An altruistic act or just greed, my motivation is questioning, am I the selfless one or thinking of my own glory in suffering

My actions are never clear

I need to question everything that I do, Deep inside I know I should follow the golden rule always

If I get something out of it is it wrong or is it just always that way

My actions are never clear

i followed tracks, traces, and visions, down the path i was told without revisions, but when i finally found the end, it didn’t complete me, it only deceived me

i thought that i’d just live a normal life and settle down with a house or a wife, so they say, so it goes, but it didn’t complete me, it only deceived me

i thought the only point was to make points, settle them out and remove all doubt, but when it comes to the point, they didn’t complete me, they only deceived me

if you think you’ll find some puzzle pieces, you’re selling yourself short, because you’ve got all the pieces, because you’ll never be 'complete,' but you don’t have to be deceived

a spur, a trace a mark, an outline in the sand, a rhyme is arbitrary words, and form is emptiness

form is emptiness and emptiness is form

so they say, so it goes, they didn’t complete me, they only deceived me, i still can’t find my better half

my own better half is not a separate thing, it’s an unfulfillable desire. i’ll never be 'complete.'

This intervention has the feel of déjà vu the record’s spinning forever locked in its groove a way of life reduced to a form stylized routinized to a shallow and shiny norm from revolution to cliché

just superficial stimulation

but what’s different? appearances change but there’s no progress in this apocalypse

everything that rises must converge all the meaningful surprises grow from within and stretch the threads of molded costumes copied, sinned, and said

rags cover neglect and decay veil desire’s all-compelling force generations lived through their eyes dissatisfied with any compromise

the searing balm of burning screens faith in sense impression for ironic equivocation it’s (just) culture, neither right nor wrong a place to hide, from considering

from revolution, to cliché, we lose our way faith in sense impression, ironic simulation so responsible in their noble stimulation

coming down to unchanged reality everything that meets must diverge patchwork king of limited domain stitched and sewn and overblown

Cry and you cry alone Smile and the world is with you The people part of home And the doors keep closing Lock you in or out Suffer the same The people part of home is The emptiest thing

Every Friday buries a Thursday Forget each one, keep your eyes away

Not so much what is said A skin holding a soul, a heart, a head Effort, sympathy breed dignity Only connect!

Sadness pulls apart The days and the hours And makes each sorry A sneering mockery If we could just take ourselves And fill the shoes of another And extend sympathy Beyond obligation

Every Friday buries a Thursday Forget each one, keep your eyes away Momentum deceives us, and lets us see Forward While keeping sideways to the periphery

Not so much what is said A word an act a thought or a deed An impenetrable cloud Concealing connection that we need A single soul Left behind or forgotten Is the death of us all An implicating 'sorry'

'I’m sorry' just doesn’t cut it 'I’m sorry' doesn’t fill the need 'I’m sorry' is for those who do something 'I’m sorry' doesn’t mean a thing

Every Friday buries a Thursday And I’m sorry you’ve wasted your day

A desert empty, hard, and mute some implied and maligning agent mere dust, soft clay, of eroding tides unsettling account, no balance to come in the pall of mistakes past

who are you to ignore the obvious effects of your actions? and ask the world to bend to your ignorance of other ends more exists without than is known within or spoken invisible but no less real, though forgotten our wills have mass

an epidemic of inattention content with meaningless negligence on a curved path, tethered and constrained wrought between collisions and propelled to escape

but man himself is a force of nature which counters all others and conquers so as to undo itself in its wake, risk values all reward so-called providence designs all consequence

the game plays itself
so it goes, and so it went
so it goes, and so it will, at the end
so it goes, and so it will, so it went, at the end, as it always would

the measure of man isn’t that which he hazards no hope in abandoning to shaping molding chance this alien land holds scars of man’s conversion does it manifest our victory, our destiny, or our barbarity?

Flirt with the truth through gentle irony avoid attachment and deflect in subtlety If I admit it, am I absolved? or acquitted of this middle brow, middle class, half caring, and half-assed, cowardly bravery

sharp witted and forked tongue, thick skinned, with mask on cutting to protect, to shelter and deflect this parade of cynicism is wearing thin

broken homes make broken bones, too late and so long just move along, why try to belong if community is (just) monotony? Are there worse things to be?

Where is fulfillment if this is my penitence? just stay what you are

to think and say, and just make do

these swords won’t help they only open wounds you can’t mend with irony the truth is in the delivery

just say it but don’t mean it just say it but don’t believe it just say it and hide in the irony

A moment of security and an assurance of hello

The unreasonable yes when the world says no, Any imagined heaven includes you

Fulfilled desire of one always true and the constant affirmation of value in your deepest you

Without want of being wanted and a loss at any lack, honesty combined with fantasy, no thought of holding back

The breakdown of all reason and a sympathetic truth, a heart filled with terror at the thought of a world without you, my mind is overflowing and my life is stepping down because a friend means showing the world is less without

from nothing we came and to nothing we will return ad nauseum

i become who i want to be

a stone moves no water and feels no wind, it displaces the air but it takes nothing away, leaves a small footprint, just a trace in the sand

look for the path and tread lightly there, feet make no marks, and lungs long to breathe no air, eyes focused on both the east and the west, all the fires that you’ve made, and all the bridges yet to burn

and if you think you have a right to ask the question is always the same we must tread lightly and if you think you have a right to take in trust just think of all the people that came before

form is emptiness and emptiness is form

becoming instead of just being and looking instead of just seeing, form is emptiness and emptiness is form, performance is a means and an end, an identity isn’t something to defend, for is emptiness and emptiness is form

the simplest answer is the question itself

i don’t need categories to think for me, to write my thoughts for me, to live my life for me

if i inherit my name, my bank, and my faith, isn’t that enough given to me? to think i understand reality or how things should be, opinions aren’t something to receive and neither is an identity

This is the last time that I wear these shoes.
They are worn thin from the weight of inward attention.
Gravity pushes down and in.
Eyes locked on feet.
I can't tell what is.

I feel my heart through my toes.

All I've seen is what I wanted to see.
Out of sight and out of mind, as a way of life.
And I'm out of my mind.

This fight is not a fight that I wanted to start.
Infinity in a point is still nothing at all.
Identity in the fall of a whale.
And a wonder at the world.

No matter how different I think I am or how changed I feel
The wreck is still all encompassing.
Without effort, there is no meaning.

To be light and float away
Growth comes from wider angles.
Gravity is a choice.