The drive is scheduled,
how I work,
when I work,
who I work for.
The destination is scheduled,
when I get there,
how long it takes,
why I go,
what keeps me there until
what time.
It is all a matter of a predetermined schedule that
in the end
is not about me.
And yet it is my time that is being spent.
Every aspect of my
"free"
and "independent" being
is secured tightly to a slowly sinking ship by miles and miles of red tape,
layered thickly around me.
It is an artificial creation,
arbitrary,
and yet completely outside of my control.
Removing it's meaning
does not release me from it's binding,
just as senseless ******,
is still ******.
So as I sit in the driver's seat,
a passenger in my own life,
I roll down the window,
and extend one hand,
allowing the brisk air and bracing wind to sting me
relentlessly,
lifting me,
and I imagine the wind picking me up and taking me somewhere else,
if only to have the mask of authority removed,
and truly capitulate.
More than anything,
I reach out for something so shockingly cold
with such a great force
simply to feel something.

Buck the herd, ***** the wage
Let's be stirred into rage
Seems absurd in this age
To keep a bird in a cage

A lot has been written about monotony
Here I’m only trying it from my vision
It won’t differ much from yours
But even monotony comes in different flavors
Mine is bland. Unimaginably bland.
So much, that I fear the day I spit it out,
it will leave me bitter
I make feeble attempts to break it
A lot like a fifty year old couple argue & fight
They are not trying to spice things up
Just sorting the disagreements and inconveniences that crop up, further strengthening their bond
Each one is a proven pain in the other's ***
But it is familiar, comforting pain
Losing track of the days that I lost
The days they come and go so fast
I’m preparing myself better for the days to come
‘Every new day is an opportunity lost. So you’ve got to seize every opportunity.' I was advised..
It was 00 hours when I woke up
from my untimely slumber to start
this new day on this new note
Although I’m skeptical of the meaning of new day
I don't think they meant it in the technical sense
The day they were referring to probably begins
when the sun shines so bright that it is hard
to keep your eyes closed and pretend to be asleep
In a semi awakened state,
you clasp your genitals,
then scratch them,
stroke your stiffness,
wipe the drooling mouth
or partake in other preferred activities
in any order you deem fit
and thereby amass the requisite energy
to seize the day by the *****
Me,? I’m not really a morning person
It takes a couple of hours for nausea to subdue
After I spat all the toothpaste residue
So I take this to be the start of yet another day which has begun,
and will roll,
with reasonable certainty,
just the same way as did yesterday
Or the day before
Or a day the week before
But I wasn’t here since the beginning of time
I grew from a microbe to a maniac
So I know this is just a phase that will pass
But I can’t seem to place
the beginning or end of it
Shedding hairs, bloating with worries and fat
I came to the sudden realization
that this will soon end
Whether I like it or not
Whether I force it or not
It will come to an end
Like every other thing that started
Here I am, waiting for it to unfold
Like the spectator I’ve always been,
passive with fear and with justifiable cowardice

it’s a dare. i used to walk alone in central london.
daffodils bloomed in early spring;
a celebration of greenery and my desire for a neon bulb in a heather grey landscape.

strange,

there is a chance I’m lying

i have yet to recover my woolen heart
so desperate to seek city werewolves
and drink lemonade even if it’s always raining

i trade this taciturn muscle
for a drum that is manual, complete, and is alive
at every rockabilly show
(the singers say they’re from glasgow)
where my hips are pressed into my girlfriend’s
who drinks candied snow

and it’s strange,

how the sweat never leaves my brow
it lingers like the scent of potpourri
scattered on linoleum floors of generic bathrooms
with fuzzy toilet seats and powder pink tiles,

i am the one who never leaves
because i feel
all things that I shouldn’t feel;
a magnification of contagious sentiments
i am the last of my kind

i am a daffodil;
i lie, but only in my own reflection
and if spring time is patient, i shall float on the central city,
sighing and gasping at the other neon bulbs
that bloom before me,

strange

Don't you get tired?
Don't you grow sick of doing
      the same thing each day?

I know I do.

I always want to learn,
Always want to explore,
Discovering new things EVERY single day
     instead of just once in a while.

How can people just dig their own graves through monotony?
Let the new seasons kiss my lips,
The new memories expand my understanding of the universe.
May I be ever changing,
But ever present.

We follow the current
around each rock and
up each straight.
Some break free
and are forgotten,
some break free
and are remembered,
but only those who
swam fast away.
The rest of us are waiting
for that one great leap,
up and out and over
the banks -
the leap that we know
will be our last,
but the one we know
will show the others
we got out,
tasted the air,
glubbed our last glub
and did something
unequaled.

I like to change the color of my hair
Every few weeks
My five year plan gets crossed through
Before one tally can leave the queue
Routine is a bore
Monotony is a slow death
The Naomi Doldrums
Strike again.

I've lived in three different states
In three different years
Across the country and back around
I've never been one for
"Settling down"

Yet somehow...

I trusted you
To put on this ring
To make a plan
Involving more than just me
Being tied down was a fear
But I've never felt more free

Routine isn't so bad
Monotony is a dream
If I get to love you like this
In a way before unseen

What a new style of living
Of which I was so unaware
But I cannot promise you consistency...
                        with the color of my hair.