I am just sad and cold and want to die. I am teasing the edge. I can write now, I can write. But not for long I’m already done. There where the ideas of the new era somewhere, locked away in my head waiting for the release of incomprehensible advisors. They kind lathed in blathered pink and with poly-chrome hats, dancing on the rivers boat-moon-spell moments, the kind that happened to every kid at every intangible, hallucinated camp. The one they make up in their head before bed on the streets in the muddy motel alleyway dirt. I couldn't hold back the want to die. As I sat there perched bellow the roofed rim of the building I could feel the splashes of water grace around my ankles, the water had been soaking for hours. I was the always rain. It never stopped, not once in the history of our race. We had to find houses along the rocks, soil was apart of the sea, or at least that’s the way I understood it. There was not time for anything besides keeping dry. It was really a mater of wet or less wet, there was nothing anyone could do about it. The earth moved without relent. I see a ***** in the ****** mary. I know because everyone else I know does too, we just want to be polite about it, not make to much racket. I debate even writing again. To who? an upcoming age of enlightenment? To say what is already been said by the mind of every mind in every place, that we are the collective unraveling of the fabric of our own making. I am the turtle. It finally hit me, I am the meekest of all of them, the slowest and most looked down at. I am the capacity of a nuclear wave. I am the only one who knows of my own power. A crazed soul I am. Sold into my own slavery again! I just wean to hear you breathe, to prove there are the balance and manifestation of the infinite love I hid away in my mind. The one love I created with one thought. I am the product of the indoctrination, they left a bomb in my mind. I am altered among the alter and always dying. No one should have to see their soon to be dead mother crawling around on the ground like a bug waiting to pounce on your leg. Too close to home and too soon for my own mind. Some girl who's name started with an M, it's fuzzy and I haven't the clue to remembering. Its all over finally, they are done, I am impenetrable by their foggy morning evergreen attacks. Try to leach and drain off of my unconscious collective. My hive honey. my meat. They are nice in the dream of reality, but in every way they are spiders waiting for the kids to come, they will feed on me first. They will eat. Always i remember our own journeys and I forget to dance most of the time, loose eye lids sweating now, A video arcade. Finished.

I'm finding less and less ways to describe the innocuous sensation that manifest in my meat bag mind whenever I look into the unrelenting depths of the city streets, of the crimson arched bridge, of the ethereal concreteness surrounding everything at everywhere. How limited are my intuitions. How incredibly flawed I have been since birth yet what I saw and felt those day looking out the second story window of the old catholic school classroom, those things where true. The size of my uselessness rivaled my desire, everyones desire to remain golden in our youth, exalted in (existential) immortality, survival without posterity, actualization without all the hired *******. A relic of tomorrow who felt safe in twilight-collective.

Today I come to the ends of my own unwinding. There is a lens piece around the corner on the docks. there are stair who don't relate to you. There is a truck with a window and a sign light up with a soft yellow spot light. As if to jump-launch straight out of the vehicle passing straight into space. In a world where you have perspective and see fit only to see today. There was a man I knew existed before who named out a name that I couldn't and nor would I ever have. There is a mad concrete haze stuck in our teeth! The downstairs gremlins drive semi trucks down the streets, they know the road are too narrow and the still go. Fat chance for that man who is with only himself on a bench, in the rain, by the truck, on the sand in some beech ignoring any demand of the world. So much has to be lost before defeat comes as a cold drink under the stars.

I am disgusted by your privy and lathered face, ****** expressions fill the gentle void, devoid of all human concious, empathic license of intelligence, you were always smarter than me, I wonder, does that make you happy? Twisted twine and pathic phrases of gang related gore, driving me off the walls, towards and in my own stall, waiting, phrasing the right thoughts in my head, to silent to tell the meaning of the names i came up with, of the charcters of my theater peice playing soon on broadway's basement. ten spins into a spiral and i am out fast, fill the void you joker, mascarade in and all around the plaside place and face of the broken frontier town. Call it home, ring the church bells, praise fast and all around the sight of kindoms entitled, to your brain, to your thoughts, to your brilliance, to your majesty, to your all enslaving tone, the same tone you speak to me in as you console your inner golgotha, ******* me out at the river-side bluff, alluding to our own memories, mind games, drastic plays for attentions and self-preservation. So go ahead, carry on your legacy, your driving will to self impose morality and autonomy on others, you decide these things, am i right? You arise to the occasion and hold them tight to the nuse around thier necks, the same nuse and braid i called to amend all those years ago and yet still you don't trust me, after all these years you still don't trust me , what lies you summon to fight for you, ******* child of liberate and hate.

I am gone and out of sight. So why should you care? There is nothing left in this soggy sad tale, of childhood self-defeating. The center city of my times and my observations all out of sight. So why should you care? The silent soliloquies and trending electric doom. The death and reconstruction of vast empires and deserts blazing in their teething tyrannous rise. The unconscious attitude of millions quietly scoffed at by philosophers in dark, locked closets. The waves of our own gluttonous self classification  completely illuminated on the firing line and who had no last words for any of their sins. The failure of our own cultivated mold, on our own rock, on our own time, surely a good place to stop this december. It's now, so why should you care?

Things will see well, said the city. No neon corpuscles. No dead-light street corners. Just me and the Five lying about which way to get home.

I seem to want to hate them all. Every last golden memory. Just find an other.

I was finally and absolutely safe. I, a gem in my father's eye, and he, born before my sight. In the house, the streets, indefinite ringing, and the almost-departure of the grand-papy pat on the back, a  gesture entirely too simple for me. I just wanted to hug him and hear him speak. Even all I disagreed with spawned the most paternal anger in me, only days after the vasectomy. He had we, my sister and three other children but anyways two got off free, so it's just my sister with me, and some heavy things where all on us. And someone lifted a few off at the arriving terminal, at the carousel. Acclimated to the pekin breeze we the most moral-est sponge we'd ever seen take some space in his daddy brain. Wosh...wooosh...whehw, whewh and my dad's anew. Some startling thing he knows whens he looks down the road, deep down into the road, because here you are so sweet when you speak.