Often when one thinks of kids singing;

And us teenagers singing more, more pop.

Some people scoff.

Some scoff at Britney.

I see Britney;

In my Britney;

There is a person.

A person who takes the highest understanding;

And churns it through some sort of translator;

Which spits out a simple pop song.

The original handle is in a virtually unbreakable code.

But kids and teenagers can break the code;

Nobody else can.

It is like a Monet painting;

Where all the viewers in the gallery are actually Monet.

And Monet the painter is not actually Monet.

Monet is Leo Vinci.

Leo is Beethoven's younger bro.

And Bee is Adam's little son;

A result of sexual intercourse with Eve.

Simply, while we see this Monet crude oil masterpiece;

Adam's music plays in the background. It is also Adam's painting.

We get deceived sometimes pretty memorably.

On the caked faces and squirmy hair;

Like in all things;

There is unbelievable potential

For describing the universe.

The entire universe;

Succinctly and simply;

And stylishly, with parallel sharpness.

Like vessels of blood wrapped around everything on earth;

With the heart beating like a powerhouse of the universe.

Somewhere trillions of light years away.

All the organs working properly across all these light years;

Forming a complete understanding.

Such a something that we can never achieve;

Unless we close our irises;

And open them inside ourselves;

And we see ourselves.

Let's pop now into the real world;

By going through our pissing tracheas.

I do love the simple things.

Because they exist.

And they always win.

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