As the fire of knowledge grows, the more it illuminates all the things we have yet to know. It begins to seem that most preconceived notions are nothing more than petty misconceptions. Perspective is relative but not always relevant. And yes, sometimes it can be stupid and pointless and boring. But that doesn’t make it worthless. If it’s all a game anyways, a game you have to play, why not play to win? Accept that sometimes importance is self-fulfilled. It matters because it exists. It exists because it matters. So stop being afraid to admit when you’re wrong. Learn from it. Move on. Stop trying to be perfect and just try to be good

some days i don't feel like waking up. but i can hear you tell me to try a little harder. stop standing in my own way. it'll be better today.

it's been so touch-and-go, i don't even know what it's about anymore. so many words. not nearly as many meanings. pretending like i've ever learned anything.

just a time and a place and a name. a wooden frame and a photograph.

the candles have all burned out but the memory remains.

it can't ever be justice for all if you're only making amends with the things you think you love. when it's always up hill both ways. good luck, goodbye, good riddance. and the ground's always so littered with old thoughts and half-hearted prayers. some nights we gather and wonder if things will ever be the same again.

and it can't be justice for all if you only make amends with the things you think you love. for the rest, it's uphill both ways. good luck, goodbye, and good riddance.
you smug sonofabitch. i'll have you know my father died right along with the rest of them! wide-eyed and wild the day he was born! i think i've earned the right!
you're not righteous, or enlightened. nothing you love is original. you're a cynic, a parasite, a bore. a festering wound that should have long been a scar by now. you're only happy when you're miserable.
it's easy to draw them in, you know. even hold them for awhile.
eventually, the rot sets in. then it's as it ever was.
the flower may wither, my child, but the roots stay strong and deep. we'll be back. as it ever was.

it's okay to have feelings, but it's not okay to keep them all to yourself. stop viewing those tears as weakness; start appreciating them for what they really are: progress! forget all the ******* you've been through. remember that you're more worthwhile than ever. we love you, we're proud of you, and we appreciate you. and yes we will wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

and he wonders when this dream will end. he wonders if it's actually a dream, or just a particularly persistent fragment of a memory. "all is made to thrill," he thinks, "smiles are fleeting and beauty is still." and still, even if it'd all been done before, who wouldn't give their whole life to do it all again?
but he knows there's no time. the summer is already up and running and we're so tired and they're all so disappointed. people make promises that break all the time. although there's an assurance in assuming, at times he missed the simple comforts of being sad.

They drove out one night, on a whim. It was a sprawling thing; a shrine guarded by foreign collection, reconfigured and asleep on their feet. They crept through the open doors, tiny frogs and spiders and lizards littering every inch. A droning permeates from somewhere deep within. A discarded book upon the floor, not but records of sacrifice and lies to the dead. Suddenly, a spark. An inescapable glow, this mess of fire, growing brighter all the while. Now the tools, the taste, the tenor. A man gives what he can. The offering will take, or it won't. And you, with all those sticky fingers! They steal away again, homeward bound; the faintest remnants of that glorious spark dancing in their downcast eyes. It will take, or it won't. Everything is static, nothing stays the same. They know that nothing lasts forever.

Spent a month just writing, anything and everything that ever came to mind. During all this, I realized I'm not dead, but dying. The point is, I'm trying. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm no longer afraid. I've got nothing left to say to you. And although I know sometimes things just don't work out, I'm hoping this isn't one of them.

I was supposed to go to the bank. You guys are stressing that I was just chewing the inside of my cheek and I'm trying not to watch the game or sit in silence. I hear him finish, for the time being anyways, but when she went outside to pick the grass, she found nothing but flowers left. She lay face-down upon the ground and wept. The I.V. drips, the days drag on. The applause is silent, and that silence is deafening. Despite all of that, despite the noise and the pain and the gore, that night you raced on home to mother, and you told her "Everything's going to be alright", and you know it is, because there's always enough love in the valley. Amen.

