My Vision Of The Future Is Two Complete People Together

Daydreams are floating ducks but I'm shooting for reality. How can I spare the feathers? Perfect aim is residual. Intentions are never as messy in hindsight, just idiocy. Overthrow the Invasion of Fearocracy, ducklings. It will not complete you. I love you but I do not complete you, nor you me, and only the opposite is true and also never there. Your brain is the tragedy, your thumping aching heart full of longing, spilled like slow taffy over rumpled sheets, the last sheets you'll ever sleep in. Riddles rhymes rhetoric and chariots don't impress me, no, only your effort to cut open your chest like I've done mine. Know your name, Fred baby, but don't get too attached. Names are the least-important human identifiers.

You can't take a picture because it's already gone.

I don't believe in god but I imagine Him. In magic, Him. The magic of music, the meaning of my brain. Take one away: instant switch to panic mode. Nothing is ever about what it's about. Whimsical sentimentality sham. Specialness: a rarity. Hope exists when Optimism has a bad day arguing with Reality. Denial and Societal Standards, kingpins of misery: pigeon-holding us all into a corner of one suburban house on a Sunday. Beneath those church clothes is a wife-beat-her. Wedding band fat finger gold stuffed sausage. Saying goodbye is insufferable when it is a girl who is choking & a man who is clueless. I don't want this to be your life. I don't want this to be my life. It is not my life. How do I keep mine from being like yours and try to fix yours and save you? I can't save you. It's like I am watching you die.

I am watching you die.

Simple Math

27 feels like 17. I am finally young again. I've wasted some years being an old woman on her death bed. I can wait another 50 years or so. 50 years which is a long time. Where have you been? Loops and scratches. Smears of ink. My pen paints imperfections onto perfect paper. The hand changes throughout but it's always me. I am always me. I am always screaming. I have to work at not being a zombie, a lifeless body, a functioning corpse. I think I've lost my touch. I have to take the next step. Experiences. The law of percentages promises me what I want & what I don't want. I want poetry, I want insight without pain.

But I can't cheat.

Glimmers

SK's debate is alive and well. My better halves argue daily. I've realized it's more of a civil discussion than one might think.

I don't mind silence. I'm never in a rush to fill it.

I'm lost in this moleskin.
I will never be anything.
I cannot wait for inspiration.
Few things ever overtake me anymore.

There is no immensity-
except for when there is.

Glimmers exist.

words and streams and a million schemes

The dating game show. I cannot play without going bankrupt. Either I'm a sex object or I'm completely insane. You can't separate me from my philosophy. It is in my blood.

Maybe in reality I'm brain dead. Time doesn't heal and healing is an illusion. Out of sight out of mind is all it is. Maybe I need new drama. Life is one large stage anyway, teeming with professional liars and ass-kissers.

Maybe not.

At the risk of sounding spookier than usual I know some fashion of truth exists even if it is within ourselves and only there.

I tried a year ago and I was a liar. But now the old me is truly dead and gone.

Music is my religion, my prayer. Meaning comes from me. No one and nowhere else.

Wax on philosophical - wax off philosophical.

God I love you.