Nicotine and alcohol have infiltrated my system and yearn my soul to search for some creative within but find thoughts and left behinds instead. Feeling like a total asshole for not knowing a good bit of my family all too well and having lost a good portion of my great friends. Life keeps changing and new pieces are being stripped away and old layers come to the surface, but are corrupted and incomplete so i add some of the pieces from the new particles that i've gathered up until this point and make a calico texture of being that forces my self out of the puzzle that i thought i fit in so well. But now that im out of it i see that some of the other pieces we're heavily augmented as well. This mkaes me feel less agressive about the situation but doesn't necessarily give me more completion for the picture isn't pretty anymore. Then im saddened at the fact that the whole damn thing was a fabricaton in the first place.
Lies, confusion and pain can make for some fucking beautiful art, though. I especially shouldn't have forgotten about that.
Rearranged and slightly hit with a pound of elatedness, i gather the leaves of fall and put them in a bucket rather than a trash bag, not good to throw all of them away. Even the dead ones have some merrit in the grand scale of things. Inspiration of the drums and guitar hit my core at an incline that restarts a fire in my heart that i didnt know had went out. Still very confused and lost about everything going on i wonder why i feel the need. Attention? Gratitude? helplessness? I have these things moving in my consciousnesses like a stranger in my bedroom reading my journal and taking notes as in to collect the tax of my society and passes through the window, reminding me that he doesn't have to use the door. HE IS ALWAYS HERE.
Truth, lies, aggression, depression, happiness, solitude, completion, wanting, needing, craving, denying.
Refresh, restart, revamp, reset. I have had enough of the complex and need to escape but the walls have no doors and the cieling is open but very high from where i am standing. Again my mind distracts itself with mundane boring everyday and i live in and out of doors that revolve around the universe that is. Just is.
Away in the woods is the little boy who was shifted and moved and toggled and i look in the eyes of the child who stretches many miles ahead of him down the road and i promise him that he will never understand those things and that i will always love him and hold his hand and explain that the clouds are there for the sun as the moon is there for the night.
My angel in remiss has come to the table and we discuss how the brakes in the car stopped working and that repair is inevitable and not optional, so there are no worries. I put my back to hers and remind her that that's where it will alwayls be, holding hers up. We exit unfairly but still, just into the wildness of the world and talk about our analytical codes and how deconstructing them would be a meaningless en devour.
Metals turns to rust but is stil stable enough to hold the structure together until the doctor can repair the lungs. He says you can't breathe without them. i take me chances and drive in the fog anyway. For now i will buy a watch and a chair and wait for the apocalypse to finish the job that i tried to start so arrogantly and sip the sweet nectar's of change that await me outside of the fallout shelter.
I meet a maid named Patience and she says for me to let her clean my house and she will make sure all the books go back on the shelf. They may not be in order, but they wll always be there. i pour another glass and light up the night as the sun creeps up around the corner..
it having no idea of the night the moon and i shared together and dreamed of tomorrow.
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