I'm not enlightened, or righteous. Nothing I love is original. I'm a cynic, a bore, a parasite. A festering wound that should have long scabbed over by now. I'm only happy when I'm miserable.  And yes, it's easy to draw them in, and even to hold them for a while. But, eventually, it sets in. So, give me a chance. and I can make you happy, too.

and you walk around with a soul in your pocket all the while. the whispers breathe like smoke. we're all so many lonely suicides. some nights the radio is always on but still we hear the wolves, pacing just outside the door. as she held your hand, you leaned in close. he'd burn in a town without fire, she said. mark her words. i've been wandering towards salvation ever since.

some mornings, i just sit and watch the sea. the tide is some wondrous leviathan. it arrives at the same time everyday, seething with such perfect purpose. the air is fresh and the sense of potential is tangible.

and when it leaves, it takes all my troubles with it.

You can't win them all; a man is who he is, and killing's no way to make a living. Some thing like that, you can't take back. Right, wrong, whatever. That stink will stick. Still, each night you run on home to mother and tell her "everything's going to be alright," and you know it is, because there's always enough love in the valley.
.

Who said it would be easy? I mean, no one survives. We watch what we love wither and die. There's so much artificial light. All the things you go through, they stay with you. And you've tried, because you're supposed to.

There are colors in your eyes that the rainbow will never know.

That is all. Goodnight.

swollen, pushed to the edge
                                and no one remembers the price
                                           holding so tightly
                               could we ever trust honest again?

On the way home, I stopped at the field. Standing at the edge, I was greeted by a million tiny faces and they were all asking the same question. "If you really don't care, then why are you so angry all the time?"

You reached down and said "lover! lend me your hand! let me make you well again!" but I don't want another one of your opportunities. Frankly, I'm sick of living on my ******* knees. I've decided to wait and see what chaos brings for me.


((I've learned to count the cuts, now let me cut you open and count the rings))

and i'm running and i'm looking back and you are running with me. our hands are clasped. our knuckles are the whitest thing i've ever seen. and i feel you start to stumble. i feel you start to fall behind. i squeeze even tighter, but our hands are disappearing. i am terrified.
i had a birds eye view of your body the night they found you. i tried to take you back, but i kept losing you. in the end, when i finally found you again, i thought you looked like you could lay there forever. and i think about that all the time. i think about your last breath, that last look, those last words. sometimes, i wonder if you'd know.

set sail with caution in the wind and i am paralyzed.
what else makes one wish that all this water could float?
i am sick of all these familiar polluted and broken hearts.

a broad brush and a surreal sense of clarity. this we celebrate! for i have seen the road ahead and it is hard and cold and dead and it goes on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on and on, on and on,
and the truth weighs nothing. travel light. be unburdened

maybe we're better off this way
there was always a part of me
a part from you
drifting, alone
from ocean to ocean
i'd searched the whole world
on drunken confessions
i took advantage and all the while
you prayed for jesus to forgive them
it's another long night
and another dark day
that's when i hear you say
maybe we're better off this way.

I know I'm not who you want me to be
and I know it doesn't mean a thing.
Sometimes, I can still see you when I sleep.

and our house can't be a home
if I'm not allowed there anymore.

When it comes to immigration, everyone’s so focused on the crisis in the Middle East that they forget about the true threat, our sister to the North and The Great Canadian Exodus. That’s right, I’m talking about the Geese. They come over the border, whenever they feel like it; we don’t even know who they are. They’re rapists and murderers and some, I imagine, are good birds. But we don’t know who they are. What we do know is they ****, a lot, in public, everywhere. So much. So so much. They insist on holding up traffic, needlessly, whenever and wherever they like it. I’ve seen one these things, and I’m not kidding you folks, run a grown man down. This hard-working, patriotic American (who I’m sure bled red, white and blue), was beaten and berated by something that isn’t even supposed to be here in the first place. It was horrible, absolutely horrible. And the worst part is, it could have been avoided. That’s why I’m calling for a ban, on all regional immigration and migratory practices, for the foreseeable future. We need to get a grip on this. We need to get ourselves back on track. We need to, simply put, Make America(n Lawns) Great again. Thank you, everybody. Thanks for coming out. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, goodnight!

