Eerie, smoky alley I can’t help but walk down, as I look for
the lost souls of the light people, lost to the negative space. They hide in
unfortunate phone calls and rusty bicycles, the ones we can always ignore,
attention would bring memory back to a fading world. Hidden in plain sight, the
very thing I seek is lurking behind the dumpster that you threw that cherry
bomb in that one time. Really it was two cherry bombs, and 3 smoke grenades all
tied at the wick just to see if you could get the lid to fly off.

It was always about
the run though. To see how far you could get before you heard that burst of the
lid and the faded hues of the red, yellow and blue smoke billow out from 3
blocks away, because you’ve managed to run faster than you thought you knew
how. Even as a fat kid skateboarding, sucking down oxygen faster than should be
allowed, the thrill of being one of belonging to something I knew would have to
end, driving the engine that was my confused existence.

The smoke in the alley isn’t of gun powder and burning chalk
though is it, it’s from the decay of the warm flesh all around, being torn to
bits by the decay of the cold, dark night. I look behind to see the decades of
wear and maintenance left abandoned to the elements of the cold city night,
holding still the remnants of regret and acceptance, never reconciled to be
seen as one in the same, past. The wafting scent barely noticeable behind the
thoughts of the memories they conjure, rapaciously getting to the point for
which I stand in such a place.

I never thought this is what I’d see when I’d let go. Taking
the leap into a future of things and “almost had its.” Thought of the memories
but the sights of the dark side of the soul would illuminate in the only place
the feels like home, the vast cavernous emptiness of a city alley, or block,
where everyone can watch from their apartment buildings and their commutes that
waste them so much time. Crushing confectionary objects of vivid super sensory
appeal, while swiping right to feel something once again, as they walk staring
in excitement as they now have a story to fly high above their mast of
connections and perceived plateaus.

This place FEEL’s like home. But home’s not real, it’s just
a figment of a habitual pattern that would resemble something like determination,
scarcely leading into habit that could be mistaken for hope, quickly reminded
that it’s just wishful mis-perception of inaccurate assumptions. It’s an
enticing thought to think, never really acknowledging that this place I’ve
never been, but feels more alive with the deterioration of the world that felt
like it would always just end.

Like driving around in a cab with a former model who
reminded you that the world will always try to fuck you, looking for a place to
sleep. Maybe for one night, maybe two? Sitting there with my entire life in a
duffel bag, and my world in a backpack, I’m reminded that that sitting there
felt better than the bed in the house trying really hard not to kill me but not
trying to stop anyway. So nowhere seems like a good place. To sleep, to dream.

This alley will have to do. I’ve managed to come this far,
how much more will I decipher in an effort to define where it is that I think I
am? Time will continue to pass as I search for the ultimate question to get the
ultimate answer. Only to be told it lives at the tip of my tongue, between the
moments I look at a bright sunny day, while the cool summer wind dances across
my face whispering the jokes God forgets to mention that life is sometimes.
Yes, the razor wind of the alley blows intensely through this valley of annihilation
I’ve chosen to walk, and these are the things I remember, the good times, while
I search for the worst.

The smell grows faint as the physical world returns back to
its realist form, the progressive decay of everything that was once built.
Sustained by external prescriptions of sprays, pills, and the promise of a comfortable
life, the medication everyone knows is killing them, continues to be refilled
for the fear of anything else filling the crater of that void that explodes
into the dust cloud that could haunt your tomorrows. Its smell is fading. The
normality settles into the brackets of the threshold unconcerned with the end
point sought, as a conscious life, dims its ideological waves as the room

I think I’ve taken ten steps, each one another person I’m
forced to become as this alley’s jagged ground, rattles the pieces of a
consistent mind as the end draws closer. Harder and harder to keep up with the changes, as interactions are repeated through the fog of self-hindrance, guided by blind acceptance of the unknown guiding the unknown, where could it lead? Nobody knows.

Bad jokes are the only language left to speak. Simplicity
lacks context, with its implied subtlety, but maybe sometimes we mean what we say. But we’ve fucked around with it, trying to get it to make sense, and what we think sticks, sticks. The mush of the ground unstable below as the words seem to seep deep into my psyche, without leaving treads along the way.

