Day Zero with Love

What’s being seen now isn’t a Bad thing… Well, yes its terrible. So. So. Terrible… but that’s beyond the scope of changing right now. What I will observe however, isn’t a country losing its mind, its a world that’s bucking at the notion that the United States president’s role is actually that of “Leader of the free world.”
For so long as an American, or rather someone who’s spent the just around 97% of my life time somewhere within, I’ve taken advantage of the notion that being here it just was what it was, and but everywhere but here, got “this” because some world wars happened and everyone fell in line to the notion that world was no longer the particular nations/state cultures occupied, but collective psyches linked by but a tendril of globalization.
Problem is for the most part those living in the US had a choice about how to feel about the world, but the world didn’t. Our Leader, the most powerful single point on a global map of sovereignty, regardless of military might. The economy they are tasked with, consumes at a rate fueling the rest of the worlds absorption of it, and attempts to replicate it.
But they didn’t have a choice, they were just shown what they had to reach for and they started reaching for it. While the US slowed in progress, everyone else started surpassing it, including those who defined so much of what they US stood for. So they reached and reached, but with the encumbrance of the fact that they weren’t the few who had a voice heard beyond the hearts of of legitimacy.
So what we’re seeing now isn’t a Bad thing. What we’re seeing is social survivalism, every group with enough of a soap box and grievance towards diversification of a singular Human identity into, something more primitive, but also a step back from the notion that the US has sovereignty over pretty much anything that happens on this big old rock.
Yes, whats going to happen here will not be easy, especially for myself and everyone I love, no matter their place in the world. But it might, just might, give the right (conscious) people the kick in the ass they need to drop the constraints of this rigidly classist world as their limiting factor and see that its officially open season to take the reigns of their own destiny, since Lo’ there no longer exists the leader of a the free world but the leader of the free world that would rather trade it for a time when we really did believe in the health effects of cigarettes
The fear for what will come next was inevitable, but I’ve had this fear since the rallying cry of the modern western (white) world became, “blame the other!”
But I mean shit I’d be lying if there wasn’t just an extra shmear of panic at the prospect of what really comes next. Do we go further and further into it? Into the machinations of how we’re different and who’s better? or do we take all the false hope and idealism we were all told as chidlren an adults, and finally fucking put it to good use?
Do we finally take that step forward into what matters, because we can’t do enough in a day after the hours and hours we destroy our selves at jobs we took to keep us stable in this machine? Do we finally look at the machine and say: “you can pay me, but I’m going to work with other parts of other machines and collectively make sure they machines aren’t as oiled as they once were?”
Wherein we as a collective can say we want better for everyone even the ones who would do us harm? Where we can forgive them, but never forget what made them in the first place? Where we can finally look ourselves in the mirror and say: “Hey, the worlds not okay, but I am, so who can i help today?”
Do we want to live in a world where we just complain about the madness but allow the distractions and comforts of modernity, to strip even the most bare of comforts for the future?
I’m gonna say how about we not. How about we accept that the Us v Them thought processes that have been so prevalent, and work in the service of loving the ones who matter. Leaving hate, where it belongs with the fear and panic of the ego.
How about we look at the what we do with our days, and fill them with and answering the the questions of:”What world do we want 10 years from now?”
Still worried about death and the scarcity of resources that plague our pale blue dot? Do something that isn’t “leaving” it to the politicians or someone else, if you see something, do something. Help out your neighbors no matter how much they threaten to call the cops cause their driveway is also their driveway and they always want access, it’ll just make it worse unless we break the cycle of reacting.

Respond to what’s before you with a clear head about what you want, hopefully its love for everything and everyone even if in the end they’ll isolate you. Don’t let the fear win or lose, let it be and observe what really matters, its triumph or our triumph over it.
Yea, the United States president is well… Him. But the schisms of the world just deepened, and maybe, it’ll teach us to remember that all we have are each other, and if we let the monologues of the media dictate our movements, the dialogues that need to happen will always been superficial.

