These days I value alone time more highly than my friends and I think they hate me for it, but I think I also dont care? How hard it would be for me to force myself to fake it with with those people,
Whom once I placed nearly highest in my life, But now some Id rather have as memories. All it is not but few and particular flavors that no longer suit my tastes, one such being beef.
Lately its been nice out, but not the kind where u go swimming or fishing,
The kind where you fly a kite or take a mid day walk alone to hear the leaves fall.
Long periods without rain had left a nice even crispness to the air which was a rejoiceful contrast the usual sticky humidity of Louisiana. As I fill my days searching for toys the child inside me can entertain himself with, he gives me advice and keeps me in line and away from meat.
Sometimes it's harder than other times,
Like everything. Sometimes I wish I could actually mute the sounds of the world and replace them with wordless instrumentals,
I think id be alot less scatterbrained. Obviously the election isnt the biggest problem in the world, its just the freshest wound in my earth loving mind. People go about every day as if nothing is off but I think were all playing a charade, I think weve all felt like theres been something weird for years, hours will go bye and well have not progressed or done a single worthwhile thing because twitter. Is there really nothing we can do anymore? Like nobody wants to care about the future of earth and humanity and life for a second to reduce their individual quality of life a smidge for the greater good? Every thing might just be ******. **** me if this trump thing lasts more than a year. Destroy this country if he gets re elected after 4.

What a drop,
To fall from this height what a drop indeed,
To fall from up here would be foolish.
Mortal, perhaps.
As just before u splat u remember exists those imaginary boot straps,
And that knot you learned in 1st grade way after everyone else,

And those wings you grew yourself.

You flapped those little wings in formation with your mother and brothers goose by your side till one day by some miracle you stood on one foot per day and danced a Macarena around a cage of crawfish.

The way our world is constructed full of false belief systems and things we make more substantial than they really are can kind of cast a shadow over the unlimited human potential. All of the societal and personal phallacies and traditions we have created are blinders to the fact that each of us is merely a shard of the same stone, a jolt of the same shock, all the same essence inserted into many different vessels.
We carry a light brighter than the sun we grew from but the smog we produce can start to choke it out. I understand fully the point behind religions creation,
We had questions we couldnt answer,
Where does rain come from?
What is an earthquake?
Who put us here?
But these questions have been answered and the only reason still running with religion is that people need faith in something; people need to know that after this ends its not over and all of the fake ******* they work towards to in their day to day to overload their dopamine receptors wont not ******* matter,
People need a scary red man who lives in a pit of fire to scare them into doing what someone else told them was morally correct.
But the part that makes me the saddest is that they cant just look in the mirror and recognize that the infinite grace and capability within each of us mirrors their god,
God is we

I cant articulate my thoughts the way I used to be able to.
My brains connections have swapped from word obsessions to ambience and aesthetic obsession,
Certain patterns and flowers and shades and tiny parts of really large scale beautiful things.
My brain is no longer the same wordsmith,
Forge raging night and day as with each disruptive bang he straightens red hot words into sentences with which to turn to blades to rend his foes and cut his binds,
Now he is a word weaver,
One who sits silently at times, piddling with the different threads in frustration,
And at times feeling the path the words would like to be drawn down and around each other, forming pictures from the fragments with the dreamlike ease similar that of a stingray gliding across a glittering moonlit seabed in search of treasure he dropped while chasing the moon.
But words,
No matter the arrangement arranger or arrangement process,
Can fall short of the pure raw power to make someone feel the way a sunset can or the glistening blur of running water.

A door I slammed and sent accross the sea,
I told it,
"Lock yourself I never want to open you again"
Now I fumble around in the dark corner where it used to be for the doorknob.
A flower I found and picked, not thinking far enough ahead to realize that if I truly appreciated its beauty I wouldnt pick it but let it blossom. Even wilted and withered ive never found another like it.
A bump in the road on someones ride home from work that they didnt even notice as they sang their favorite radio songs.

The total futility of life and its end  is unfightable,
The only perfect form is fluid,
Proper posture to avoid catastrophe is complete relaxation,
Be the corpse before rigormortis.

The total futility of life and its end  is unfightable,
The only perfect form is fluid,
Proper posture to avoid catastrophe is complete relaxation,
Be the corpse before rigormortis.