when we think idle thoughts and ****** with our mind
we might as well just blandly look into the sky
and absent-mindedly pursue the flights of distant birds
against the matrix of blue firmaments
which seem less infinite than our imaginary universe

trying to look beyond that globe of blue
we venture into depths that really make us think
about the cosmos out in space
infinite stars and planets of unknown identity

we soon become aware
that our idle thoughts are dwarfed
by the immenseness of the space
through which not quite discovered forces
propel our planet with incredible speed
to destinies we do not know

perhaps in order to avoid acknowledgement
of this precarious reality
we fill our lives with more comforting things
fashions  wars  power games  religion  money  
internet chats  with other avatars  et cetera

anything to distract us from the contemplation
of insights into how to live
   in such a transient indeterminacy
with a determined sense of goal and meaning

think about it

Clutching fantasies,
distractions, to ease the pain;
Time to fully heal.

My ears bleed
This ******* noise
Eardrums bursting
While I beg
For Silence

It creeps and crawls
Each wave crashing
Against my last nerve
Pushed over the edge
Diving head first
Into oblivion.

My drug, my escape
my gravity,
You are what I lean on
when wind beckons
shrilling of the whole world
amassing within
such small confines.
My air would still
upon silent panics
without you
my constant dosage.

My head is the mount,
my ears the hungry mouths
voracious their appetites, finicky
their tastes.
A hungry duet
yields no isolation.
Fuel the diet
or suffer endless
distraction.

My solitude
won't arise
from elusive
silence, only
multiples of white
noises shall supplant
the unknown absence.
Prepare these notes
as artists do
strokes on a painting,
each their own masterpiece for
the uninhibited mind,
deliver me
a melody, and abstain
the malady.

Grace will unfurl
to and from
when the blank that is
limbo besieges.
Remove all, allow
me to nurture my own
joys of rainfall,
sorrows of sunlight
so I may be spared
relentless storms, those
sandy blizzards,
for their pain
is mere
chaos.

What do you do at the end of the day, when it's all said and done.
Do you walk around with your hands in your pockets?
Because that always makes me feel like such an idiot.
To think of all the things you could do with these hands
and yet you'd rather envelope them in a small hot confined area,
and waste whatever they could be doing.
To put something so useful where it can't be at any help to you.
At the end of the day,
when your lovers got parents to hang out with and not tell them about you, where do you go?
Do you go shopping with your best friend?
Because that seems like a waste
of what you just spent a whole week striving towards.
To throw hard earned money
that could be saved and set aside for greater purposes down the line,
on Lacey underwear and perfume. Underwear you buy to wear for your lover
who is busy elsewhere not thinking about you.
When you've worked and you've maintained adulthood and handled all your business,
do you go out drinking?
Do you take a shot a beer and a cigarette?
I just think to spend time only to not remember any of what you cashed it in for
might be a useless way to fill time.
In fact it's a perfect example of killing time.
And there's no need to be murderous just because you can't find better things to do.
When you go home,
what else is there?