No go, do something for the sake of love, vent your frustrations by putting it into something that matters. Your social media posts will be seen and liked and reposted, but all they’ll do is echo in the vast chamber of the internet. So make your posts, as I am now and remember this is the beginning of the future, how it turns out is up to us, not the people with the red and blue ties, and flag pins.

I love you all, go in peace.

Deolation Sermon vol. 4: Nexus Variants

Break

Sit in simplicity behind the freedom of choice as this is not where you could be, but are anyway to bide time inside the idea of the self determination you had hoped to see. Layering slowly a CV longer than psychological dependency on being more than a database key floating on magnetic tapes hundreds mile away in bunkers designed to survive longer than this race. Wouldn’t you want a little more?

If blasphemously asking the questions: “what else?” is your motto, maybe you’re willing to be happy with what is after all. To understand the fundamental alterations of the code we assumed was cracked, but experimentation was never granted ethical continuity. Bless your heart child, you’ve seen hell, and its not for you, come see where the confusion might lead you.
Smell mornings of regret, as sleep is lacked are supplemented without forcing tension as caffeine drips are simpler, with the roasted mud comfort of diuretic reminders of chemical dependencies. Don’t feel bad, coffee is the best, external dependencies are easily held onto hands of comforting high voltage charge or neurotransmitters explosions attempting to hold true through panicking from wasting civilized energies.
To commutes riding a pretentiousness of having what others seem to lack, from belief that self determination was the qualifying factor to lifetimes lived for the lives of others. Sitting behind desks, and gossiping for simplicity of happiness through grape vines office IM clients, with giant emoji lists, giving those permissions to user to end the lack of emotional banality in email exchange.
Ask silently if revisionist history is the worst thing as any dream of a better world, cause it is now the noose around another’s neck as the ones being lived is better than the next person’s so why mess with a formulation of tried and true financial attributes. Probably because alarms have been going off so long, that the background dullness of its urgency bleeds into those still willing to accept the pain all together without knowing what to expect. Yet who is anyone to judge the criterion by which everyone was given a leg up or a knuckle dusted punch to the gut, asking the truly pointless question of assigning worth to what might actually be something.
You’re humans goddammit, a thousand million pardons for taking the All Mighty’s name in vain, yet, where are you lost to normalcies indelibly silent rage. Where times commodity is valued in quantum conservatism holding onto silence for the worthless tendencies of the bureaucracies lived and feared, tell us how you fear the unknown.
How do you fear anything that isn’t made of dust and bone, as entropy opens and closes the infinite doors of a trillion star bits hemming existing through the patchwork sense of belonging grounded in impressing ones self. Hypocrisy is a powerful entity that leans into hopes of being free with the caveat of presumed esteem. Fall off your equestrian dreams, move the fuck away from them, look at them, will they survive the apocalypse? Pass your happiness test of having enough, feeling fulfilled by understanding that one is a symbol, like two, that multiplied zeros and quantifiable memories are only good enough to feed baseless shrewd multinational think tanks designed wholly by one or two hoping you’ll fixate the wavelengths of cones and rods upon their constructed stars of undeliverable expectation.
Feel the desolation, the constant obliteration of the fury of life inside the venter or cardiac space, assimilating black thoughts fed from tried methods of words built go poke holes in truths one should always know. Flail in the pity of not knowing that you’re okay, things might be bad but their freedom to be so is a wonderful thing, tis the :
Way of the world
The bliss of being
The furthest from untruths
Sense filled consummation
Entropy of random reality
Everything in its right place
Forgiveness in a glace to the Inconsistencies of blindness
Falling into time crossed tempos lost to past ages
Reverberations bouncing slowly to key into melodies of the soul

