I think it's been
longer then a few months. The
righteousness poured through the damp sheets of blankets, all four ranging in
textures from silk to torn to wool, feeling cumbersome in a room with no
closets. A room without doors, much
explored. A space without place makes
the shimmer fade?
I think its only
been a few days right? A minor memory
without a trace, I can't put my finger on it, I want to say that the finer line
was upon it but the intersect made me perplexed with a decision I really
shouldn't feel. Fate tells me not of
this moment and dreams invade saying the key to a dream is only a path to the
bath. A great leader once told me
"/"
It's not really a
goal if it started already in a hole.
It's not an accomplishment if you never wanted it and it's not a path
unless you drove through a fucking blood bath to get there. When can I feel satisfied when everything is
changing to our eyes, senses layered on lenses, no control over our presence no
moment better then the present. I say
that after stealing copious amounts of money.
No better yet I say that after living a few sunny days where I was by
myself, possibly alone, training for an opus, wondering if I already passed my
onus to some guy with flow on the corner,
I'm just a
warner. I'll probably be rewarded with
no mores and close calls. Calls that you
don't get because you didn't have your phone.
It's like update your life to me for this firm stare of loathing. Motherfuckers know it, Motherfuckers are
phonies because they phone home when there homies out by himself self-exposing
his will to implode on a lonely sofa.
His bread was open. The stale met
mold met Mushrooms went home. The tome
met stone met Drone all around bone on my living throne.
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