“Gentle (gentle) dew (sleep) as (lay) soft (straight) as (soft)
sleep (to wake)
A (that) sleep (silence) that (in) lasts (darkest)
forever (darkness)
In (dew) silence (as) and (tears) in (dripping)
darkness (out) lay (from)
To (that) wake (soul) up (the) is (fall) never (up)
Tears (never) that (lasts) fall (forever)
straight (in) from (a) the (hole) soul (from)
Become (the) the dew (sleep)
dripping (and) out (is) from (become)
the (as) darkest (the dew) hole…”
the man fights against his ghosts and the world behind his own as his awareness of what lies beneath it are tested to the utmost.
“Art is only a means to life, to the life more abundant. It is not in itself the life more abundant. It merely points the way, something which is overlooked not only by the public, but very often by the artist himself. In becoming an end it defeats itself.”
~ Henry Miller; philosopher, writer and artist.
the result of anticipation becomes nerve-wracking to all unjust levels of expectation… whose movements reek of asshole, and the tension grows stronger, wronger even though the word is not implied… thought becomes the harness of creative pistoning, spitting negative energy out like a centrifuge, and it flies out like some weird and incredible rain… the intolerance is strong in this one… the beast of feeling becomes very much like a bomb, and it seems to disintegrate the other perspectives involved to such a degree as to call it something else entirely… is it any easier to lash out with emotional energy?… the grinding abomination that human can become is so much more laced with spite that the flesh hangs off the features in anticipation of the next flawed move to decay into nothingness… this beast, this skeletal mass, is …
I thought I was over this, but I guess I have no concept of restraint when it comes to inebriation… Six pack of Guinness that wasn’t started until late into the night… Felt fine up to the third bottle, but state of mind and drinking should be conducive to good feelings, or it becomes a wasted exercise in bad decisions… By the fifth bottle, arguments abounded and blackouts crept in… I hate my petty self, the liar and total bore, who can’t accept happiness without being greedy for more of something… Hurting others to hurt myself to hurt others and back again… A cyclical monotony that makes life worth faking, but offers nothing positive to motive me forward… The altered ago eats the flesh, and laughs in the face of reasonable behavior… Times like these make me feel like …
what a piece of shite am I… negative influences can always get the better of us somehow… to quote Simon and Garfunkel, ‘hello, darkness, my old friend’… what meaning can we derive from the words of these supposed charlatans?… Hope?… is there such a thing out there amongst the rabble?… dancing upon the fractured tongue of bitter upset… breaking down sequences that seem potent to our tastes… the delay of self bouncing from topic to topic and back again in some fit of energetic and frenetic frenzy… what are the tricks we use to trade our instinct and intuition for this altered ego that seems to overwhelm the soul?… leaving us all with the horrid consequences of our actions… the mourning after what was once a great experience, and at first, an experiment in betraying those egregious and secretive …
So I stepped into these pants merely by accident, but the way there was through the network of humans disguised as stick figures… Trapped into a need to free oneself through the truth of violent regression… Is that madness?… We speak so highly of others that sometimes the confidence of self can grow drastically weaker by comparison… The gates sometimes close to the resistance of the narrowed perspective into darkness of oblivion touching them… Ideas manifest randomly to keep the thought structure afloat, trying to break the surface of the deep and cold plunge into innovation’s pathways, and the deeper one goes the darker it seems to be that one has to crawl through in order to reveal more of path in hindsight… Very few of us have the headlights blinking able to see through the pitch-black shit ahead …
