although he wasn’t as slick as a can of oil – weight on his shoulders like a ton – a bunch of turmoil. How many times can you use the term oil? Without it being a reach, writing skills you can’t teach – but you put in the work and the structure and your message will spread as easy as butter. Thicker than butter milk, worming like on a fisher’s rod man – a silk worm with the colorful persona of a Dennis Rodman.
But the writing was only part of the equation. It has to be delivered with distinction. Like a baby precious and full of uncommunicated emotions – that turns into a pre-teen that is so mature and precocious. I say that to say his voice didn’t have that BOOM –
But the microphone by his side would change everything. His heart was always worn on his sleeve, but he needed a speakerbox for this organ, a freeman with a voice smoother than Morgan’s – at least that’s his potential.
The hall of fame was in sight but to cement the role – he needed a window… to his soul. Working or walking cuz it felt like a stroll. He was building every day towards his goal. And then the microphone safety blanket got lost – what an illusion, he needed no instruments he was a machine – a voice for the robot revolution.