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Its possible, ladies and gents, to stop the train, derail it, send it toppling over, and be content. I think I will never understand what happens when it happens, because its so far gone and above my mental space. I know that I feel that. I trust that. Keep my safe, thoughts, you’re all I got left.
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When I’m free I’ll regret it I’ll regret my father and mother and my brother and my childhood and teenage years and the friends and loves and regrets and successes and the rest of it because it led me to a place where I feel unhappy about the future. I have wasted the necessary years, I have squandered my lifes work, whether because of my own folly or other factors. To live in a life where I cannot succeeded because of the work I have done is a populous place. I live next to the plumbers and the CPA’s and the artists and drug addicts
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Blah the weekend goes and I go with it I have done nothing remarkable I have accomplished naught I have secured no future vestige in fame I have in a way lost. I have lost love, that of a feeling and sunshine and good dreams and warm showers and I wanted it to leave. I wanted it to wither out and die so the next round of the good stuff can start and I want it back I really want it back, but I am no Dr. who, no marty mcfly, not a time traveling thespian with a smile of gold. I am not famous nor will I be and I remember that I will remember that. I will never touch the stars, either in a loving embrace or outstretched fingers, and I will never be the man who I want to be. And I remember that.
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Do I really needs words to describe this? Just use your eyes man.
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Smolder away
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Sadness that paralyzes also enables, by matter of choice, and those not taken, and those taken but not understood. Living in a meaningless place in a meaningful scenario, can enable choices in a unknown cause and effect relation to other places unknow, Or maybe Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m just lying.
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Above a bridge is waiting for us, groups of similar indivudals wait. They are shrouded in mist and unknown, heck the bridge is shrouded and unknown and the land beyond is not even visible. Our minds play with showing different takes on the fog that lies after the middle of bridge. Is a land of despair or happiness, or could it be something totally different uknown even to those who have passed the bridge? Fly away now, our wings flap, and we soar. Our passage takes no time, is completed instantly and we are there.
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The original food, from a breast, is still our ultimate ideal, and one day we’ll get there I know it. I feel it. Maybe that will be my fame, the mother’s milk. The perfect dish, nutrients, flavor, and sexual pleasure combined in a single serving and I can do it. I can make it I know, I get it the cooking of the elite, their mindset is obvious and attainable and now I just need money and a little time. I’ll get there I kmow I will.
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Cooking is a cool thing. I get it know, I get it more and more and more and more. No longer a passive animal I fight to gain the new knowledge of taste and smell and falvor and pazazz. The chciekn turned out nice I get it now, I get the feeling of the chicken and the feel of the pan and the essence of it. The spices and flavors come together in an endless series of combinations that never cease to stop and be suprassed.
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Frightened truthfully. Moved my heartbeat to a crashing crescendo, when it drops and slows to a pitiful pace. My blood is very viscous, because of all the fats and lipids I regularly expunge from my body. My veins rush with a screaming white lightening, thor incarnate. He runs from my brain to my toes and back again. Because he can! Boom ka boom, the original drum, the original noise maker. How odd that it cannot count beats. A perfect instrument is calibrated to perceive all situations against a control. Ours perceives all situations as through a faulty sensor. How odd. How strange. How delightfully weird and repugnant and serendipidicous. Exactly. Boom ka boom. The original broken thermometer was once a sign of love. The life source tied in with life’s end clause. Now science has changed all this, and natural selection, and the way women walk and eat, and the way men exercise and love and how the world spins and finally lasting its gloved finger on the button of life itself. Boom ka boom. How odd knowledge is, the idea behind the beating arteries is simple enough, a duplex really. Any B-rate architect, or suburban lower-middle class family can figure it out, and even pay the first month’s rent. The idea behind the idea, past that to the idea behind the idea that dreamt of the basic duplex unit, is still elusive. The first duplexian inspiration, not Gerhy or Wright or Pei, probably more a shifty, pigeon-English, slick-haired, skimpy, poor landlord. Crash a wall to create a more “hospitable” environment. What a fantastic idea! A living quarters made for a family. No longer confined to a dirty apartment, the Smith’s and Johnson’s and Haberdahsers and Sloan and Ketters can open their moving boxes and irrepressible mental issues in a badly ventilated apartment and a half. The idea that the idea, whether the need for money, an urge to use a sledgehammer, or simple divine intervention, the idea behind the idea, the Eleanor Roosevelt of the atom bomb, is an elusive subject still. Much like bigfoot. A lingering sasquatch out for blood, A lonely mega-ape banished from his homeland, A dangerous rouge government experiment gone awry, or simply TV magic. Bigfoot does not exist in our world, because he has been captured by TV long ago, hidden inside the vault with the Disney movies, the actual raiders of the lost arks, and the fourth season of Arrested Development. The people have given so much to the culture and livelihood of so few, who spoil themselves and their terrible children. And We Love It.