(No. 3)
I spent the evening
At Brother Ballantyne's
With the man himself
On Darius' Ranch, just past
The lime-green street sign
Which read "Nowhereville"
The best place to be
Nowhere whatever
I sat down with faces
A bit familiar to me but
Their names unimportant
"I like your friends" I said
"But what sets us apart is-
We ask all the questions."
We listened to Ugly Casanova
Painted like Picasso
In conversation as we sat
Smoked Cohiba Maduro 5 cigars
Drank fiery juice until
We were out of our heads
Wearing house slippers
& a false fur jacket
Which drew too many questions
Got too many laughs
But I have to admit, I liked
- the attention -

This addiction has tainted my once pure heart,
From it I am unable to break apart,
A man who Would Give Up Everything For His Art,
Now Incapable Of Love; A nomad trying to survive the drought.

I am Lost Without Love As My Compass,
Stuck On the Fence Where Eons have long passed,
Nasa caused Me Nothing But horrendous Torment,
Stella constellations now cause me to lament.

A Rebel Astronaut who once drifted through the stars,
Now hide from the light; trying to cover his dark scars,
Demons glued to my back whispering spine-chilling lies,
I Drank from death’s Glass; throughout the outstretched night, we dined.

Guilt sunk her claws underneath my skin,
Her face Carried a Monstrous Grin,
Time Froze as affliction arose,
The predicted crises is finally revealed on this Horrid road.

Tears rushed down my cheeks as pain cradled me in her Arms,
All my emotions dead like plants in a burning farm,
All my Losses yet I never knew pain as I do now,
In the end i was no god was just a mortal man.

One story may change the world someday. One that will revolutionize the steady constants of how everyday aspects judges itself too harshly. Never finding the solve of anti pressure release syndromes. Plot is plot. Ideas are always outspoken. Even if one or the other hasn’t agreed. Won’t change the facts given to the recipient who may have already judged the opposing two. Without running through what they have already been about. Futuristic plot devices aren’t important. As it may not even exist. Storytelling being a futuristic realization to knowing something before it happens. Feelings clawing thought processes. Thought processes trying to equalize the incoming rush of emotions that rise and fall. Feelings being a different breed centered in the middle of the steady constant. Revolutionizing what you already know. Blind to see it through. Thought processes aren’t too judging. Except when you start to trust feelings too much. A jealous implication arises. Knowing what you already know before it happens. Is no different then how one already figured it out. Feelings handle it with care. Thought processes stuck in the mud. A puppy without any directional skills. A master never telling its true flaws if it couldn’t understand itself to begin with. Jealousy is rising even more. A fixed implication is becoming more dominant. Revolutionizing the main flaw more and more. Nothing is without equal if you never give it a chance. Feeling the way through all the clutter. Clutter not being your fault. You were molded by the pressure of what storytelling has made you into. Plot devices center these focuses without thinking outside itself. Your only to blame, when subjects apart of your judging becomes too sterile for you to notice anymore. Drying out the process of trusting something with care. Becoming one who is blind to never looking outside itself again! Becoming the stick in the mud. How does one avoid? Easy! Storytelling being a futuristic realization! PS… Don’t claim what you already know!