They know go well to believe anything will ever change, since change is an impossibility to fit the butt hurt captains of enterprise data siege. Same way entertainment knows better than itself to ensure trust amongst the groups of millions or billions take the plunge into one minds manipulated derricks drilling to the deep crust, extracting primal fluids to garner loyal vestiges hoping to fill us all up. Isometric viewing angles observing the rat race to the cyclical tunnels dug into by tell tale heart strings tugged in sensory freedom, afraid to admit any wrong.
This will do maybe one good thing, remind a fool where they might be, right now in front of a keyboard as Gods breathe fills me, expanding side by side with the version who’d want to be somebody happy in helping others achieve a simple dream of goals lived within this existence. But where to begin?
A Decision, to admit that forgiveness is where it will begin, as the Nexus of of old absorbs everything there once was in the high tide of given opportunity.
Take not the words of a madman, lost in the throws of misrepresented love in historical hope for a better tomorrow, grounded in understanding of the majesty of playing fair. Believe not words as they flow quickly upon paper and data bits, they mean not to guide but shepherd your thoughts away from believing everything is law. Swim in the bliss of uncharted waters, unafraid of the lessons not learned from mistakes currents swaying on all sides.
Start somewhere, somewhere terrible, is still somewhere, placing steps on stepping stones of metaphors covered in moss of interpretation, you will slip and fall, but it will not end, put on you’re shoes just keep walking, as mud covered and slimy it might all seem.
Heed no warnings told through the filter of tomorrow, yesterday is so far away, and today is nearly gone, Hoyle road looking for enlightenment.

Go. In Peace.

Desolation Sermon Vol. 3 Void Walkers Paradox

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Etched in tabulation conceived by infinite graces with a finite traces of reality scouring behind, center quakes with seismic inevitabilities. Venter finds life mildly separated from an illogical whole that codifies fiery fortitude, to return from the waters from whence they once came into light . The noise is truer than false promises of our own self determined youthful glow, verily tracking the infinity beyond those moments neither of us could see.

Holding together these limitless thoughts we might see how the quest for peace has lost its way. How war is peace and peace is pacafistic idealism, meant to engage disappointment at a very young age. Blame the video games and the television streams, but the inevitable end is here to stay.

Why then to contain these lashing tendrils of fury and rage, we must ground ourselves in pointless attempts at being just angry enough for those we want to lure to take notice but quiet enough not to make any noise. Are we not men, not machines programmed by simplistic ideals told to us by those we believe will stand representative of the best of our fucked up reality?

Do we not stand for individuals, regardless of the constant mistakes? Propelled through existencs on a singular idea, just to do some good, yet told consistently, “the trouble isn’t with the reward ” the trouble IS the reward, to have lived to see what life has in store to never know what could come next. to live in the paradox of the Almighty’s graces consistently prevading forward through the sin that is existences inevitable query. We are life, we are the spaces in between the letters of history more important than curvatures and ampersand’s, the form that holds all together, the mystery of everyday conversation.

Willingly taken by fates consistent seminars and keynote speeches, the conference is meant to teach, make believe that what we learn might haunt us more than beseech us to a call to everything. To explode into a million different accounts of what it might feel like, this new found reality, of uncharted fear and anxiety, coupled with unspeakable happiness and mystery. Do we chose to live in this place, where rust and bone only prevade when why we felt in the first place is forgotten?

Yet, the fear will always return the dark, the void. Even as flowers bloom from evening to morning as the landscapes kick the air from our lungs, the memories of the monsters obliterating all, concussing the sanitariums of deference into planetary dislocations of orbital desires. Faceless traits give away whimsical mindsets, leaving behind nuggets of prayed for good graces, as we live in sin, asking for unearned forgiveness. Ravaging ourselves with guilt lost not on time, wriggling its way under our fingers, as we do under cover of privacy. Holding in desires, making sure the armor is still holding out against the life we had chosen to architect.

Yet the paradox holds true, where life and sin are the same with intentions wrapped in ignorance, to justify doing harm. Self determined social hierarchical traits, never assigned rationally, since objectivity is taught with a set of rules in mind.Walking out humble paths, in and out of youthful mindsets, juxtaposed with furious destructive wrath. Going nuclear on past hurts, that can’t be amended, a vendetta against those that would make today less loving for those whom we’d collapse empires for.

Walking in and out of the void, contradictions abound, homeostatic paradoxes ever changing. Adjusting to realities infinitive’s, we talk a moment to know that we are under grace, under the watchful eye of these sermons we have to tell ourselves.

This paradise walked alone, echoing thoughts of of heavenly intentions formed not yet recognized by sanity, thinking about thinking about an idea, not thought since a billion moments ago. Where past malicious intents we’re told they could stay, cause maybe they’d give us a reason to have a reason.

