an audio tide of cultural remains , lapping up the bytes and bits , eye slits watch the stream , vertical and horizontal imploding and bloating , it is a wave , the only beats in my head purely natural ; never learned , plucked from the top 40 limericks and machine-glossed flatlined noise streaks and the dialogue of our most cherished quick comedies , i flunked at piano , her house was nice though , they were richer than we were , it was all under the table i think , and i played video games when nathan 's turn came , that power to play reckoned with classics like `` this brown jug '' and `` old mcdonald '' ruined music forever , render it rote , another path wrought out of this mainstream learning flood of metronome-ness , `` let me have it and tackle it '' i said aloud , i attack to the left , what 's left ... an addled prerogative making sense of creaking remains .