Habitual over indulgence of negative absolution has left me empty to the voices I know can remind me that from the darkness comes the light. As the lone light of the alley fades its easy to see the logical missteps of breaking things down into their logical paradigms of the pointless meanings sought to impress the next unimpressed perceiver of false accounts.

The fogs thickened, when I wasn’t paying attention. The door i’d forgotten was my final destination doesn’t seem as fun to get to anymore. I’ve been worn inside and out and there’s nothing left of what was there those times of powerful resentment of incongruous outcomes. Shaken to my core, the insert button still hasn’t been turned off, everything overwrites the half finished code that would execute a protocol to become something solidly rickety.

“Breathe” the pores of my skin scream, as the nerves fire adrenaline straight to what I can’t see, becoming plainly obvious that where I am is road I chose never to always be. I wanted to visit the valley of the shadow of death to die in front of myself, not inside myself. There is a beating in my chest once more, one more pulse, I’ll try not to give in, but I’ve already sprinted three blocks back the other way. I haven’t yet taken a breathe, but the smoke behind me rises painting the cloud over the fog I thought I could tempt. Far enough I’ll fade, into anything that seems okay. Fade, and fade, as memories do, I will follow. As I fade into something. New maybe, but mostly what I need.

Clouds bleed, sometimes.

Clouds bleed, sometimes.

Days Late but a Little More Thankful

For the things I’m thankful for, I give everything I can. I

For everything that I’m grateful for, there are a million and
a half things that I always forget to acknowledge.

Here are a few…

The cracks in the sidewalk that serve as reminders that lava
flows even in New York.

The snow that makes me as excited as seeing an old friend
for the first time.

The sun bouncing across horizons, as a train pushes forward
to a destination I never expected.

The ability to walk down the street and feel my muscles
tense as I can feel that my body is working.

The breaths I take to remind myself that everything is in
its right place.

The emotions I feel when I realize I haven’t felt them in a
while, again like an old friend but maybe with this one I chose not say anything.

The time waiting on the escalator when I get off the train before I have to walk down the street to my desk, the song’s that I’m able to cram into the journey to coffee.

The benches I need during the spaces in my day that let me sit down and fade.

The neighborhoods, that never remain the same, but the people that always are always hiding the pain, reminding us we’re all one in the same.

The fact that Muji ball point pens are just viscus enough with their ink that they glide better than almost anything that’s come before.

The text messages that come out of nowhere, and smack you in the face with a grin you can’t help but show off.

The evenings when nothing makes sense, and you’re friends decide to just come out to shoot the shit while in agreement that we’re fucked up, but that’s okay.

The things on the internet that I read that knock the wind out of me, I didn’t that… who am I kidding, of course I did.

The people I meet that I never would have dreamed I could just a few years ago, the adventures in hilarity, or just sitting there.

The walnut brownies that fuck me up, but I still eat them cause they’re powerful, anyway.

The incredible impulse to live overriding the impulse to be safe, safety is kept for the ones I love, I can’t afford it.

The nuances of not knowing when I’m Falling into oblivion, but inevitably finding my way out.

The needles that hold together my mind after weeks of explosions and out of context conversations, the hour of silence in which I find refuge.

The time I spend marveling at the leaves as they slowly change their pigment, abdicating to the natural way of their existence.

The hazard lights as they blink while I wait for an unending amount of time outside for someone I love coming in and join me on an adventure I couldn’t help but follow.

The space between moments when I’m consciously able to put words on paper, that gives me the voice to say something the next time.

The thoughts that I cannot seem to get out pointing me towards the things I should say or should have, I’m not sure anymore.

The flowers growing in the planter set in the middle of the this effigy of the end of humanity.

The routine that is never the same, random people here and there, but always puts me back in the same place.

The rain as it hits the windows as it rides the wind like an old companion down to the sound shop where it will trade speed for the sound it will make.

The assumptions people have made about who I am, keep guessing, cause I don’t even know.

