I am near permanently enraptured by all that is
In a way like only two youngns’ alive and ravenous
Libidos ******* everyday can be and do
I have all the meanings of all the ancients wrapped in my skull
Shadows of memories that are not mine
On the brink of the precipice-come-project  
Along with other vague metaphors that are so trod
Upon that all we have left is the post-modernity of antiquity
Scrapped together to make a semi-legit piecemeal rendition
Of narrative to cling to
Because of course narrative is all we cling to
And its really just simple teleology
When you think about it
So why? And also What?
Also is? Also I’m lost now, everything
And having lost everything I find it easier to not care what others think
And aint that the rub
Because when you have people you care about you inevitably seek to please them
And only when you care about no one can you really please yourself
Or at least that vague notion of the self trapped in all our ambitions
And aren’t we trapped by our ambitions?

But enough of that because I was saying something else
There was a feeling in there somewhere that inspired me to write once
And it seemed very beautiful until I realized it had been done
So I sat back and laughed and did it anyway
Because there is a power in me that you do not know
And it exists in the rapture between words unspoken
The synapse between thoughts and the explanations
Of my various and pointless free associations
So I’ll take a walk now and become Walt Whitman
And no fear or loathing will stop this great wave
Our great wave in the speckled sea of Nihilation
Tis’ sublime that is the very notion of sublime
The thought that beauty is thought
And other failed attempts at describing the impossible

I don’t know what to do
And I don’t know where to go
And I don’t know what I don’t know
That’s keeping me from home
The home that’s out there for me
the horizon of tomorrow
And words are fickle ****** things
For description of that pasture
As I’m lost and I’m silenced
In the beauty and the rapture

And if for just one moment
I could finally come to capture
The light that settled in the wind
The storm that won’t begin
The blazing saddled horse within
The path that is incumbent
I stand broken in my stature
I am under-slung resplendent

As the words come much slower now
And the feelings washed out grey
I couldn’t tell you who or how
Has come to write today

and the words begin to flow again like the river Styx
as I follow on an angry path to find a blessed fix
to sooth the shallow paltry soul that bore my sordid stay
as I ponder on the world and things with shadows in the way

Today is a pale day, A grey day. But that is not why it is pale. It is pale because it is colorless, another drop in the bucket. My inadequacy grows symmetrically with my own dissatisfaction. And I am shelled with explosive thoughts all derivative and predictable. For the loose sand that I sift through my senses creates a thin mask of foundationless kernels. All the candy is wrapped up in bright packaging to attract the eye and disguise the paltry nutrition within; an old, worn out evolutionary trait used supposedly to search for new food sources. And I am left ever conscious trapped by my own logic in the new paradigm that is lonely and empty. Sometimes I wish I lived before all our great wars, back at the height of aristocracy. When we all lived by the romantic images of our minds and men made change by god inspired will. As the world was much larger then; so large that we could ignore it’s vast esoteric workings and rest comfortably in our own intuition. Whether the world is material or immaterial is irrelevant and meaningless. I only want to know whether it is mine or isn’t. Is my stake in this world or is it’s in mine? Is my destruction my choice, or his? And even this is irrelevant in the end because it has no purchase on my actions anyway. The fact is I feel as though I’m in control and all scientific fact points in the opposite. And so today is pale, again. And my life feels empty, until another brief glimpse in to the shadow of teleology passes through my sensorial geodesic and I am wrenched headlong back into comfortable narrative. I am the waffle ******. I own the waffle. And I wander down along the dotted time line with my blinders on, occasionally slipping on the balance beam and smashing, crotch first, into the irreconcilable and incomprehensible night of entropy. Ever circling back through all my fancy “knowledge” and landing again on the feet that my father gave me. Coming, once again, to the sanctimonious and systematic pattern of myself, I lay unawares, viewing only through a pinpricked hole, into the wasteland of the real. I am left only to gape in awe at the persistence of my dream.

