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passed lies dead, long live past.

sitting, thinking, and crafting the ideas that will continue to shape my being beyond this death… such an odd string to attach one’s conscious thought… October passed with a fairly hushed tone… no parties, but feelings for strangers are pretty moot when there is far better companionship at the heart of one’s daily existence… even dreams of the recent future do not placate my psyche calm, and drugs are the least of my needs, no matter how distorted the perception may be to outsiders… festivities aside, though, there are many things learned over the course of this strange recall into slightly misty areas of memory… interactivity seems strained but feasible, and the bits I have come up with are mere shadows of the solid firmament that makes movement difficult, to be aware and understanding of them in small increments… work moves my days along at the snail’s pace that builds the frenzy for escape, unless the pay got better which isn’t too likely, but prayers get hurled out there nonetheless… these wants, though, are like flowers that blossom into buds of the most precious creativity… pious to muse, I crave the blissful strokes of the keys to quiet my gaze, and calm the demons that lurk in corners of conscious glades… those dream plateaus hitherto explored by all and everyone at once, and the more I seem to have a grasp of the Tree, it feels as though it is assimilating into my conscious reality… even my artwork has been screaming particular symbolism, as collaborations between myself and my other perhaps, and the final step began when our minds began melding over these two views… the tarot is strikingly more valid, but still not being utilized properly, the knowledge seems to be moving before the actions… on a stingier note… if I could criticize more than myself for the moment, I would describe some of the disgust and exaltation that one feels confronting modern markers of culture every day, but I can never feel truly at ease Here, my friends… it has been far too long since relating my thoughts like this, but I will not give up none too soon, even if dementia eats my soul I shall not finish these words with a souled-out psychosis compelled by greed… total wash of discomfort above, and yet I hear myself in those words, something I can grasp because it reaches out to me… noisily the gears rattle to allow the parade of thoughts through, all out at once, and gushing between the bars… this humanity, emotional noise if you will, has brought to bear my feelings on forgetting… remarks of the beasts and the writers on listings, these are the things that need frequent fisting, and the brain as we know it lurches forward… I grow wistful, but it really appears as nostalgia incognito, the hidden sentiment… waiting for the wheel to go ’round again as the satellites whirl around me…

Thanks, khet.