Tuesday, July 24, 2007

this guy's the limit

am i that infuriating? when i know that consciousness is a time-machine that has no idea where time goes to die. there are some occasions that open you, as if you find yourself the cumulating cloud run into the catalyzing pressure system that blows you up or down or adds one speck of dust too much to break the membrane and cause you to unleash the massed group of agitated ions... and the fury persists, each rumbling, sky-churning bolt lashing down one at a time.

when all you are and can be is conceptual, and then you get accused of it... there's nowt of substance, that it feels like lip service to speak of your future, and how you see it... tell me, how does one manifest? really, i need to know. it's very important to me. have i failed me? is failure a curse, a gallowed thief bound to eternal neck-taut resurrection? the moments when you're most vulnerable is when they pounce. never. and never again. i now choose martial arts of the mind to contain and project. to take you fuckers out.

when all you want is someone to write to you. to think of you. to understand. to send a coded message that only you can decipher. and this elaborate place of receptivity, or support and empathy proves to be undone casually and at stride. becoming the most material and superficial and fickle-bound of structures. a house of tarot cards. contain yourself and preject.

what do i want? someone who'll finally take the time to let me learn, and teach not preach. someone to respect and respect me. harmony. love. i want to be able to dream with someone else. to feel like i can become my own twin. i wish to correct this planet. i wish to provide haven for me and my closest. to teach others how to do so too. to live on a boat, a vessel, an accepted place to chart madness and build back from there... to form life. i want to write and to create from there. i want to collate and build a graphic novel, i want to help plan the construction of bio-sustainable environs. to help dredge the harbour so the storm-weary can finally dream and repossess enough of themselves to do so to. to see the importance of such. to say: it is horrific. you have yours. i have mine. horror.

the horror starts in my fridge. in my gut. in my bed. in my arms. i can hold you if you choose to hold me too. i am tired of being undone by those i put my faith in. i am poor. i am ok with it, i can weather it and form from it. i don't choose to be poor, i just am right now. and i won't be in the future because i will learn and gather and work it away. i am a slow crab, i feel deeply and tend to relay by eduction not by direct expression. if you can't handle it, if you don't feel it, it is no fault of either of ours. it just isn't. think away... it's what i'm doing...

2 comments:

Eve said...

me too.

And I think failure is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Thoughts are tangible, man.

Lucy said...

I couldn't agree more, Eve