Sunday, September 5, 2010


Post number 123
I sit here with my painting staring at me
Eyes without pupils, a machine driven by an unaware soul
I am scared, and I don't know the way to show it
I don't know, and I know you don't know either
But I am willing to listen and feel like a dummy
Men crying out words from life rafts to one another
Soothing lies to get to the next sun rise
Disconnected ideas flowing like a dream to my wake
I can't talk about it, the story didn't begin
Nor will it end
The four horsemen of the apocalypse never stop riding,
And they swing their weapons millimetres from my Life
Life-breath more valuable than money
Money more valuable than feces
You say "Of course, how existential"
Of course, other people are hell
But, nay, the gold we mine, and technology we produce
... feces of the eternal malfunction

No comments:

Post a Comment