This kind of
seems like a waiting room, except for the lack of tables with magazines. It’s
just cold enough, loud enough and bright enough to be barely annoying and
extremely uncomftrable. I’m used to it, nothing new. Yes I’m used to waiting,
the clicking tock, vegetative fruition. Am I getting everything I wanted? Hard
to tell, difficult to say. Who have I become and where has it been. All my life
seems to be slipping away through sifting fingers, expecting chunks. But they
won’t come if you don’t make them, consciously, intentionally, against such
best intentions once provoked and never recalled. The flow has me because it
never stops, rushing wind makes a sound like a silent voice, not quite audible
and definitely misunderstood. There are no plants here, either. True or
plastic. All the art on the wall is nothing less than informational. The seats
hard metal. The doors glass. Everyone waiting to go, nobody staying simply for
the perpetuated existence of factual self. We simply don’t have the time for
that. Now is it the time to go, somewhere else that we have never seen without
also being.
Darkness. . . I hate this place. I hate
tweakers, like a glitch in the system. I must take care of my value while
proving my worth. But I am literally overwhelmed, with nowhere else to go. I am
meant to be here, with antequated technology, amid harbingers of desultory
circumlocution.
I am interested in
time dilation, that is a process of adjusting the speed of growth and change.
This is not, however, practically evident. It can only be experienced, first
hand. No matter how we try, we cannot escape.
“Observation is
apparently the cause of most impurities.”
At least there is no
placard visible, limiting my stay. That’s between me and the sun and my
gradually stiffening moustache. Forlorn duress. Bad trip. Bad vibes. Good
memories. Warm ones that don’t quit that don’t give up. They couldn’t possibly
appreciate me if they don’t know me for everything I do. They said that I
didn’t do anything wrong. Right. I was very particular and methodical, my
intention only to change things. God I Hate This Song.
this train that I am
on was about six and a half hours late last time I checked, which would put me
at arriving after midnight. It had been warm in here, I took something of a nap
and it has become frigid. Wherever I am now, it is dark outside and early
everywhere.
I have enough money
for coffee at dawn, and then for the last train after I had gotten there but it
seems I will miss the last one of the day. I don’t know what she’s gonna do
because I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I’ll need to find a phone to call her
upon in the morning, when I know she is awake. Maybe I’ll sleep at the station.
Maybe she’ll drive all that way and pick me up anyway. Still, I would have been
on this thing too long in the first place.
Belong in ninety degree rooms
Peek around corners, sit shaking still
SURVIVORS, RESERVOIRS (see natasha)
Protein building blocks of life
excision, tisn’t the season
a competentive wage
Prisacoleninencusol, Floral Shoppe
all is full of love, root beer on the gun
custodienne, comedienne, presidette
melt my meltor, texturamitazisch
scarring, jarring, early days
unnegative reaction
what is quantum
evil isn’t as evil don’t
sick sad tired hungry and poor
the ADM makes it all okay
goodness me, voluntary consent
Cartoon Stripes, around the arms.
you’ll be here in spirit but that don’t pay the bills.
I’ll never be like them, talking about people
that I don’t know.
even the shows, I can’t remember so long ago.
fun shows; theres been commercials for fifteen minutes.
contaminance
white sorrow, Black widow
what’s wrong with kids today? It Depends.
what choice do we have but to punish him for her bad behavior?
a relative value of interminate size.
determinant time, inescapable system.
The breakdown of nuclear family structure.
And unpredictability of inevitable participation.