http://imgur.com/hFb4bBN

There's heavy wine and laughter
and these late nights lead themselves
in a dull roar.

and we're all so many drugs
and the city's on fire
there's no driver at the wheel.

and if it was all that I had left
I'd gladly be done with all the rest.

suddenly, he plunged his finger into the glass of water, as if to blot out a reflection that only he could see. he said "i've had a thousand half-loves, oh sometimes i want to shoot myself just thinking about it. those that endured me, endured the salvation of my soul! hold tight, use both hands. and even when she asks, don't ever let her go."

They loved me like I was their brother
They listened to me, and protected me.
But that don't mean they won't bury me.
Send me away from all the sunshine
and what makes me happy.

I called a friend.
She's an angel.
But she's out there with all the rest.
I know that she'd love to come help us.
She would electrocute us all.

We're all living in such nice dreams.
We do it to ourselves, we do.
That's what really hurts.
I can feel it.
Rustling in these bones.

and eventually, everyone just learned to live with it; it became the new normal. that black cloud... always following...and it rained all day. there just wasn't enough boats. they just couldn't come fast enough.
and so they learned to live with it. to live became to mourn; it was inevitable. it became the standard. the new normal. you know. life!

See the signs. Don’t look away, don’t get used to them. Remove them yourself. Be free. Show others how it can be done. Stand out (I mean, someone has to). Yes, it’s easier to follow along. Yes, it feels weird to do something strange, something different. But it’s okay to feel uncertain, uneasy, and unusual. You know what’s right, so set an example. Break the spell. Others will follow.

start writing down all your thoughts about the future, instead of always focusing on the past. forget all those stories that they used to tell you. quit following all those loose ends. remember that, sometimes, the wrong places still hold the right things. reach out. look for something more. greet yourself with the smile you only share with strangers. immerse yourself in all the chances you're too afraid to take. stop pulling from others, and start pulling from yourself. i know the strength is real, because i've seen it. it's in you.

and your heart isn't lost
and you're worthy of love
and i know the feeling of
feeling dragged to the bone
and i know strength
because i've seen it

midnight late last week
photos on the wall
of someone i don't even know at all
i still can see her face
she was only eight
relaxed as hell
she was my baby before she became a lady

some prophesies burn down
long before they can disappear
there's a reason that one stuck out
stuck out wider than the others
with leering eyes and reeking of charm
all you need is a hand to take a hold of the scene

it is a choice
it is inevitable
it is selfish
it is selfless
it is weak
it is strong
it is forever
it is never
it isn't erasing pain, it's sharing it.
it is the reflection of a blade, lowered, from the throat of your reflected image.
it's sleeping it off again and again and again and again towards infinity.

it's the smell of the pillow
still warm.
it's the hair collected in the sink.
it's the ***** dishes that
no one ever bothered to clean.
it's the journal entries
of a high-school dropout.
it's the mail piling up
unopened.
it's the constant reminders of your voicemail
filled to capacity.
it's the cold steel of a knife
pressed to the throat of your reflected image.

eventually, no one could mourn correctly; they'd all become so accustomed to the death of children. friends and friends of friends and friends of friends of friends. an entire generation, lost to heaven. the feeling of loss dwindled when men, women, and children learned to harden their hearts. why bother when we're all just born to leave? nowadays, the survivors live in ghost towns, shut-in and alone. sometimes, it's better not to talk about it. eventually, it's just too late.

I left for the funeral but somehow ended up at your house instead. I let myself in and laid myself into your bed. I pulled up all the covers and cried for everyone who's ever lost another. I talked of was and when, and my fear of never feeling right again. I talked til my mouth ran dry and my lips ran red. I hugged the pillow that still smelled of you while I laid quiet and remembered you. A lock turns, a door opens, it's the sound of heavy breathing, it's the fact that you've been chosen.