Yet the other side of the coin flips into existence, never bound by restrictive common place of the localities we chose to grace. Individual thought forms might dislocate immediate goals to deference not previously assessed, the infinite begins to manifest. And maybe we’ll flip into thoughts never held truer, but engage fears never thought needed to be dealt. We are bigger than universes collapsing a billion million stars, and that’s in our eyes.

What might seem like the mystery we never wanted to solve, becomes the mystery we hold and never Want to let go. As we walk the plank over the void, falling into nothing we can rationally contain let float the wonders of the paradox. Living inside the difference inside the unknown, like pioneers seeking no more than the place we never knew could be known.

Left, Faisal

Trouble will Find me

This is strange.
This is barely going to be coherent.
This is sobriety taking hold of every aspect of my being and question whether or not my life can handle this infinite idea once again.
This is verily the time which i will take as the paths cross at the point of all consuming thoughts.
This is how it has alway been, the fury of the subatomic transmutation calling unto my life to change everything.
This is what it looks like as i gaze into the color changing eyes of cats leading to arteries lined with the joys of butter and cheese.
This is what becomes of my ego as it questions why things are as they might be.
This is who i become when i’ve been given too many reasons to keep on keeping on.
this is not honesty built through my own destruction.
This is reality collapsing all around me, trying to divine a truth that even the baritones of a tall white man can’t negate.
This is not me accepting what is and moving on.
This is something fighting back against every aspect of my reality i know I have to consider.
This is the unfamiliar pang of the universe telling me I if I want I can take all of it.
This is the line I dared not cross.
This is where I’ve never really considered beyond a version of myself i buried a long time ago.
This is not fair, to the entitled parts of me, the glacial artifacts of a past not held to any regard but to hold up compassionate structures.
This is that place in time history where admitting victory and confidence don’t do much but misconstrue disadvantaged youths.
This is the last time.
This is where trouble will find me.
This is the soundtrack start something bigger than anything I could ever have imagine possible as my former self.
This is going to be vindictive and brash, and frightening to everyone and everything around me.
This is the system mapped to our base existences set a blaze with the fury of one, pissed off enough to want something different.
This is violence questioning its limited fruitfulness.
This is admitting I have no idea what I’m doing, and guessing a whole lot.
This is a place where I never expected to be, never expected to know beyond the typing of a keyboard.
This is hindsights rearing its head, showing me what I’ve been up to, the last few year.
This is excepting that time is relative and money is pizza.
This is listening to your own noise at the air port giving you a headache.
This is waiting for a secret meeting, bound up in supervision of familial trust.
This is showing them everything hoping they’re accepting of the fact that you’re not all together just yet.
This is wanton desire to burn brighter than the sun, just for yourself.
This is wanting to as much as light will allow for ay any given moment.
This is life converging at all times, reminding me, there is no such thing as time to do the next thing, to moment better than right not to do everything there is to do.
This is why trouble will find me
This is how I might fall into the All- Mighty’s eternal graces, praying i might be as I hope I might be.
This is what it is.

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Desolation Sermon Vol. 2 : Pandora’s Dreamscape

The books will end with nothing more than questions about which chapter really happened, while questioning nothing but the how it could have been done slightly differently with precisely the same outcome. Ruminating thought forms waiting to be passed around the dinner table of closest critics, loaded with embellishments and dreams along the side. Playing the music of yesterday over razor blade fire coal walks of tip toed zen like ignorance.

Trains ridden through the end of days, concocted by overlords just looking for the biggest numbers, to fit the idea of something in their heads. Victim to self actualized explorative non sequiturs with no real vision for where to go next but up above and all around the visages of old gods born anew. Vivisecting the subcultures of cultures to understand under ideal lenses whether or not everyone else thinks their cool or not. Unbeknownst to one another’s missing burdens the remnants of old thoughts dusted off and reused anew.

