great stampede moves on, closer to an enlightened state, refreshing and tasteful when it happens, feng shui and a sense of the placement of things. a person knowledgeable in areas of advanced spacial awareness though doesn't recognize his reflection in a mirror. Historian who doesn't vote. High school debate teams losing the fight against global politics and all of the world's highest leaders struggle to strangle one and other, considerate of each loss, a citizen, a landmark. Nothing raised taxes couldn't fix after awhile.
preserve some memories like sick-fuck taxidermy. to put on display to an agonized future self (me. here and now. I've saved it long enough now. goodbye.)
some things. let them die. let them disappear. no need to continue hording pictures that can cause total pain, full body pain, heart troubles and all excuses lost dramatically.
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share the embarrassment of a mindless pop song in the face of all of the incredible lyrical possibilities expanding then contracting over and over again, repeating and finding synonyms and discovering the use of a thesaurus for times of need though the clarity can't be lost in the process, this transition from slobbering idiot to something more refined, but no one will smoke a cigar or feel any more privileged then the others, no difference will happen naturally, we will just fall apart in the hands of father time when asked the greatest questions, though I wish there to be something ridiculous, vague, and beautiful. Words can be beautiful in certain order and they fucking should be. No thought given to the effect of the words on the audience. Must concern yourself with thoughts on how the lyrics apply to yourself.
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funny to find self wishing for further involvement in increasingly happy and enjoyable thoughts, falling victim to the beneficial effects of drugs I do not take advantage of. take them but don't read the prescription. that's not your name on the vial, the orange, white-capped, and child-proffed pill container that also keeps scented things fresh and without tainting the outside air much while sealed, which is an important reason and the inventor feels like a god-damned genius now, smoking his income in a lush valley somewhere...
waves of paranoia washing over the body like the drain off from a raining day, that downpour when all other substitutes crash backwards into a moving vehicle... red in the face with the kind of demented ideas that are not accepted wholesomely without outside evidence... feeling a kind of stupid guilt from certain paralysis, the stopping of heart beats and calling out poppy choruses, though an entrance into that world. again legitimate free-writing ruined by stressful outside influence. missing the mark entirely.
but when there is constantly the outside world infringing on this internal dialogue all I can think to do is write. as if writing will get me an ambitious art project done. I feel an inadequacy at the necessary technological though I can just ask for help, needing to remove the right wires, I feel myself falling behind in terms of technological knowledge, gadgets and electronics. having a computer I can learn everything possible about anything or everything in the world. I must read and learn about all applicable things... freelance writing! selling bullshit on craigslist! bass! poetry! artwork! music news! the appalachian mountains! everything possible!
make it all happen technological. I approach with an irrational fear of the change in which we are headed (in my opinion inevitably) towards. Though if it is inevitable I must accept it for what it is. Enjoy the delicacies of today that I fear might be gone tomorrow. I may have to worry about that something or other in the future but this is the present, I am everything present tense. All the potential pasted in all moments, waiting outside with a coat for a ride to a secret dinner. the passion for knowledge and the fulfillment of my potential. considered in a diagram, traced out my body choppy like a chalk outline on a x-ray screen, there are colors changing and forming inside of the outline though a huge certain of space is empty, a dark void. the colors and ideas fluctuate inside and also cross outside of the choppy lines, open to ideas entering and existing in great rapid flurries of motion, though the body can handle and even more intense... a deeper wavelength of disturbance in the levels, all sparkling and glimmering, like life crystals... more of them are out there and available to add to my immediate vicinity... each of us with a bubble of potential because despite my naive remarks there are in FACT things in life that I will never encounter, nor have the chance to... I'm mean I doubt at this point I'll ever become a rugby player so I must simply become the best at what I do currently. Find something to love and stick with it because others, searching endlessly, may never have the opportunity to experience that first simple love ever again.
