it looks like a
but now i'm on
the fourth or so
to me it's just
another set of nights
i'm in stitches
pulled to hold
three seasons of
the first season of
plus the dog
and three cats
i'm trying to
keep it together
but it's hard
because every day
is more of why
i can't get it together
pull the string of
and let the obsessive
i don't cry
while i love crochet i'm 97% sure it's mostly just a coping mechanism.
Where are my friends in this noonday glory?
This discovery is too precious a myth to be kept close to my heart
Ritualistic rigamortis, religious atrophy smoked by the light
Left vesicated by the ultra violent radiation.
Once in a lifetime, the noontide shine bright on soul of the ape-man
For aphoristic man, lavender crickets of poetry ring the makings of night
The pageantry of youth, of sexual desire, of widow showers
Power and the glory radiant as the sun in noonday revelation.
Why can't ye be compelled by the facts of life?
That life is an orgasm of the senses in the organism of the naked ape
Principally concerned with copulation, further perpetuation of simulation that promises to shake the soul of man.
What does it mean to be?
Being receiving deliverance unto absolute certainty determined by sense
Commonly adopting and conforming and sacrificing
To something that can't be possibly real.
The absurdism of the miracle is this.
That no man can determine original sin, nor trace a path to heaven
I convinced of this.
That this is it and this all.
There is no virtue only sin (and faith).
Faith like a mana shine like poetry in the midnight rain
In the pneumonia stricken slums where staticghosts play
This is all life will be; miserable and incomplete.
This is the true beauty of life and death, is it not?
The commitment to the game in this world of dogs
All through the ages at the neck of our ape form others
Brothers and sisters born into death to be one with abyssal nothingness.
And that's ok and that is purely beautiful, gratifying, and fine.
Finite simulation in the absence of eternal glory is what I seek.
The limitedness of the coil is the catalyst for great discovery
To recognize, and empathize with, and convalesce with.
For sickness unto death is the essence of life.
And there I was, burning at the stake.
Incinerating to completion.
Until I am nothing more than ashes to be swept away.
By bone chilling October winds.
Fed to the flame.
A sacrifice to protect the scandal.
But even in ashes, the truth speaks louder than any fire.
Whether to wait in sorrow and Uncertainty,
And ponder my prefect agony,
Live a tortured and sleepless life,
Of constant fear and inner strife,
Or check-mate myself with the last move,
That some claim to want, but cannot do,
To join the club of either ultimate strength, or insecurity,
And leave all I was on the table to see...
Or in the casket rather...
But, on I have blathered,
So now I suppose I'll let you decide,
Whether tis stronger to live, or stronger to die
darkness pooling beneath both eye
sockets into lakes of fright
frail fingers twitching amongst themselves
communicating with a higher power
diaphragm losing all sense of rhythm
contracting at irregular intervals
ears listening for sounds
that are not there
The air is cool.
I breathe in, and immediately
The smell of pine fills my lungs,
I breathe out,
Leaving a cool
Almost peppermint taste on my tongue.
Past the pine trees,
That stand as tall towers,
Past the deep green color that paints the dark brown branches.
I see, a once bright blue sky,
Has become a grey white shade.
All I can hear is the wind,
The soft whistle of air moving quickly past me
It pounds while doing so,
Pounds on the drums of my ears,
All of this accompanied by flecks of
The soft snowflakes landing on my skin,
Each one with its own unique shape,
I finally feel at peace.