topics through the mind meat, somewhere deep that can never be touched by human hands, but torn apart with a simple command…we might have the impossible journey stillborn in our hands, but, goddamn-it!!!, we are good people…yet, where is this fascinating syndrome i have come to feel?…
indecision abounds, and I can’t clear the ol’ noggin, friends… gaps in time lead me to be less than fruitful, and I can’t help but classify myself in these retarded constraints, even when I know I am not that terrible… Just uncomfortably lazy…
The droppings left on the ground formed a cake of black tar. There was no smell except that of a plastic soul embedded somewhere in the crust of its depth. The ground it was laying upon yielded to the substance as it absorbed into the dirt, making a place for itself within the seeping fingers of the still liquid underside, and prevented all normal growth from underneath. The texture, to the touch of anyone who dared, was noted for its sticky compliance yet absolute solidity when stressed. A potent substance derived from nothing… so nothing is the only result. Thoughts lost when least expected, to be left for another vacant mind, and perhaps leading to innovation in some regard. A terrible feeling, to know the dark matter was once a part of you, but the other part of you …
ruin the remedy as it befits the following description. the rapid pace of heartbeat, and outrageous whiplash from adrenaline-pulse nerves racing sideways offset the path of the average endeavor. a process deceitful and maimed by conscious explanation as grim matters waned. fond remains of memorized moments taken back to those seconds of bliss. the crutch of organic emotion made manifest in this flesh. thriving on time gone by, and secrets laid to waste by perimeters of dread, the habitat of a doomed nation. an exclamation of unyielding force motivated into a presence all its own. the predecessors drop ill and weak from the task as the next model approaches, a countdown descends, and the spirits rise as though lifted into a sky-bound animation of being. what is it that pop really might imply? a soft spill before the boom? …
from these holes are born
wiry forms darken the horizon
walking up to us without discrimination of drug
pulling us from our predefined states of mind
the slipping grip of understanding this reality
intruding upon the dreams of every life
coagulating flames, burning screams
the machine rides upon our backs
the twiddling ticktock of the doomsday clock
clicking in above us
in ponderous perpetual motions
the society digs into our skins, our moral behaviors
the degenerate sins of man to meet our fate
the howling vomit stares of those horrid foes
but it is my highway the highway men the highway brood the highway stream the highway hypnotism mocking adjustments to mirrors and seats. of course you’ll be uncomfortable. it’s summer time on the coast and your AC sucks the gas out. alternate. take in the view. show the road you knew what you knew.
“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…”
time is of the essence, but I remember nothing of being born again… the crude matter of getting home was tiring my thoughts beyond compare… a turn of the wheel later, and the sour moments drift away as the door closes behind me… the compounded feelings of satisfaction and sensory overload were consuming a place that I could not lie to, the part of me that was not yet dead, and the rhythm of my heart kicked in at gradual steps behind my movements… layers of clothing fell away as I began to reach at the knobs to the bathroom, to relax inside a warm bath, and house my hindered state into a watery mercy… it hurt to ache this bad wanting nothing more than to bathe away stressful sources of my own decay… my mind was feeling this …
there is no right or wrong… aspects of the ridiculous wings of faith… deceptive ends to the chaotic fine wires of peace… there is the taking of things for granted… skating on thin ice in the middle of summer… snippets of a greater piece of harmony… one that accepts the animal and the intellect… what grounds we tread that slowly creeps like vine and ivy… the surging likenesses of a darker whim that only the dispossessed find solace within… there are such sacred arts that one cannot penetrate by will alone… the Crow leads us on with flight path thrown for loops and loops as we stare bewildered at the mess made gently… the scary thoughts seem to permeate the lost souls that inhabit a material world left to our own devices… the hum between the trees floating like melody …
