Release your inner creativity, release the Kracken. Learn to embrace cutting yourself while shaving between the razor edge of creativity and insanity. Open the mind’s barn doors to show the lights are on, the horse has fled and the cows aren't exactly lowing. The beat, the pulse, the rhythm heralding the monster’s arrival are like 1920's cartoon animation characters bouncing in place, waiting to lock-step across the silver screen in a bum-rush to ravish Betty Boop. Creating with the Olympus Play-Dough gets easier each time, but it also gets worse. Pulling albino bunnies from shiny-magic top hats over and over demands institutional shock treatments to temper pineal gland decline. Imagination decays, deflating Hippocampus mass rendering it into a pool of grey syrup to be poured over a bowl of Capt’n Crunch cereal in 'last rights' fashion. A fictional sacrament to be posthumously consumed by all your invisible, imaginary groupies. The Kracken is released. Viva the Kracken.