Quack Quack Quack
I'm a duck I'm a duck
Quack Quack Quack. Quack! Quack!
I lost my girlfriend today I'm so sad
Quack Quack
I'm a duck
Quack Quack
Here is what I think about the world
Quack Quack ******* Quack
Quack Quack Depression Quack
Quack Quack Love Lust Quack
Quack Quack Philosphical Quack
Quack time Quack the mind Quack Life Quack meaning
Quack Quack waxing on and on Quack more meaningless description Quack metaphor Quack symbolism Quack analogy Quack Quack
Meter Quack rhythm Quack Sublime Quack
Quack where am I? Quack Quack How did i get to this point? Quack
Quack Quack Quack. Quaaack!! Quaaaaaacccckkk!
I have no ******* purpose! Quack!
Why? ******* QUAAAAACK!
Is this all I'm good for? QUaaack!
I'm a duck
Please hear me Quack

Running off coffee and demon spit
The main operators are disjunctive and negation
So the world was written
As a tremor runs to my fingertips
And my pupils involuntarily dilate
I laugh at the inconspicuous nature of fallacy
All the things that I have committed to eventually
Shattered to the faceless

Chaos
Forces
And their interactions
Everything we are is the description of this Fall
And Still! They all stand tall

All the pain of all the souls mashing away in a great battle of long lances and fire
In perpetual anguish at the realization of our own ignorance
Everyone finds it easier to turn the guns around
And in doing so turn them on themselves
And this is what we call progress

For men that sit in rooms clacking away on ponderous theory
Find no voice in the world at large
And only in the exorcism of demons can we be rid of them
So may it all hangout
The most acidic bile laden stomach dream
Of pungent hate
Spurs the horse ever forward
Until the great lamp burns at its brightest
And the inferno of infinite souls fully realized
In the capacity of will
Only strengthen it
And bring about the most golden of ages
with the realization of the great project
Of the true moral will

And in that very theoretical moment of revelation,
Finally in union with that beautiful Conceptualization
Of the world without flaws
Will we find peace?
or will we stifle all our lust?
Does the river come spill to the Ocean?
Or Dry Homogenous Dust?

Is the problem in the difference?
Or the lack of its acceptance?
Will a captain-less ship reach the shore
with all its crew?
Or is a flawed diamond the best that we can do?
Will the Will remain when the moral flags unfurl?
Or is there some third thing that keeps the best of both worlds?

*******! *******!
Is there anybody left to recover the grandeur
The anger! The pain!
the lame and dull, the men are the same
The bright thrashing bull
For once I had a dream that there was something in my room
Which impregnated my mind with ferocious alien fauna
That slowly ate the inside of my skull and gave birth to live young
Which then went out and took over the minds of a whole generation
Of acid freaks, hipsters, and all manner of deluded youth
And bore in them more screaming demon like entities
That burn in great lakes and flowering fields
And crack the concrete with lava flow
with electric ecstasy
Rationale sold separately

The moderators saw the end was coming quickly in the gold rush that followed
And the cybernetic wave crashed on them without warning
And double barreled shotguns blasted through the eye sockets
Poking wires through the holes
That god forgot to fill
As we explored and we explored until all the rocks were overturned
And all we had for all our trouble was the fatal irony of life
Now without a purpose we’ve lost the will to fight
all the animals and beasts that come out in the night
For we stand on the pinnacle without glory, without right

In our leisure we become the social experiment
The ticking time bomb to calamity
On the brink of the purest clarity
The painted picture nigh complete
And as we stand on top our kingdom come the crowded throng below
With our hands out stretched as far as we will allow ourselves to go
For if there ever was a thing that history could teach
Is that it will be funny when we find the rotted peach

For as I sat in my room on that fateful night
you were standing there before me
And your narrow frame cast a shadow upon me
But I still loved you any way
As the wind blew the blinds back and they smacked against the frame
And I thought I grasped the essence before I forgot completely about it
And I slipped back blissfully into indifference