We are what we were always going to be--
At the present moment predeterminism and its holy foil are suspended
I choose the same moment I was always going to choose but yes
Someone does have to choose it.

But you are disinterested,
My death drive saps the fun right out of it
But the Romans are listening
And they know their word quantum has made it to the final stage
In ways they never would have guessed
Do you think they crave a return to their former glory?

My eyes are just mousetraps
Covered in sweat
Mouth full of cottonballs and teeth are cracked

A beautiful dame
A tres jolie femme

Stuck in the world,
My identity lysed
We go on living with organs in the sky

My guts stretched all around me like Saturn's rings

My jeans and shirt are stuffed full of straw
When I breathe, which way does it go?

My metabolism set the western sky ablaze
All conforming to my gaping maw;
Smoke rose up to the moon
And the moon shone down on you.

Rotten wood makes a good home for the oyster mushrooms
Wood that tastes the heterotrophic delight
Wood that was already dead,
Long ago
So you are not a parasite.

Not a nightmare,
Not all the time.

The fire outside your window isn't reaching
It is there,
And triangles became water
With the tangle of currents returning to silence.

.
One of those songs
that starts with the stripped down chorus:

Where does your power come from?
You are what you are not
Sometimes
Or is it just as simple
As everything you've got?
I'm taking you up on something
I think I might regret
But I'll flex my perspective,
Pretend I just forget.

And then power chords
Leading into a picked verse

You've got the heart
To color everything
The red pill makes me geek
Out but I
Held my breath til I turned purple
Now going ultraviolet
And my life looks pretty weird
But I feel alright!

Tbnc

Puppeteers all vying for
Their own attention
Felt and buttons
Wearing all their threads apart

Giapetto made himself a pretty, wooden shelf
Can you imagine being forced to be yourself?

The ache in my heart is the pulling of roots
Finding sustenance in my vulnerable cracks
Distending my veins and expanding my horizons

Rhizomes shoot from my eyes
No, i am not a potato
As I watch myself grow i find myself beautiful and horrifying
At various intervals
From various angles

Harmony starts to assimilate with dissonance
Like my passions and their dissolution
Like your face and my death

But heuristic flies in the face of contradiction.
There is some magic in the tips of your fingers
Like the corpuscles of Descartes
Wielding that potent blend of chaos and order

Eleven years have graced my back
Hands that wove such intimate passions
Which evolve and now present
Children greivously injured by birth
Or otherwise hurt (if you believe in choices)

Because you are my total paradigm
Even though i rarely think about you
To be honest
You are the massage in the walls of random rooms
Trying to ignite good feeling in a shattered mind
You are the smile of a plastered moon.

You are the taste of