Claiming we were once pioneers was a nice way of reminding those who’d never remembered what if felt like to feel a new, that leading the way hurt a lot more sometimes than reusing the old tried and true. Relative to their thirst for adventure of course, possibly of the flesh, occasionally of the mind, but mostly to fill the time, to stop the narration and recollection of moments once had. Tested incessantly for the scale tips where the philosopher grants most the voodoo through visages of self.

Claims upon ideas from ideas and concepts that assign idealic variations where the skin meets fire, mediating fellowships when it was presumed that time could be made to stand still. Crayon line markers, assuming no one can see them, peppered in and out of self imposed determination, revisited only by the alley cats scratch. Fault lines, but tectonics sometimes have to do with this, possibly more? Who knows?

Convinced that existence thrives on rational understanding of meerkats natural habitats will lead to curious doubt’s of college acceptance. Assigned cardinalities on unlike criteria giving context to “never agains” or the occasional misinterpreted endearing stare, no apologies for trying to be repugnant. Failing to grasp fundamental aesthetics for archetypal infrastructures, the glass will bend, while the metal should shatter.

Sentimental myth breaks reality into manageable mush, spoon fed the minted symbols of modern times refusal to be swayed by anything but things to wipe their asses with. Parted seas of ungrateful foresight recouped by vented sterilization chambers on land no one REALLY owns. Commodified necessities relishing their right to quantify the incalculable here and now, fraught with sinking comparisons to yesteryears post structural pedagogy.

The box was really a vessel for the inconceivable ideas implanted by the God’s to introduce flaws to our already perfect outlooks. Unwilling, but all to able to reconcile the day and age where we as for our humanity back from the beyond this firmware currently wreaking havoc on systems beyond repair. Written to introduce haste to matters of the eternally in flux, hoping it might one day end just to let peace and the good name misused by time, die.

Melatonin fortnights of hallucinatory background noises trying to find the way back to inception, following the bread crumb scars through Hephaestus’ creations. Belief rendered absolute to resolve any outstanding tickets to manage curiosity’s without paying into the laws of thermodynamics. Kick drums flare up, slamming, vibrating, changing everything just to make sure memory will lapse, persistent in knowing exactly how it is.

Original sin will creep back into life’s best surprises, when leaving things as they might be never resolves the feelings of wanting and lust. Black thoughts scour the pieces of the soul occasionally forgotten, living in that peaceful place, beyond the dreamscapes neurological bonds, Far from times erosion. Attempting for but a moment to enjoy the sights…

Yet the buzzer will sound with enlightenment upon the crown, so close, it will seem to ignore the cacophony that myth breaks. The wavelengths imbibing what is, with photons and steadiness of sight not seen behind the crimson decay, letting in the movies never deemed worthy of viewing. What questions may come? As lightness reveals the shadow was just lost. A part of that story, the one too familiar to give up, changes ever so slightly.

Grain no longer indicative of quality, just a healthy reminder if Pandoras gift. Alive as we might be, fuck up we will occasionally, but never more than believing that the story is what we might be. To borrow A saying, “Rage against the dying of the light” do not let phosphorescence fool, true light is eternal and absolute. Generated beyond the nightmares, beyond the boxes we know can rift, it will dim only as myth takes hold. Should that be the case, might the heaviness remind the body to shake the dust, out from the above the eye lids as particles flew away as the idea whither and float with the wind.

Wild is the world inhabited by prehistoric tendencies, tame lies the world labeled for SIGINT, to decipher the watch lists never taken off. Take a walk outside, the world is life, beauty and infinity embodied inside a collection of adventitiousness, sometimes flowers, other times the sunset. Forgive them for not being the end all solution, for holding the scattered pieces together enough only to validate some tertiary things. Love might just be a word, but its who we are, so lets start to mean it.

 

True, true...

True, true…

Desolation Sermon Vol. 1: Sanities Requiem

Woke up feeling disconnected, as though the universe was just off by about 10 centimeters. Each milometer distorting reality further and further into delusions of grandeur… or insignificance, not sure, really the connections are severed. Its like the all the mantras singing and repeating as they arise from the lullabies of yesteryear’s post coital realizations, coming to the finite point of nothing.