The laugh that my mother gives when she’s truly more happy than concerned with one thing or another.

The warmth I feel when even my limited idea of a family is happy just smiling with one another.

The confused bewilderment my brother is able to remind me of every time he shows me he’ll be alright with just smiling.

The cat as she sits with me, while we eat our breakfasts of turkey and eggs.

The Batista with the awesome hat, who likes Oscar Wao , and seems to always be smiling.

The books that teach the ways of the mechanics of the mind, reminding me to go easy on my so unreasonable taxation that I’ve levied with heavy fines.

The coffee that I shouldn’t drink anymore, cause its just a habit now, one of simplicity within the complex.

The uncharacteristic frankness that I unknowingly have become accustomed to, many call it being too blunt, I call it a blister after being rubbed the wrong way too much.

The Boosh, cause one does not know joy unless they can appreciate the sublime glory of multi role screen time.

The alt key, because the amount of alt+tabbing that I require on a daily basis is truly disgusting, but fascinating nonetheless.

The fights I get into over the fact that I’m not as happy as I should be, It’ll happen when it happens, I know that.

The pain that reminds me that I a complex series of processes, governed by laws I understand but can’t even being to explain, reminding me sometimes to stand still.

The consistency of a hard drive that won’t fail, really though its about the stickers I get to cover them in afterwards.

The Everyone who I can no longer sit, lay, or tell stories with, those times happened, I might wish there were more, but all I need were those (sometimes toothless) smiles.

The haze that accompanies my body everywhere it goes, floodlighting the obvious, I’m alive.

The fact that I feel like nothing I ever do is finished. It always has something to be followed up on, a snare that needs tightening or a mix that needs, well, proper mixing. It baffles me so that, it takes me so long to write out these lines, probably because phones are conducive to focused sit down writing, but that’s all I have most of the time. Than again, I could have no time. No period of occasional wellness that puts me in the position to even put two words together, albeit, while waiting for one thing or another.

It makes my willingness tempered and expected to falter, for: “What’s the point?”

To which I must be reminded: “Whats not?”

Love, be, and remember to live to live. Not for any one/thing/else.


I am Alive

I am Alive

Its just Guy love (and Love in General)

They done did it.

They done did it.

I’m sitting here, I should be shivering my face off. Its finally gotten cold in mid-November. Finally, as if I was looking forward to air biting me as i walk down these monolithic streets ignoring every sensory explosion I relive, with every step I take.

But I’m not shivering, hell I’m not even feeling remotely tense, my hat my have been the wrong choice, a slouch, but because of the lack of static electricity generated to produce any sort of warmth, though, but it has always looked cool.

So, I’m sitting here un front of this incredibly modern piece of art, in front of the aptly placed MOMA across the street. What the hell am I doing here, aside from attempting to fulfill and unrequited death wish I’d hoped dispersed years prior.

Well as it so happens, there is work to be done, and words written for people i find so easy to neglect and so hard to ever not love. In particular one persons, or better yet a single whole.

I cannot claim to understand humans, as well as people far more qualified than myself. I mean thats just what they do, though i do take a morally insensitive stance towards looking at them. I mean there’s very little I can truly grasp that the next person that passes me by won’t immediately refute because such is the wonderful randomness of the people I meet.

So, it goes without saying, that I make a lot of grandiose statements about infinity and the fantastic insignificance towards the fact that I bring nothing to the table of this existence.

I feel some days I’m not meant to even belong for my existence is so small ,so infinitesimally bleek in the pantheon of rational thought that, that maybe I would be better served thinking about the inconceivably insignificant, as to appreciate the things that I can’t seem to affect.

Then I think about the insignificant things I never thought I’d be able to appreciate, until it was too late to accept the incredible awe and wonderment that it was while it was there.

Now i may sound like I’m waxing poetic about my own self loathing indignations that i’ve managed to assault myself with. But no this is the truth about the person, who i know to be better, kinder, smarter, and more tolerant of the world, and grounded in a sort of zen in what needs to be done sometimes.

