something comes to mind,
you will only love her when you’re blind.”
Who said that to me, in some portal. Like mediums alike, flowing through, strumming like a zombie, the blues. The stomps of children below, a squeak, a Japanese child. Even Micheal Stripe talked about having a platform. How time is wasted here, writing in this page. I consider than only a elder of life can write the peculiar wisdom of the moon. The broken heart must have stamina, trauma can solve the nights quiet.
In my pipe, I have nothing you want. The old me, the drifting smile, that ego, replaced by this stuck in mud and placebo. I enjoy my brilliant ability to talk about me.
The coolness of human kindness is that gift of sharing. Share my wife? Never… Though my love, my work, I can give. The Rabbit must be doing something with the Bear, they have kids now don’t they? What about The Rat. I worry about that. My message of the women trapped. See its not me you see, I am not the one, no one is. I am the one for you my no one.
What you can consider if forms. Forms of existence like blocks. Bricks. Making up reality. Now art doesn’t matter, not when you need food. When you need, few things do. The United Nations Declaration decided, not that all signed, I should be cared for, and I am. I am not blind to my failures as a man, though as a corner came I swerved out into traffic, and survived it.
You can love. It is possible. Then you break a few idea’s into pieces. The multiple soul mates. The coincidence that everyone you ever fucked was meant to be. Naturally we perceive our plotted path non-chaotic. No accidents occur, we make the best of it all, it all works out somehow. We gain money at least. Though really when we die we haven’t always done our best.
Lets conclude regret, why bathe in that darkness as you too victim of life had a better chance if you were advised away from circles. Those ‘friends’. If you had spoken wiser you wouldn’t have been a child, abandoned, fighting and frightened, unable to drape yourself upon a step. Chances and fruits, slip, slip away. You smoke up and down and concave. The measures are sleaze and beers. The larger ones already ahead in bed.
Now glisten like a orgasm dear moon. Upon me is a sex of alone forever. How disturbing.
You can spank that ass into a job. A knife in your back will make you work, it made me work, for the man. The business is hiding out, reduce costs and survive the pains. You can do it easily with your new found heart of gold. No gold yet? No wonder, you are not fit and able to create a wealth so smooth.
To finish the lines is cordial. A mere pleasantry. Left and right of my fence are my judgments. All equality is theoretical. You will die, I will die. We may like to leave a little behind on some shelf. Not a book on pandas. Something reveling in the creation of itself. A little spark of lightening.