Oft times, i wish to spend a moment in the conjure to wash this screen alit with brilliant words. oft times, i type the simple words, "fuck this" and the muse stretches out her soft glowing arms, slaps me hard in the face, yells, "NO!" at me like im a child and then scampers back atop my hope chest.
oft times... i dont have anything to say at all, but want to say it all.
lately, i've return back to the thought that the world is mirror and veils of illusion. truths and untruths, learned and forgotten again... spiral circles of desire and depression bourne out our own heads from our-future-selves leaving us voicemail messages like breadcrumbs through the ever changing face of the forest. to see. to be. to consume. to return again... ravenous to covet and long again. groundhog day reworked. fixed-broken-fixed and remixed.
we are with the ones who will take us through to the next parts of me... the next parts of you. levitation out of the Quagmires into a (hopefully) higher touch of reason and empathy.
it's this heavy intertwined with the vapidness in traffic and old songs spun anew. same stupid foods. same stupid attitudes. same stupid jokes. over and over and under again.
do you leave a mark on the world or does the world leave its mark on you?
dont we try? in our conversation. in our day to day. in our heroics or even cowardices... this was who i was. let the world ring on that i held these numbered days this a way. such a short dance we get with this life. and you wonder if this life goes on... beyond the beyond... and you continue the dance with a different understanding. we grow all of these thoughts... build all of these kingdoms. sacrifice through these hells or perceptions of hells... surely those castles we build in the sky could have some footing?
whatever dreamed this all up. why wouldnt that dream include a seQuel?
oft times... i dont have anything to say at all, but want to say it all.
lately, i've return back to the thought that the world is mirror and veils of illusion. truths and untruths, learned and forgotten again... spiral circles of desire and depression bourne out our own heads from our-future-selves leaving us voicemail messages like breadcrumbs through the ever changing face of the forest. to see. to be. to consume. to return again... ravenous to covet and long again. groundhog day reworked. fixed-broken-fixed and remixed.
we are with the ones who will take us through to the next parts of me... the next parts of you. levitation out of the Quagmires into a (hopefully) higher touch of reason and empathy.
it's this heavy intertwined with the vapidness in traffic and old songs spun anew. same stupid foods. same stupid attitudes. same stupid jokes. over and over and under again.
do you leave a mark on the world or does the world leave its mark on you?
dont we try? in our conversation. in our day to day. in our heroics or even cowardices... this was who i was. let the world ring on that i held these numbered days this a way. such a short dance we get with this life. and you wonder if this life goes on... beyond the beyond... and you continue the dance with a different understanding. we grow all of these thoughts... build all of these kingdoms. sacrifice through these hells or perceptions of hells... surely those castles we build in the sky could have some footing?
whatever dreamed this all up. why wouldnt that dream include a seQuel?
fucking jaws got a seQuel.
fucking fast and the fortuitous got a fucking seQuel.
fucking deuce bigalow.
surely an existence.
maybe that's the rub. maybe the lunatics see it as it truly is. voices in your head tell you this is all there is. do what you want with no recourse. one shot. fuck it. trail of tears. make it happen.
Alexander supertramp style.
beauty and ruin.
conformity and the abandon of conformity for the sake, lack of, or abandon of sanity.
all this is...
you create a world. you include the people inside of that world that you've now chosen to hold on dearly to. the wayside littered with empty discarded relationships of nostalgia or past obligation, hearts you stopped trying to mend.
you keep that fragile bubbleskin solid as it can be alive and floating and you tear the throats out of this who try to burst that bubble as it floats through an ever changing landscape. sometimes sharp. sometimes dark. and you hope that when it's all over for you and your bubble that you might trip through the walls to knock shit over to let those you loved know you're still around and you'll dance once more.
the solace of being ghost.
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