My best friend, now i’ve been using that phrase a lot lately. My right hand as it was for the longest time. I’m not exactly sure what we’ve had to accept and become over the last year alone, i mean we were supposed to have finished a couple albums, and a concept EP by now. But here we are.

Barely, really nothing under our belt except maybe a couple of sampled times while utilizing the street outside my house or the park across the street from yours. The tracks were never really reason we got together, just really an excuse to work together on a thing neither of us had really delved into.

Thats just what we’ve always done though isn’t it. Just jump right in, bright eyed and bushy tailed to fields neither of us could have ever comprehended.
But always having each others proverbial backs. Didn’t matter if it was the occasional existential crisis about how we could possibly be part of the machine we’d always talked about we’d never be a part of but alas here we are working away.

When our hearts were shattered, for one thing or the other, falling inconceivably for the right person at the wrong time, time after time (mostly me really), thank you man. I know i can be an overly emotional ball of what the fuck, and how the fuck did we manage to get here, but you’ve always held yourself firm even in the face of maddening situations and scenarios.

I mean seriously how the hell did we manage to get almost robbed or robbed in the strangest moments.

Or how our own inconceivable naiveté always managed to do things with some sort of disdain, yet you could always hold the wonder and amazement more than I ever could. Cause you saw just a bit more than I did, as I sit behind these crimson glasses i can’t help but cut up everything in my head. You keep me sane man, so again thank you for that.

I love you Brother, because through every insane turn life taken mean more importantly us, we were.

Now, though you say it won’t, you must keep all those things you hold together and give it about 150% more to another person, even though i don’t approve of this overly wishy washy Xanthan gum level of overly excessive and partially self loathing level of emotional acquiescence.

She loves you more than anything and I totally understand why. So I need for you to do me a favor man. I need something from you selfishly, and without protest. Its a request I often relegate to making myself work at but I won’t trust anyone but my most trusted with it.

I request, as all men who seek nothing more than the joys of those around them would hopefully ask. A request I can’t must up the heart to say, and so keep putting expository words in front of one another in an attempt to delay the words being scribbled across this notebook as i sit here on this train.
A request that could change a person, in the time it took for a street light to change. A request so specific and unlike me, with all my fucked up subtlety and warpedness i can’t seem to fuck up saying.

By the powers vested in my by nothing and no one, through the 25th circuit court of wherever, I need to be by the sounds that carry in this universe perpetually, infinitesimally and the beauty that i can’t even begin to describe in words, as they would not do it justice, by my God’s will and so on and the such.

I request that you Love.

Love as if time stopped and eternity was a tiny midi keyboard you plugged into all the sounds of life in all the moments that ever were in that moment that this moment that time had frozen.

Love like gravity on earth wasn’t a fixed constant of acceleration, that you could feel it anchor you as if falling into the sun. A million Billion kinds of chemical reactions wouldn’t understand how not to perfectly acquiesce as you love her til the end of everything. Because the relativity of time should not stop you either, I hope you even love at the tip of a singularity so the love you have can never fade, for it will never end as gravity well will let you drink in each other for eternity and beyond.

Never let the little things get in the way either, but use them as the things to remind you to always love. Don’t not love life, cause sometimes it really hard, I know, but with you the you two there’s enough strength, power, (and most important of all) because of that love and care feel ever so rare these days.

Love the adventures, the unwanted,sometimes unpleasant. And never let having to NOT love some parts, change your love. Never let things that love cannot spread with dilution, it is there an it should always be.

To my best friend, through the thick and the thin (Literally), thank you for being there, and with all the love I can give, congratulations mother fucker!

And don’t think I forgot about you, Miss.
She who turned my best friends into one of the best people, thank you for everything you’ve done.

I already loved you as much as I love Ed, but if I missed any of that love through my own misadventures and sometimes overly confusing life, I give that you as well.

You two are the best, and if you know anything about me, its that I keep my standards obscenely high: my standards don’t come close to who you two really are. Congratulations kids.

So much of it.

So much of it.


