I'm tired of being told what to believe in, and what matters in life. Constant bombardment of stimuli, telling me what makes an artist, what good art is, who to elect, what to wear, what cause to take up. I already have my 20/20 vision, had it checked, verified, took it beyond the threshold and came back sans t-shirt. I don't need someone giving me the play by play 24/7 when I can already see this world, unfiltered and pure as it is.  I could mystify this sentiment further by adding in abstractions and platitudes signifying nothing, but I don't feel the need for my catharsis to waste anyone's time. You don't need me giving you advice anymore than I need advice or commentary.  I don't need backseat drivers or neologistic buzzwords and fortune cookie wisdom shoved down my throat to taste comprehension.  I know what I want. I'm not ashamed of that.  I grew up knowing only self doubt, and it would appear the Millennial M.O. is to float through life praising the "art" of self doubt. As if it is something worthy of praise to be crushed externally and internally, instead of working towards bolstering from within.  With the chaos of the modern era, systemic inequity, and politics as a fashion statement, I keep my inclinations for the most part buried until my voice reaches beyond masturbatory passive aggressive self aggrandizement.  It is hip to give a ****. But that's the problem.  Giving a **** has been reduced to a fashion statement, it's how we decide who we let in, who we talk to, who we ****, who we praise. If you keep up the right front you can make superficial fair-weather friends do for you.  Therein lies an acquiescence to societal woes and whims that counter-cultural kids always know exists in the back of their minds with a beleaguered smirk and a reminder to themselves that they're really just playing the part as they clock in to their jobs and message their friends about anarchy.  It's all a big game, depending on who you are determining what kind of game it is. Some people play the lottery and leave their existence up to chance because it's all they know.  Some people play a mean game of poker and act like they've got enough ability to bluff their way through this knowing they've got nothing stacked.   My game is chess.  I don't tell anyone what moves I'm planning, but I'm five moves ahead and I'm aiming to topple ****. I have to, it's the only thing that drives me, keeps me motivated. Self doubt is praised as a tool to spur on growth.  I don't need to doubt myself in order to grow, I have had enough people doing that for me.  Until I reach a precipice, until I have unmade myself and pushed beyond what anyone, (myself included) deems me capable of, I am an unreliable narrator, and my voice will carry no weight.

Stone faced destruction, a craft in a void

What does it matter if it can never be created or destroyed?

Event horizon guide me, living got you annoyed?

Like an atom we split, and through the dirt that we sift

Seeds of conditional omission baring down for the drift

Intentions spread on the wind, now bereft of the wit

Scattershot the lot and hold me down with the gift

If I'm breathing you'll see me believing in my condition

No bereaving is needed when I have made my decision

It's not a death of the ego; why it's a call to confirm it

Leave your name at the tone, and I will prove I deserve it

Message, misinterpreted, deterred but I'm building

I hit the chisel to my brain, I carved the marker I'm gilding

I knew that no seed would grow until the weeds had been slain

Now every moment I'm living converting power from pain

As I can offer no service, until I have made myself work

So I have left from the room, where all the chatter continues

to plant myself in the dirt, so I replenish my sinews

Confusing my silence for inaction on a whim could prove deadly

I'm stacking my arsenal, stick around for the medley.

With a whirlpool of intentions and a focus greatly skewed

My declaration of disdain with my voice has this imbued:

Having ****** into the chaos of a modern need for thriving

With a trust that all my actions give me credit for surviving

Don't ask me for my progress, as I doubt you want to hear it

You've picked out your priority, yet contention makes you fear it

Bursted bubbles of illusion gave you free fall to the curse

of scatter plots for your design as you could only make it worse

Pick apart and yes unravel every thought you've come across

Shifted eyes upon the prize has darted off and at a loss

Identity has forced my hand to cry out for the masses

But contrivances you understand are killing off our chances

Everyone is sure and no one seems to quite grasp the fact

That catharsis marks a farce as art and we're all caught up in the act

Set the stage, turn the page, start from the top, we know it's crucial

Knowing meaning is a feeling, but the feeling it seems is mutual

Shouts out to the post modern ironic twisted ***** of confusion making sense of a chaotic existence

Shouts out the the same folks for laughing at their own struggle

Shouts out to the bleeding hearts

Shouts out to the dried up stones

Shouts out to the snarky *** momentary breaks from the void that they carry alone

Shouts out to the religious castaways, to the tradition breakers

Shouts out to the tradition keepers, and the self evaluators

Shouts out to the pathfinders and the trailblazers

Shouts out to the lack of motivation and the desire to be admired

Shouts out to mania driven fervor satiated not even by approval

Shouts out to calculated efforts and spontaneity as a ruse

Shouts out to reused tropes and cliches strung together again and again in different orders

Shouts out to all living as peninsulas, carving themselves off as islands.

You want true expression, and true honesty

Or so you claim

You don't want the heat that comes with a call for the flame

You don't want to be enveloped in the purity of anyone

I hear you ask for honesty, and I know you don't want it

You want facsimiles, you want approximations, but truth is not for you

We have ego strokes, crutches, blinders, confused priorities

We have people set in their ways, and idealists lacking perspective

I want truth, I want life to blossom unfiltered, raw, and untouched

But if we can't even agree on medicines for diseases

If we can't even agree on who to let live

who to nurture

what to be upset about

Who to feed

When the answers are clearly spelled out

How do you expect me to feel like you even want truth?

(Verse 1)

Still frames enclosing every motion for the long run

Rough pages: unsure if you'll see me on the last one

At this stage, I'm holding out for roles that fit my marker

In this age, I'm shining on, tones all around grow darker

(Prechorus)

Lights! Camera! Action! Let's roll!

Into the Unknown we will go!

(Chorus)

I hope it falls in line with all of my timing:

Cue Sequence, set the credits on a roll.

I'm magnified but living as a symptom of Social Control.

Breathe it in, it's only beginning, the showcase still unfolding.

Breathe it out your doubt, though it's rough keep going...

Verse 2

Set change, impulses that I knew I couldn't run from

Rough takes, I'm choosing which I'll keep until the last run

With this scene, I'm proving to myself that it's all worth it

With this dream, I'm finding out my theme is how I earn it

(Prechorus)

Lights! Camera! Action! Let's roll!

Into the Unknown we will go!

(Chorus)

I hope it falls in line with all of my timing:

Cue Sequence, set the credits on a roll.

I'm magnified but living as a symptom of Social Control.

Breathe it in, it's only beginning, the showcase still unfolding.

Breathe it out your doubt, though it's rough keep going...

Ebola Sars and ***, sounds like a big deal to me

Isis recruits Australians, Russia bombs Ukrainians

Economic bubble crash is starting to give me a rash

Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad

Hyper fervent slactivism causing me a social schism

Picking up the pieces of a shattered governmental system

Cliches of a topic piled up into a rhyming pattern

Pundits pumping such hot air they might as well just move to Saturn

Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad

Post Modern kids all broke it down as something they could
deconstruct

Idealists will polish turds, while cynics just don't give a ****

Focus on your social status, eating healthy, getting hotter

Better drink my own ****, cause we're quickly running out of water

Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad