“The gods are blessed,” said he. “To damn the soul of a man who is firmly and ambitiously at work. There is harmony in the dissonance of such a soul, in that achy and vivid portrayal of beauty. The conquest begins each day from a powerless self proclaimed manic sad man, baring only a meek soul, until in a gradual instant the day is done and all to be seen is the bare self. My hands are dirty with bootleg money and a mild happiness is all mine to indulge. I’m hardly bloated.”
“Tis I,” he continued with a surly boldness. “In the wee hours of the morning and I have come in the belief that maybe, just maybe, something may be said. What it is not important, as it will always be brought to life in the consciousness of the observer by how decorative the whole thing looks. Aesthetics are the creators of flaw in the senses in the same way that the Golden Age of mind was conceived.”
Exhausted words though they may be, they are far too spent to hide many more hidden agendas. I could quit this whole thing, right now. I could just get up and walk away and never do this again. I could go and say that I’m a fucking adult and need to act like one. It’s not even that harsh of an argument, when you think about it.
And yet I still want to have conversations that go perfectly nowhere.
It was now that he went out to sort of celebrate how many trips he has made around the sun, or something like that. This is what the evening eventually resulted in:
Calamity and crime is all that I can think of without such nonsense like love, even in the temporarily sort of way. Maybe this is death and maybe it’s not but who will know other than I? I would be as bold to say no one but then again maybe such boldness is far beyond my reach. I could stand from here and travel on to some sort of meaningless task, but I say again out loud to the empty street that I couldn’t care less, as here I sit without love of any sort to describe besides this grand loneliness.
I didn’t get asked for my ID and I am quite upset about this. Alas these are the problems of a person who was recognized enough to be remembered but not enough to receive devotion beyond the many hours already received.
So what is the standing as of now? Well we have this right here, which is nothing, and the other thing that was over there, which was also nothing. You can try and understand through staggered and vigorous conversation with your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Watch me out play all and then toss my crown right in the center of it the chaos for the scavengers and vultures to prey on. This meat has always looked less than grand to me.
Here comes the new stuff, fresh off of the press today:
There’s a big stretch of many events that have come to show me the way, by means of a gracious and full force shove. It is now the beginning of Friday. It was raining today but it hasn’t always been. So what to believe?
I believe that the threshold has been met and from here shall come the rest of it. Anticipation and anxiety I assume are beginning to turn into something new, if such things even ever were in the first place. I just wish for someone to dance with.
It’s worth noting that as I have reached an age claiming to grant greater freedom, I feel no such thing. I still feel the burden of soul that howls to keep awake, when calling the night would be accepted with much more grace. The sheep goes bah, over and over again.
The power of this here noggin to convince all will come to pass as should be is something else. It is different than a toaster oven and that should certainly say something about that. Dig the nonsense?
What we are left with as a result is the inability to free one’s self without submission. That’s not to say that the beast cannot be slain, but rather is a question of whether there was ever any beast at all.
I’ve come to the understanding that these little chats will fade away, possibly soon. There will always be words I am craving to craft, but the issues will have to start becoming larger. The selfishness of a young man screaming for the attention of the youthful love embodied in beautiful young ladies will have to become the selfless bellows from a man with both passion and mission. I have a very messy world to fix. Or help fix rather. We all have to help, but I may need to start trying harder. If you wake up to a burning room full of sleeping people, do you leave them to crisp?
Now if you don’t mind, could we all repeat after me?
Now we rest both mind and soul,
And nothing at all in between.
Brought forth from a bounty called,
Shown soft and red serene.
Harks hardly for heroes,
Seen nothing clear,
Though that can scarce be said.
Of beaten, battered bullwhip fractions,
Haste come to birth bold reactions,
So cyclic be this spin of dread.
But truly, other than this, I can’t seem to stumble across what I wanted to be seen and as with so many of these seemingly smashing, I believe I shall vacate the premise.