Can’t you understand my dual soul
the eternity verses fleeting?
Why a shy kid reads, makes art in his room
in between traumatizing social crises
Like 8 years old at the steakhouse chain
my parents made me order my own food
But when he’s 19 he drives all around drinking
with no time in between to sit and ponder existence
Now, I’m back in my room silent on my bed  
long returned from those shady social tasks most dangerous
The 5-day-a-week mood still pulsating through me
It’s the sitting and thinking
alone with my thoughts  - no distractions
I decay my inner being
by analyzing what I already felt once
O my, what could I do for
a peaceful mind growth stunt?
Perform and forget
the challenge of a refuse-to-settle adult

"The World's dying"
"But she'll **** us before we bleach the last blades of grass"
"I miss her tonight"
"Maybe she misses you, and if not, it was never right"
"I don't know whether to be sad for Her or for the World"

"Mourn both, and bask in the lonely rays of a Sun whose
a billion years old
and who'll seem young when you're dead, when she's got years left
Bask in the glory of formless gods
the ideology of 'who-knows-what'
Find a mindset where
even the Sun's death is trivial
amid cosmic events."

I stopped commenting on airy internet objects long ago
lest it be a needed praise of some starving artists’ work
or in response to a worded response of my own work

It’s just such a waste of time to tell a million view band
they “rock” or they “****”
All I will incite is defenders or refuters of my claim
who are just as petty as me

As an immature high schooler, that’s just what I wanted
The modern version of my dead grandfathers
with their white shirts, blue jeans, and duck *** hair
Driving from the city to hick school dances
just to pick fights

I once typed lines of **** talk on Elvis videos from the 1970s
just to see what would happen
- Nothing much
My grandfathers are dead and no one’s left to defend The King
I’m not so tough, but I felt scrappy then just the same

Now, with my lowly little job
my first world laptop and my glasses
Sipping coffee and mellowed out
I read some comments to see what people feel
about an article on my generation
How we’re more corporate than ever
bamboozled by a guise of fake uniqueness

Sure, I agree with the critique in the article
if you can even call it an article
People get paid for three lines of an opinion,
sometimes a link, and then the real entertainment's in the comments
Where can I get in line for this ******* job?
Not the commentors, their labor’s free
I mean the three lines guy, it sounds too easy

“Don’t ya get it yet, son”
My grandad chuckles
“His job’s just corralling all those comments,
inciting easy debate,
and getting advertising clicks”

He shook his head
went up through the roof
and his twenty-year-old jeans
ended in a wispy swirl
But I couldn't help noticing
they were name brand

I've been listening to a lot of new music lately
I just let the online radio go while I search for jobs
much more intensively than I had in the past
I used to think I was such hot **** with my MA
An MA degree, a ***** f’ing MA!
But now I know it’s all a crock *** of bull testicles
My generation was so brainwashed into thinking we could be whatever we wanted

The thought of me not accomplishing what I ought to
used to make me lay in bed and slump
but now I’m searching for any better thing so wholeheartedly
I realized a truth in this economy:
if you don’t know anybody
you’re best luck comes from quantity
something will hit
and if it doesn't
I've been listening to a lot of new music lately

Playing much less of my own music
as in hardly enough time to put a guitar or mando in my hand to jam
I’m on these job boards if I’m not sleeping, out with friends,
or working a **** job to be out with friends

Some say be happy you got a job at all
and if you really wanted something different
you wouldn't go out at all
you’d just sit at home looking for a job

That thought terrifies me cause
for those who don’t ever sacrifice their search for potential work
for the intermediary wants in life
they get sick quicker than expected and die

At least they always listened to new music lately

My bowl high's beat
so I'm beat
I feel empathy for every effigy I meet
like I don't know what you're going through
so how can I be mad at you
I guess I love all this twirl
Universal universe swimming like lil' *****
**** we're small
How does **** matter at all?
Matter climbing up a ladder
but are we climbing or declining?
Maybe God's lying
and that ladder's just his ****

But better stay at that
can't be sick for too long attitude
You gotta if you want an aptitude
for swag
and umm...things

Nah **** it delude yourself
Play some drums or help dum dums
and wreck yourself
if you ain't good enough

Uh-uh-uh, ashes to ashes
for 70 years or 27 if you're me
and go-go-go
To what?
**** if I know

smoke-rings taunt the copycat spirit known as the ghost of my child’s mouth.  on top of that, the crib is giving me grief.  I click the remote at my wife’s body as she compares herself offline to nothing god can search.  the book of frenzied commonplace is stolen by the brother wearing the shoes I gave him to lift his mother at a later

from an earlier
time.  martyr starts before it ends.  a bald man with a comb tries hard to make it happen.  this cracks me so I have to speak on the pregnancy or bust atmosphere not in my house.

Machine ground days
Somehow survived by clinging to precarious plans
Die for those.
For proles are stuck in a televised gleam
but I’m barred from distractions
I’m a man of action
Spring healing:
I found a new hope to get through the day
It has a name and it’s you

Workday: animistic curses
against people and their systems and products
except animals would escape forever
as soon as they open the cage
but we stay

The beastly gnashings of overworked merchandisers
for invisible self pocket stuffers
The competition's getting to us, comrades
I feel swindled out of my labor
I was pregnant
but they sold my child before
I woke up

Addressing the solipsism of my rehab circle:

I’m Kagey, and my life is hazy
but, blunted or no, let’s get this clear:
don’t trust your senses
and that goes for all my human peers

Body is a cage full of defenses
Still, I’m suspicious of reality
whether it’s façade society
or the wooden chair in front of me

Still, I enjoy the virtual scenery
I ain’t talking about on the T.V. or phone screen
I mean the willows, buildings, and faces
But all these mushy green acres are fakers
blobs without our eyesight

Still tho,
me and the universe are tight.