A funny thing happens when you’re browsing your twitter feed. While watching the brownie batter you spent something like way too long trying to get it to the right consistency, drip out into the baking paper, as it rises in the oven everyone said was overkill.

You giggle at the anecdotes, the way everyone else describes events unfolding. Sometimes there’s a willful level of insanity in the brevity the feed inspires, or possibly hidden base instincts.

Regardless I keep scrolling, never stopping to really think. The posts that whiz by as I judge by the pictures of the ones can speed read right through. As though I willfully enjoy relegating peoples thoughts to data points. I suppose its all the same.

But when I stop and read and click on the links, the feed seems so much smaller. The single unified entity is no longer anything I assume to care about, its not mine its just a mishmash of too many ideas flowing faster than anyone can feasibly keep up. So even the ones I stop at I just browse, no need to invest in the words of others

But then there was you, your face damming the feed faster than beavers looking for some reasonable food. At the very hint of your visage things stop and I have to choose, do I think myself out of this or do I let go and just miss you. Thoughts beguiled by the decision they must make usually just let’s it scroll, missing you would require remembering you and sometimes sometimes remembering is too easy overall.

I run down the words as they stream down the screen, reading like this is great speed reading practice, maybe I should do it some more. Like paddling down the river that one time, forgetting to mention you can’t swim, hoping death wouldn’t come, but the things I had to learn rapidly, they’d never fade. As the rocks they exploded from beneath reminding me to keep the faith.

But then you show up again, as if you know somethings reminded me of you. I try to scroll on but I can’t I’m stuck between a rapper sampling cats and comedians proposing to pizzas. You, you hang there like the end of a journey that never really existed. Syphoning my thoughts to stopping the memories from flooding back, blinding me while these brownies rise from their molten primordial sugar puddle.

I just want to write you a song, a sonnet, or even a hymn, just to remind you you’re not alone. No matter what you say to me, no matter how much I try to ignore the stream of your thoughts in the world, I don’t want to stay quiet anymore at least to these words. The only ones I can really speak to, because their conjecture is not to assume an ulterior motive. At least until I tell them to.

I want to give you, all that I can. Guarantees and promises I can’t, cause no ones kept there’s. I wish not to make you hope, I wish to remind you that there is love. Love not the way I do love you, but of life and the little things we ignore while trying to think our way out of things. Like streams of familiar faces, telling us how they feel.

All this in the moment I see your face, while randomly checking on the brownies. They’re almost done now, its primordial corpse rising from the tray, the excessive butter clearly visible. I just want to send this picture, of brownies coming to life. But I won’t cause I’ve stopped caring about how they look.

I’ve stopped caring that they’re going to need to frozen then re-baked. I stopped caring that I’ve been leaning against the counter top for something like longer than I care to remember. I’m staring at my phone, trying to remember, why I relegated myself to just music friend on the other side of the world. Why I let everything convince me, that anything ever done was a mistake.

I could go on but these brownies need tending to, I’ll let the knife cut them down to smaller bits. Maybe I can share some too.

Words of Nothing

Eyes won’t open
too much light
not enough dark
consumed emptiness
hallow be thy rest

Flow into the night
let not life know
keep it guessing
seeing whats allowed
never control aloud

Can’t find you
you went missing
the moment beyond sight
let the time fall
the leaves changed

Find the shoe
will the boot fit
look together
we can find it
but I’ll leave

Loss is null
not worth a penny
take the dull
work out the edge
then cut string

Empty days
full of filling
live for pie crust
the apples are sour
sugar free living

Thoughts unfocused
glass doors fogging
close the shades
I want your light
you’re blinding

See these sounds
watch them bounce
under the clouds
we cant hold it up
the blues just might

Toy with the idea
play with its points
revel in its logic
ignore the fine print
let the soul talk

Plucking slowly
find soaked blood fast
frets watery red
fingers lingering
playing the dead song

Mind not right
thoughts bounce high
no drugs to sort
the miasma creeps
this meeting blows

Words solidly unfounded
reality complete
can’t believe whats happened
tea to forever steep
bitterness will not keep

Fuck it.


