"The rest of us, not chosen for enlightenment, left on the outside of Earth, at the mercy of a Gravity we have only begun to learn how to detect and measure, must go on blundering inside our front-brain faith in Kute Korrespondences, hoping that for each psi-synthesis taken from Earth's soul there is a molecule, secular, more or less ordinary and ( Read more... )

I had a weird dream about you.

Every time I tried to look at you with care, without the fake smile, without any sort of pretence . . .

you looked like you wanted to kill me.

Has my mind finally reached its climax, its final step into the void of ever-lasting non-existence. Has my mind reached an end to the cycle, a continuous state of one existence, a hum, a death by living, a living death . . .

Entropy: "(in cosmology) a hypothetical tendency for the universe to attain a state of maximum homogeneity in which all ( Read more... )

is it going to happen again
?
am I going to have my words taken from me
make me into the ass I feel
thatIchoke

only to see you in a couple of months
living the things that make me breath
the things that you deny now

is this going to be another repeat

another return

. . .

I would shut up

but these words don't come from 'me'

I'm not sure how long I've been awake I'm not sure when the dream stopped I'm not sure what I did to stop the wonderland from spinning I'm not sure when we reached entropy I'm not sure what made that moment so special I'm not sure how long it will be till I fall asleep ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

"So this flim-flam lover boy
Found him a flamingo.
And his flamingo
Showed him how to tango.
And when they tangoed
It'd send their heart's a ‘flutter.
Teased him 'till he'd stutter.
Made him so young and tender.
Sweet to surrender
And so sweet surrender.
In sweet surrender.
Ahh, sweet surrender to love."

listen to the sweet song of waiting
breaking waves against the trespass of angst
the subtle reflections of jostled magic and
by jove
it would be nice to share someone with this

slip in
sleep tight
burn bright

Few things come to light, to a head, on their lonesome. Epiphanies, ideas, changes, tend to arrive in clumps, stuck together with sweat from our well-greased palms. They are the creations of hard work, whether sub-conscious or specific and intentional thought. All at once they arrive, knocking at the door, timidly, or barging in, as if once held ( Read more... )

I'd like to slap you in the face. I'd like to take a good chunk out of your fucking ego with a good swing from a metaphorical baseball bat. I'd like to beat your beautiful face into the curb until the answer blurted itself out. But I won't.

I simply sit here, and allow the night to slowly progress into dawn. Up late again, flicking through the ( Read more... )