Friday, March 14, 2014

xistence


you cre8 a tiny little universe.
spin a world round this burning nuclear core
decide the light source, the wind, the seasons
you populate your worldview with those things you love in your good image, and make them so.
you invite those sleeping visages in, naming each one something clever. (you're so clever)
you stand tall and prideful in your little planet, nurturing its delicate sensibilities.
temperance. grace.
its Quiet meanders.
its all points south.
its colors and colours.

every. slight. variation.
different. plains. of. existence.
(difrnt planes of xtc)

you paint yourself into corners with the right people at the wrong times and the wrong people at the wrong times you believed were right times.

alcohol. meditations. mediations. medications. televised radio film. to numb your imperfections and set yourself to measuring holograms of greatness against all of your fears.

you give yourself a heaven to deny, fearing the hell you gave yourself may be all too real.

you make up ions of past thought to confuse the simple thoughts you once had into belief that you were always so advanced. 

you've heard all the bands. you've seen all the films. you've read all the books. 

you love. so very much. so many things. so very deeply. 

you created love. hid it away. look for where you hid it. daily.

constantly aching. desperately wanting.

you know the saying about the 90% of your mind you don't use isn't scientifically true, but dimensionally, that vast percentage is universally working on the next scene change.
the next dress rehearsal.
for someone, like you. 
that's not you.
while you sit alone in fear. in a painted corner. clinging to everything you've ever lost. every band you've heard. every film you've ever seen. every word you've ever read. every love... gone.

they have found the reason for our begins. they have found the bend in space in our life neath the magnet of giants. the birth of our self importance. the anti-matter of our destruction.

time as a flat circle.
blaming it on the black stars.
the balance of opposites.

and you never learned how to be happy.


(get over yourself, please.)