Hit Play

Its as simple as a hum that take our souls and send them for tail spins, disrupting the flights they take crossing misanthropic chasms.

Too bold to understand that what had occurred was reality in its purest form, having let the chute rip as molecules fall to grace perpetually scattered, and always misplaced.

Let it go uttered the music of that tone, clutching existence at its very core as it armored up preparing to be let fall hard as the times before.

The way of the world, too simple, too chic, form fitted for a reality not forged but forced to exist, through unknowing falsehoods based on hope.

Wishing upon a star, thinking too soon the fall had come to relieve this multitude of stigma the wicked visions would give out.

Whispers crawling in the aural caverns of the void, carved through countless repetition and malignant growths too subtle to notice, growing as coral do.

Sometimes the urge to reveal the empty naked husk of a being holds strong, the cool not needed to mask the truth of trying to stay clean and sober in the eyes of God.

Beseech the darkness to explain why it loves that which cannot be, love that will not change, love required by higher moral fortitude.

Query on the lost, the weary and the defeated, they will all return the same date, never alone never mismatched shit was hard sure but never lose light.

Everything hurts everything bleeds, yet time moves forward unable to heal the wounds that refuse to play as the same game repeats itself, sometimes on the wrong plain.

Fear me, I’ve killed hundreds, seeking nothing more than patience without the grace, obviously falling where i should not have, but in this place Love is ever more.

The simple hum that guides to this place of cats and existential irrelevance, who is to tell you more.

Sticking words next to one another to attempt to make the mystery and more languid, to understand the game.

Never enough, the clues burn bright to remind of a time when they weren’t needed, weren’t coveted, no more illumination, its my mystery to figure out and lay to rest.

These cloths will not wash themselves, these visages of what once was, was perceived as good as they can possibly be.

Remind me, where I am, what I have done to get here, to throw caution to the wind and allow the almighty air to consume my insides, still not uplifted.

Speeding into the division, no past but ideal future, or past with a future tied to nothing more than a path too narrow to be derailed, where to run anymore, how does it make sense with these bloody eyes, seeing red.

Reality sets in as the flames flame out as the ash fall hazy amongst carrion, picking from the corpses of those who might one day do good.

Eventually the time will come where the past no longer governs how hurt we are by it, the scars though still tender are but reminders of roads once traveled, where we tripped over fallen leaves, as we watched them change paths.

Fill the void of the ones who finally made the void bearable, with the numbing silence of apathy and genetic predispositions to give up, singing as the mail men chant “everything will change”

Low frequency oscillations perpetuating the zero sum of feeding the beast of what never truly was, by attempting to will it into its own existence as if that will give it the meaning it so dearly seeks.

All this to say the words that filled with enough fear of being used again, of being let down, as the trust was so easy to give out to them.

The words they have no meaning, they sit on the tip of my tongue, sitting at the razors edge bleeding, wanted to just be uttered slowly because maybe, just maybe reality didn’t have to be broken down into chunks.

Maybe just maybe, I could finally say it without worrying that they’d be flung back at me, as little as they mean anymore, because words are just the tools of the cynical to convey the “truth”

That borrowing from cliche might be too much, but, but it means enough to warrant the hum to give us permission to speak again.

Permission to remember that maybe, maybe we aren’t all built the same.

Permission to forgive yourself, when life reminds you that you weren’t to blame.

Permission to say the things we promised ourselves we didn’t think we could say.

Permission to smile at the darkness and remember that it would be okay.

Permission to write, regardless of whether or not there was too much to portray.

I love you, forever, even after I couldn’t help but hit play.

A tree put through some hi-tech un-solicited filters.

A tree put through some hi-tech un-solicited filters.


The Sound of Settling



Usually it starts with crack from a place you didn’t know existed, or rather was capable of cracking. It usually pretty wicked in its guttural-ness, as a pill bottle shifts all its content to one side in a single instant, it releases the pressure of a hundred million tectonic plates under the deepest trench down the furthest hole from the sun. Then, it happens again, this time more in your head, where a few words change everything and the filters of perceptibly quickly reorganize themselves into something more codified into a singular supposition, without real conflict.