What about me.

while we wait for confirmation
in a garden with no ceiling
while we wait for something to happen
we both know this might well be over soon

i have a vision
but i am burdened by all that i carry
i feel feverish
and i am confronted by the silence

god is like the sea
cold and silent and angry
and when we're dragged down into the water
it's an honor to drown next to you

i am sick of being the second son
i am tired of falling behind
i am embedded in confusion

i just want to be mighty
i just want to be with you

taken by the left hand of darkness.

staying silent while the mind goes violent
i'm older now and i won't spare the rod
you ******* animals!
drown in the river shed
it was always your favorite color anyways
pages yellow
ink fades
notes disintegrate
this is forever
even if you fail to remember

my mother taught me to trust in gods hands but to always expect the worst. my school taught me that it's important to learn, as long as what i wanted to learn what they wanted to teach. society taught me that different was good and we're all one, all except those people over there, and those people over there, and those people over there... my doctor taught me that drugs were bad while he blew coke in the bathroom. cliques and subcultures taught me to be myself as long as i was just like everyone else.
i take them down to the river, and bury them in the muddy water. and i know that i shouldn't, but i'm sick of the hypocrisy. i'm sick of questioning love and pretending to be like them. i would rather be rejected for being myself than be accepted for being who i'm not. i'm done feeling small.
that is all.

please, take me down to the river
hold me down in the muddy water
and bury me in it.
let the tide take my body
to rest on a distant shore.
you have to throw me away.
it's the only way.
i'll do it again and again and again
don't ever let me do it again.
you have a husband and a child on the way
i know your secret.
things will never be the same
and you thank god every day.

we're sick of liars and thieves and crooks. we're sick of shallow smiles and petty pleasantries. hypocrisy is rampant and the offended are everywhere. we want so many things. we want love. we want trust. we want a chance. we want to dig up hope from the hole it's hiding in and ****** it to the world. "if you can't do it for yourself, do it for them". the empyrean is real. i've seen it. it's right over the hill; but we can only get there together running hand in hand, as fast as we can. because we're sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. we're ready and we're reaching. we want to live.

We are capable of so much more and we know it. Yet, we spend all our time fighting for a golden crown; as if that's all that ever made a king.

We don’t own as much as we used to; some of us wonder if we ever will again. Feeling bewildered and helpless is the new normal. We wait and watch, as all those clumsy, stubborn, beautiful ideas withering away on the vine; day in, day out. We all just want it to end, and soon.

A murmur. A rumbling. It’s moments like these where anything is possible. Hope lies, waiting, even in these days of utter and complete denial.

So, we’re calling an end to this “State of Affairs”. We’re calling an end to fear and paranoia and self-intimidation. We sick of those sitting in the chairs, watching the world spin, as if things weren’t happening. We’re done waiting.

We’d like to dedicate this to the desperate and the forgotten and the broken. This for the waitresses, the junkies, and the carpenters. The secretaries and schizophrenics and alcoholics. Those living behind enemy lines. Those who bring the war home with them. This isn’t for company men; men with families and a health-plan and a hybrid car they just “can’t risk losing”. You can’t trust a man whose welfare is just another cog, embedded into the belly of that same horrible machinery. No such man has ever lost himself in revolution. It just isn’t done.

This is for the memory of an empire, created and destroyed. Its base was built on traditions we no longer need, and values we no longer possess.
This is about those who’ve abandoned thoughts of hope and love, thoughts they so justly deserve.

Despite all this, the future remains the same as it ever was. Bleak, uncertain, magnificent. For all we know, we may be arrested tomorrow.

But we are here, now, so hear me: This is the end of whispered dissidence. This is the death of stagnation and dissonance and all that empty space. Listen close. We’ll not hesitate to sink the ship and **** the Captain.

This is for the hearts who’ve kept beating. Know that we never stopped listening. We're coming, and we're bringing change with us. This is for you. Try to be free. Don’t be afraid. I have seen the future, and I have seen better days. No matter what ‘they’ say, the end of the world will never come.




They stumble in their exaltation, rejoicing. They’ve stolen the crown. Praise be. As if that’s all that ever made a King.