The World will ask “where to?” today, and all that can be generated: anywhere that’s not here. Filling the air with cliches about sitting around being busy with nothing, cause busy is better than quiet alone with thoughts that seem to only evolve in their elaborate creative demise. The more elaborate the more complex the explanation of the fall. Maybe so complex in fact, the explanation is the maddening descent into the primary exhibition of self interrogation, doubting the doubts ability to accurately not know something.

Suffocating under the collapsed pillow forts of days gone by, questioning the worthiness of extracurricular nap times that don’t seem to end. Playing: ring around the issues of our dead, filling our heads with questions no one will ever need answers to, but ask anyway cause what else is there to do? Bearing in mind that triumph through necessity isn’t a feeling that’s particularly useful it reminds the players of the cool, never to stay too long, never to intrude on what already was.

Self imposed cynicism through, contradictory disintegration of systems that were built to hold one another hands, yet fell through the cracks of kingdoms and role based org structures. No amount of delegation imbibing these empty sets of rumination’s and assumptions to radical ideological change. Never too big to be a cog in a system that can’t be controlled through logical protocols or what the business wants.

“The night is darkest just before the dawn”, is bullshit. The darkness is perpetual and lives in the day as well, teaching the rules of light and how finite it might be. No one loses themselves in the dark anymore, the fear of never being found overwhelms a sense of faith that seems to know where to go but just isn’t loud enough to explain, to narrate.

Once in a while the dark will consume. Once in a good long while, while forgetting that time is a constant always changing never in flux, it’ll wriggle in between the quiet to live as the soul does, while holding its best impressions of what could be better. Reminiscing about the worst of times, because the best of times will maybe invoke something better, and who could possibly want that? Who could want something that might seem okay in the end anyway, where’s the fun if self-immolation isn’t a thing?

When the boredom hits, the cascade of incessant self-delusions of grandeur dance around the nights sky, concussing the empty space, with gravity pulling it below the surface of the daylight, keeping the long days blind. Tell them all it’ll be alright, when the molecules inside won’t hold together, as they try to explode out of every part of natural existence. They’ll be called hypocrites for trying to go against what they feel as the natural order to things. They’ll believe but it won’t feel like enough.

Enough, the all elusive goal, never picked up or achieved or sensed to be deemed a legitimate gateway into the prehistoric caverns we only occasionally explore to echo the sentiments of travelers too frightened by it to enter but bellow to see what screams back. The feedback fissures homeostasic pockets of sanity that might hide behind stalagmites of mistrust succumbing to gravity’s call. It will close in maybe a decade due to instability and general inaccessibility, but the tickets of the fall from grace will sell faster than Fleetwood Mac on a reunion tour.

Tempting as it may seem, excavation will cost 4 lives, multiple super compute clusters, and a reimagined Pangaea. So the mystery will stay buried like a hipsters wet dream too cool to talk about, cause no one will know, except the all knowing, but sometimes maybe even that’s ignored. Maybe finally someone might not fall to folly, go expect anything more than the flowers that grow from below, all the colors cross pollinating from thoughts decaying.

Yet as buried it may be, under millions of lifetimes passed, the molten flow of its contents eventually erupt out as a problem with the source code reemerges as tectonic shifts task themselves with bringing everything to light, while the compiler try’s to fight through the nested loops to find itself decompiled again. Everything comes back to the light until only the desolation remains, floating across the snow to remind the moisture it must once again evaporate.

What was lost, never really was, but always just a text message away, not sought after, but deemed necessary as water flows. Nothing will change this, these are facts of undeniable dishonesty, of falling into a star hoping to be forged a new. Continue along young padawan, let the Darkside consume you, maybe one day the questions will be answered, maybe you’re mind might leave you alone.

White night....

White night….

Waves

Sunday afternoon dining table workstations
trying to sort through imagination
developing a shitty application
to increase visibility.

Trying to remember whether or not I’ve got my macros
my muscles ache from trying be tamed again
supplements encroaching on need based
maybe I’ll just eat eggs all day.

Slush puddle game strong with it bottomless lakes sprawling the dense driveways
shoveling won’t do shit but disprove the theory that those boots waterproof
maybe you should have just been okay with letting them melt and evaporate
or maybe you just had nothing better to do, pushing it ain’t doing shit.

