Argus was the only thing I could remember,
though I knew it was December.
The images before were only white noise.
Ringing in the temples.
Something new was implanted in my thoughts.
Now I have a watchful mission,
to keep my eyes up towards
the deep blue heavens.
But before me,
a series of sevens are written on the wall,
and “Fizbin” is flashing before my eyes.
I started my vexing fall
to the depths of inside my mind.
The flesh that holds our thoughts
is hardly safe from peeping voyeurs.
But I fell and I fell,
then I reached my destination.
Now my beckoning grasp for oxygen
leaves me suffocated.
And I lie still awaiting orders.

Space is hardly the final frontier.
But, for now,
don’t you think we seem ambitious?
Shooting arrows at the clouds
could come back
to shoot you in the head.
Can’t you see that colonies on mars
would become a new home for problems.  
Seems desperate.
What do I know though,
I'm Twenty-Five and I haven't even graduated college.
But fears of failure make us see future
where our planets long since dead.
From that arrow to the head.
Salvation relies on a new years revolution
or something humbling like that.
But wait,
I shouldn’t write that here.
Big Bro is always watching.
I might find a man in black,
tap-tapping at my chamber door.
Not Lenore.
Thats when you'll hear me saying,
"Does anyone have a cigarette?"

The dissonance of your resonating
image haunts my memory.
A drifter in dimensions,
the prevention that kept me from you,
was myself and my trajectory.
Not a man then
but some other lesser mess of a soul.
At first,
with your plasma torch of a self,
you took my hands.
I was left laying still in the dirt,
with my eyes to see and my mouth
to taste the horrid flavor of our tango.
As well as my heart to feel
and my mind to think
but this would be a schism of my senses.
Succubi eventually take them all.
At least all the ones that matter.
Then she kicked me out to Cosmos.
I was flattered at the beginning,
when you told me you loved me.
But now,
I'm drifting into the darkness of space
with my environmental suit,
that protects me forever.
Wandering and Unaffected.
I need a resurrection.

Deep out on the rim of the galaxy
there lies a tiny place
that no one knows about.
It’s the place where all good things come from.
All the generations of and for love
and kindness and bliss and forgiveness
root at its source.
It is the ultimate destination
among our solar heavens.
Try to imagine a lost vessel,
isolated and tired,
hiccuping between the suns,
then finding the Great Milky Way's secret place of joy.
Our undisclosed place of love.
The place we all forgot.
Earth.
These occupants of the ship would be lost to reveling
at our earthly capacities for tenderness.
OH, the total bliss they all must feel!
Ahh,
be careful now you.
I've gone and caught you being optimistic.
Try to remember this solid truth.  
Equally hidden in the stars,
there is a place of evil.
One where the tempted souls
and sinners place their geneses.
A place of desperation and angst
and fear and segregation.
There is always a little a yin to the yang.
There is no one with out the other.

The time of crisis had us distressing the meaning
of each syllable in our dialect.
Im such a derelict.
The stasis I’m stuck in
had me believing the worst of it all.
Crushing.
Flushing and re-brushing
the paint on the distorted canvas,
which was our lives.
Ten lines and a million problems.
Pay attention to your symbols
never ignore them.
Dreams were made from sinners,
but the streams of time make all things thinner.
All things end in rugged ways.
When the tall bell rings,
only broken brothers stay.
With wretched tales of quarrels,
no barrels of whiskey can calm the bay.

Its totally deceiving,
the tales of the meaning of life.
Grow up,
go to school,
get a job,
work hard,
play hard,
pay your taxes,
and especially die hard.
But still my brain is running slower
than my online connection speeds.
So slow.
I ended the day spent and tired,
and filled with wasted deeds.
Bitter?
Maybe.
But who faults a man
for defining himself through his actions.
Ogling at the universe,
and simply breathing.
Meditation keeps me sane.


As you can probably tell,
my strife continues effortlessly.
Sliding down an icy road
with no chains
and my brakes at full.
When the tree comes to slam me,
I'll be ready.

So long foggy atmosphere.
Hello reality?
Is this really it?
The life I believed I’d lead was far greater.
The lord of kings,
or the sultan of squat?  
A hoard of useless things,
and a chest wound
that was mustered
from a buck shot.
The timing was perfect,
as was the definition,
no,
AMMUNITION
that I tattooed on my chest.

Truth.

"I failed to believe anyone and this is what it got me?"
"What?!"

Man I need to rethink this strategy.
The majesty of thy cunning has left my soul beside itself.
And I beseech your attention, cuz.
Well,
because
I need you now.