The noise that brings so much silence is the settling, the part where ignoring is no longer a viable outlet for obfuscating the guilt of things that happen within. Settling into what is, instead of what can be. A stark division from the traditional impermanent mentality of flux and floating, filled with jealous gloating and longing stares. The silence, its real, as the televisions high frequency ringing available to those ears to drive them to madness, it shuts off and hopes to rehash the truisms of confident old world, thought to be believed untrue.

This is how we settle, into our big arm chairs, with our headphones so warm, we listen to the crispness of music we hoped would always give use truth and solace, yet find that it feels boring as it does not resonate. Not country; not electro, not synthesized alt-rock with a bit of jazz funk thrown in for good measure. The rich Corinthian leather doesn’t have its appeal anymore, nor does the comfort of sitting on the couch that brought you peace and solace, like the music all those years ago. Nope, nothing doing, it makes little to no sense, said assuming it had to. No this is the sound of settling, where to quiet the mind, the body gets loud, ignoring the obvious fallacies without deciding what there is to come, so it runs around finding itself without needing to actually run.

Like jumping the fence or a barricade testing the resilience of the cops, once thought the height of fun, now the looming pointlessness of the arrest becomes apparent, fuck it the old man needs to run. Into the crowd screaming with snakes in their eyes walking them astray from the path they once had. Venom leaking from their teeth revealing the idiots actually had won, as their obvious mindsets continue asking cops if they’ve got Molly. I’m too old for this shit comes to mind, too old to see the same mistakes being made for the wrong reasons, even if they were the right ones. Realizing settling is being ridiculous without the thought “That was ridiculous”  bouncing around the head, as the bare chested sweaty body in 100 degrees swings the wet shirt above the head. So proud.

Settling into being okay with not feeling anything anymore. That sunlight and snow flakes just remind us that we’re alive, but that’s just it whats the point of it if we can so easily settle into the bones we’ve tried so hard to break and mend because its as if we’re meant to, than we can become better, maybe. Like the ways of the world don’t mean anything anymore, but to points to ignore, because they go against what seems to be respected amongst peers.

A yearning for banality and uninspired continuity takes root, where the trunk grows strong with the disgust of shameless blind trust. Realizing that people don’t change they just become more of themselves, magnified by their own reflections compounded by false regression of self soothing. Nothing makes sense so don’t question infinality, it leads to knowing you’re enough to change the world, it’ll always scare, so why bother?

Sometimes the genie’s wishes aren’t enough to remember the thought of happiness once had. It was real sure, but it wasn’t good because it won’t let the relaxation comes, it comes with a goal, but that goal isn’t to be quiet with this black hole that seems to have made its home right above the gut in between the lungs. “Wish for patience,” a thousand years will pass, even than the silt will not set. “Wish for understanding,” the mind will revolt seeking all the answers from the past. “Wish to see the light in any dark,” the light will not bleed. The wishes will fade and the happiness will not be found, still settled with that calming cracking sound.

Wash away the fears of the ghost of today’s regret as normalcy sets in, the waves perpetual in their harmonic oscillation. They’ll repeat til they never sound any different, calling out the whispers too often ignored because of perceived insignificance. The routine to follow ad nauseam, wherein the the numbing will set into itself, and the comfort will again be reached.

The sound of settling into thoughts, hearts, and bodies, so loud it ignores the wails of dreams and goals not yet met. A cacophony so loud it seems to organize the ways of the worlds into an army of ants following strict guidelines for the betterment of the “whole.” A noble deed indeed, without it nothing could stay, nothing would be done. Just floating in space as time bends around the traditional chronomatic time stamps, through the bending of the light and the the velocity of the an object in vacuum without any motion.

Too tired to write; too excited to settle; too fucked up to know if any of it’ll ever get better. Too much dreaming is lost to the constant committal, to the strictest adherence of impermanent stupefaction and three levels of doubt. When the dust begins to settle, from a short life of queries and falsifications, lets find a love seat, sink in and settle.