operate under the assumption that late night creativity is somehow holier and more important to lay down in metaphorical ink than other disparate impulses throughout the day. the engulfing night and all of the ideas about existence. cataclysmic realization that I am alive! I am here in this bed alone with gentle folk music and there is so much to savor. the yellow leaves in the trees, a road I've never been down. children playing basketball and listening to techno music. I tend to see the negatives. rather than that even I tend to pick out details in a scene that can drench any optimism in the blues. i will look at the pile of leaves beneath an autumn tree and think about the potential death of a friend. any friend. a dog. how could you say no to unconditional love? man's best friend kept secret in hiding places of memory. modern man has no best friend.
alive, blissful, vivid, exacting, glory, handsome, wise, astute, resolute, yearning, conspiracies, longevity, brevity, acknowledgement, forgetfulness, tactile
laying on back in coffin position. ponder death briefly then remember how freaking alive I am. right now! someone will read this one day. someone will take notice or care to. death does not exist if we record. I live forever in this adolescent cyber space.
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The night sky always seems clearer when we can see our breath. The obscurity of rain and clouds. Everything seems brighter and more fragrant after the rain. A huge windshield the shape of our atmosphere. or the vague section that makes up my own horizon lines. not quite the entirely of our planet. there is no storm system big enough to cover unless meteor hit, gulf of mexico. the earth takes a shower and everything shines. rather than hurrying back inside I look at sparkling stars and realize that the huge majority of people would rush inside to warmth and electronics and comfort as quickly as possible. There is surely a bite in the air but it makes me feel alive. The skin prickles and bumps up, a strange reaction I can't remember the significance of. (the warmth of a whisper).
television and marijuana have claimed many of our souls. the final frontier aside from the depth of the ocean is no longer captivating as it once was. (unless of course on television). the mysteries of the universe fall to deaf ears and the new generation could not give a shit. somehow I am a part of this debauchery. I get lumped in. but I am a minimal part. I am speck and a drop in the ocean. which celebrity did what to who is cared for much more pertinently though they have media professionals warping the information to make them look the best. the star on the boulevard. the nameless and the futile existence. fuck you star map. that is not the right kind of looking up. with your careless euphemisms. all the distorted truth until there no longer is truth and we are puppets on strings pulled away. buy and sell souls directly from the source. talk to god with your fingers crossed.