Procrastinating myself into a stupor
test scripts screaming out: passed
but really i don’t know it
cause they all failing.

Appreciating sunlight after snow drifts falling and crawling across highway nights
wasn’t trying to over take that ambulance that was driving all together too slow
but snow fell faster than my tires could tell them they aren’t new no more
Sixty miles through that shit, and all I let myself have; fries.

French spy parodies bringing a semblance of sanity back into my life
we’re all a little ridiculous, but our delusions are our own
I know the world won’t accept such things readily
but they gave him an Oscar a few years later.

Angst ridden pits of anxiety and perplexed conscious insufficiency readily inside
we take steps to over ride them, sometimes lie, sometimes getting really high
but most days all it takes is a couple breaths and few notes from Rubab
i’ll play them indefinitely, someday they’ll make sense again.

The slow hum of the organ plugging away, i still can understand how to play
concussed with pulsating theories about how i should spend my days
the low echo of the reverb reminded me that today won’t stay
while tomorrow and yesterday are already gone.

Happiness reminds the occasional thought, the ones refused by time and memory
the home movies repeatedly projected behind my visual cortex indefinitely
soundtracks ruled by the shuffle button iTunes never really figured out
maybe its okay I’m this way, maybe I won’t hurt anyone else.

Sunlight creeping onto this carbon catastrophe
they really should figure out all this glare
but I’m no engineer, they’re smarter
Dammit they have one track minds

Remind me again Words, why I Do this to myself
set arbitrarily out to prove something wrong
looking for the idea that no one knew
but really it was me the whole time.

Narcissism creeps along the hallowed line of self evidence of heart and mind
I’m no spiritual teacher, but I see the thoughts creep as I’ve fallen behind
lost the spark to remind the entire system, lost time it couldn’t wait to die
maybe one day it’ll be easier, or it’ll be the same, i don’t know

Finger tips and cuticles covered in crusty scabs the even crabs won’t hold down
no matter what I do I’m reminded of the idea that I am never completely there
sometimes I let the parasympathetic take over and rule for a little bit
gently reminding me that I just live in this body its got rules too.

Physical world reminding me that spirit stronger than matter
caring a little bit more about doing the best that can be
the best is what it is but it ain’t a standard i can set
I’m talking mad, trying to convince myself second is OK.

Waves oscillating as they always will telling my mind that even writing takes time
these text documents fill them selves with macros and unsolicited data sets
readying ourselves for the truth of the matter as it would  matter to us
it not as obvious as it seems, sometimes i just want to flat line.

Sit up straight they’ll tell you to command the respect of gentleman
of men with more power and stature and financial standing than you
breathing the words they’ll regurgitate condescendingly back
but i’m just sitting here sequencing symphonies in my head.

Some day I’ll remember why I memorize the numbers in my head
maybe they’ll tell me the meaning of life one day
possibly sign my the warrant for my arrest
or very possibly: they’re just numbers.

Stomping grounds of yesterday’s decades past, filled with inconsistent safety nets
blindly walking around this mess as of normalcy, jealous of their contentedness
I got lucky enough to never want what everyone else had, maybe I’m just tired
either way I’m not wishing to return, the haunt doesn’t curse any more.

I’ll believe in the mercy of the almighty more than I believe it will ever be fore me
I’m just a vessel for words and pointless thoughts concussing this keyboard
I’ll dull the feeling of anything more, pointless trying anything else really
maybe It’ll take me longer to remember what I’m doing than doing it.

Elder in the Russian mob, sitting where the barber’ll cut my brothers hair
the tats and the ring are giveaways, beyond that it’s in his eyes, I see
wish he’d just been the grandpa of second generations immigrants
keeps trying to kill me with his eyes, wouldn’t be surprised.

Myth takes, as I finally get to use the words from songs that always mean more
mixing around like the brownie batter that’s altogether too much chocolate
they’re not what they used to be the things that held reality up
they don’t need to be anymore, we are the children of the dirt.

I won’t proofread this
Might reread it
Maybe
Eh.

Falling heavy

Falling heavy