IMPRISMANT
BREATHING HAIR
SURFACE CONDITION
EARTHLY NATURE
SOLUBIXITY
NINETY-9 CHANCES
SPORTING AREA
DEFINITIV
PRECISIO
paper trail, carbon footprint
You could say I’m anti-military because I think that we could be
doing something so much more wholesome and fulfilling that fighting and killing
each other with our own personal versions of barbarous warriors. Yea, I
declare that we cannot, will not and do not pioneer new terrain until we work
together as an unified entity. There is still so much of our
undocumented universe that we don’t understand and don’t have the hope or means
to do so. We only work unto the ends of the best and not the inevitably,
necessarily better. Participation is key, and those who choose to participate
shall be rewarded of simultaneous dreams and knowledge, to surpass those who
decide otherwise. First, we must look around to see what there is. And then, we
must look to ourselves to see what we may do. The third thing is very much like
the first because it is not directly about ourselves, but each other, and this
is where the continuity of participation comes
into play.
Of us, for them
we know not what we do
GRADUATED (generational) Cooking
celestial terestrial instrumental
I like to think I don’t miss too much
BASQUIAT (man dies)
Not about to sell my soul
Burn Control (th’world on fyre)
good time investments
For entertainment Purposes only
Pronounced Head
Houseband
blurring the line between artists and dealers
tiny robots, after me, in my blood stream, in my dreams
The Whims of Demons
Metal Straws and Ice
something exists that reminds me of her,
something in this takes me back to then.
Time is not relative. Time is a unit of relativity. The things
bound by time are relative to each other through time. But time itself either
is or it isn’t, and if it may not be, then it cannot be relative.
Negative existence is potential, or entropy. It is the
difference between what was and what will be. This force is contained within
and exerted upon what is.
Music is for everyone, of no one, by someone, and to anyone.
I’m in a relationship with myself and Robots, breaking up.
Hardbound is forever, I don’t care anymore.
Its true my mind is human shaped and
so is yours but it is the wrong size.
The city is a woman.
Sometime in the distant future. . .
If we made the switch to using buttons as currency then most
clothing and machines would become unpopular and/or useless.
I’m supposed to be fifteen when all of this
supposedly takes place.
the confusion is only
a misunderstanding
when I was living in
that crawlspace I really came into the solution of externalised perspective,
adapting to unforeseen principle through invariable character. The inmates kept
me company when I had no one to rely on and now I find it hard to let them go.
I left behind landfills which to my understanding went to an overjoyed patron
and so good use, maybe I will see them again though I don’t count on it. Nobody
should have to go through what I did but most people should have the
opportunity at least twice, because if everything happens for a reason that
much becomes all the more clear the second time round. I also shared the space
with some small rodent, which I didn’t mind as long as it didn’t poop on my
stuff. The guys on the lease were somewhat understandably out for blood which I
was willing to comply, though we never did catch the bastard as far as I
remember. They don’t live there anymore though I am quite certain that both of
them still remain in the city and I hope to see each of them in person upon my
return. I know they remember me and probably wouldn’t mind seeing me either.
A different shaped
full bottle wine glass for each bartender. She wanted the one in front of me,
made of dark glass, but she was sold the square one by all the employees
working against her. She sensed my admiration, turned to me and said, “gay?” I
shook my head. “we should smoke pot.” I nodded. That dubonnet tastes like
mushrooms. It was crowded around the bar, I had to leave my hat which I was
fine with once I quickly came to terms. I got my phone from charging in pieces,
struggling to put it back together as we left the building. When we managed to
get outside I recognized where we were and the sun quickly setting. Scrambling
into a tan cadillac, the drivers seat was all the way back, obstructing entry.
By that time it was black out, heavy traffic, cops everywhere. We tried to play
it low key but our driver was making comically terrible mistakes. It was
somehow the future, as if I had been gone a long time. I told them I knew a
place where we could get out of the car but I believe I neglected to inform
them the location and how to get there. So we continued to smoke in the car,
driving in circles, paranoid.
I’m pretty sure I know just about as much as I don’t know,
because I can only think of one thing at a time. There are, in fact two
aspects to think of yet I must decide upon which one to concentrate on.
This one is only half of the initial aspects, the initial one,
and so through the process of observable thought we may never truly revert back
to the original. Every time you return to a concept, it is actually a new one.
The more I learn, the more I forget. The more I know, the less I learn. The
more I forget, the less I know. And so on.
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