An altruistic act or just greed, my motivation is questioning, am I the selfless one or thinking of my own glory in suffering
My actions are never clear
I need to question everything that I do, Deep inside I know I should follow the golden rule always
If I get something out of it is it wrong or is it just always that way
My actions are never clear
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 9:15 AM UTC
A moment of security and an assurance of hello
The unreasonable yes when the world says no, Any imagined heaven includes you
Fulfilled desire of one always true and the constant affirmation of value in your deepest you
Without want of being wanted and a loss at any lack, honesty combined with fantasy, no thought of holding back
The breakdown of all reason and a sympathetic truth, a heart filled with terror at the thought of a world without you, my mind is overflowing and my life is stepping down because a friend means showing the world is less without
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 9:12 AM UTC
Cry and you cry alone Smile and the world is with you The people part of home And the doors keep closing Lock you in or out Suffer the same The people part of home is The emptiest thing
Every Friday buries a Thursday Forget each one, keep your eyes away
Not so much what is said A skin holding a soul, a heart, a head Effort, sympathy breed dignity Only connect!
Sadness pulls apart The days and the hours And makes each sorry A sneering mockery If we could just take ourselves And fill the shoes of another And extend sympathy Beyond obligation
Every Friday buries a Thursday Forget each one, keep your eyes away Momentum deceives us, and lets us see Forward While keeping sideways to the periphery
Not so much what is said A word an act a thought or a deed An impenetrable cloud Concealing connection that we need A single soul Left behind or forgotten Is the death of us all An implicating 'sorry'
'I’m sorry' just doesn’t cut it 'I’m sorry' doesn’t fill the need 'I’m sorry' is for those who do something 'I’m sorry' doesn’t mean a thing
Every Friday buries a Thursday And I’m sorry you’ve wasted your day
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 9:09 AM UTC
Wherever I sit I die in exile From the life I never had The life of the body
Effects less than obvious And decidedly wrong Imaginary worlds breathe and stand And take a life of their own
A culture of I wish I was And an inner life to match My mind is set on the goal Though my feet stray from the path But I must retrain And find new shoes And walk away from this hell Of self-loathing doubt
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 7:06 AM UTC
i followed tracks, traces, and visions, down the path i was told without revisions, but when i finally found the end, it didn’t complete me, it only deceived me
i thought that i’d just live a normal life and settle down with a house or a wife, so they say, so it goes, but it didn’t complete me, it only deceived me
i thought the only point was to make points, settle them out and remove all doubt, but when it comes to the point, they didn’t complete me, they only deceived me
if you think you’ll find some puzzle pieces, you’re selling yourself short, because you’ve got all the pieces, because you’ll never be 'complete,' but you don’t have to be deceived
a spur, a trace a mark, an outline in the sand, a rhyme is arbitrary words, and form is emptiness
form is emptiness and emptiness is form
so they say, so it goes, they didn’t complete me, they only deceived me, i still can’t find my better half
my own better half is not a separate thing, it’s an unfulfillable desire. i’ll never be 'complete.'
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 7:04 AM UTC
becoming instead of just being and looking instead of just seeing, form is emptiness and emptiness is form, performance is a means and an end, an identity isn’t something to defend, for is emptiness and emptiness is form
the simplest answer is the question itself
i don’t need categories to think for me, to write my thoughts for me, to live my life for me
if i inherit my name, my bank, and my faith, isn’t that enough given to me? to think i understand reality or how things should be, opinions aren’t something to receive and neither is an identity
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 7:02 AM UTC
from nothing we came and to nothing we will return ad nauseum
i become who i want to be
a stone moves no water and feels no wind, it displaces the air but it takes nothing away, leaves a small footprint, just a trace in the sand
look for the path and tread lightly there, feet make no marks, and lungs long to breathe no air, eyes focused on both the east and the west, all the fires that you’ve made, and all the bridges yet to burn
and if you think you have a right to ask the question is always the same we must tread lightly and if you think you have a right to take in trust just think of all the people that came before
form is emptiness and emptiness is form
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 4:29 AM UTC
This intervention has the feel of déjà vu the record’s spinning forever locked in its groove a way of life reduced to a form stylized routinized to a shallow and shiny norm from revolution to cliché
just superficial stimulation
but what’s different? appearances change but there’s no progress in this apocalypse
everything that rises must converge all the meaningful surprises grow from within and stretch the threads of molded costumes copied, sinned, and said
rags cover neglect and decay veil desire’s all-compelling force generations lived through their eyes dissatisfied with any compromise
the searing balm of burning screens faith in sense impression for ironic equivocation it’s (just) culture, neither right nor wrong a place to hide, from considering
from revolution, to cliché, we lose our way faith in sense impression, ironic simulation so responsible in their noble stimulation
coming down to unchanged reality everything that meets must diverge patchwork king of limited domain stitched and sewn and overblown
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 4:26 AM UTC
Flirt with the truth through gentle irony avoid attachment and deflect in subtlety If I admit it, am I absolved? or acquitted of this middle brow, middle class, half caring, and half-assed, cowardly bravery
sharp witted and forked tongue, thick skinned, with mask on cutting to protect, to shelter and deflect this parade of cynicism is wearing thin
broken homes make broken bones, too late and so long just move along, why try to belong if community is (just) monotony? Are there worse things to be?
Where is fulfillment if this is my penitence? just stay what you are
to think and say, and just make do
these swords won’t help they only open wounds you can’t mend with irony the truth is in the delivery
just say it but don’t mean it just say it but don’t believe it just say it and hide in the irony
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 4:14 AM UTC
A desert empty, hard, and mute some implied and maligning agent mere dust, soft clay, of eroding tides unsettling account, no balance to come in the pall of mistakes past
who are you to ignore the obvious effects of your actions? and ask the world to bend to your ignorance of other ends more exists without than is known within or spoken invisible but no less real, though forgotten our wills have mass
an epidemic of inattention content with meaningless negligence on a curved path, tethered and constrained wrought between collisions and propelled to escape
but man himself is a force of nature which counters all others and conquers so as to undo itself in its wake, risk values all reward so-called providence designs all consequence
the game plays itself
so it goes, and so it went
so it goes, and so it will, at the end
so it goes, and so it will, so it went, at the end, as it always would
the measure of man isn’t that which he hazards no hope in abandoning to shaping molding chance this alien land holds scars of man’s conversion does it manifest our victory, our destiny, or our barbarity?
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 4:08 AM UTC