11/29/2008
painfully wrecked with stained glass eyes of heartache on my shoulder sliding down to my hand on a whiskey glass. determined to never find a way for regrets to follow a pill. all around me i could have convinced anyone i wasn't misplaced and uninformed at first receiving tugs on my jacket and willing to understand the extremely casually dressed pink skinned man asking with little tact, "my keys, they were here where are they?". relinquished of my duty for even a split second when he paused this burden was lifted and destroyed. "your keys? yes, your keys." i reputed, "forgive me now, a moment later and i would asked you who i shot, but whos kidding who, you're on a mission, yes? well i seem to know no nothing of your origins other than you and your keys are tangled about in a game of obsession and lies." walking backwards i feel around for the ledge to act as a sober leg. not sure why i had to feel obligated, shit the man lost his life, no, just the key to it.
in a moment like lighting a sheriff runs down the door, "where is it!" of course i've seen this before, no i was there, i remember it was a big tv. well who would've guessed i could run like i can smoke, of course, fate, what a horrible invention. "i said where the fuck is it?" the cop bolstered his chest. i snap my fingers, whoops, nervous habit, well at least foresight of the future will render useless. uneasy, i stepped out, "where is what sir, and how i can i find it for you."
seeing as i spoke, the man searching for the keys now 40 steps away and 25 steps from the door. the step count is a basic process involving the awareness of where you and where you are going, my father told me being aware means be prepared. yet i still failed math. could have given preparation another go, but a mold grows to it desirable deteriorated state just like the life of a person on a quest that doesnt exist, but that doesnt matter if you think it does. staring down the barrel of a glock 17, all i can think of is whether on a day to day basis if i see more of what i like or more what what i dont. tough decision, with a lot riding on it.
careless could be synonymous with witless or reckless but when asked what i have to live for and why i am still alive i can only say, "i have not found such a thing, should such a thing exist and i find it, i will have a response. for now, i care not. actualization of knowing how fragile life is like being able to choose at anytime to live or die. the ability is yours." in a second ive hit the floor wondering who lost their cuff link somewhere near my back and my face. with a hand to block the flourescent obstruction, the sheriff walks quickly over me towards the back door. at first i was realized i wasnt going to jail i commented on his shoes to the man next to me, "bulletproof?" no comment he steered back into my eyes locking me on and could even begin to ask him why he had the matrix code lettering tattooed over his entire body... and why it was glowing... and revolving on his skin as if it was a monitor. "snap out of it," i thought, "its not like that movie was real, just another abstract version of the known truth, with a hollywood twist."
rising to my feet i find the once frantic room regaining a sense of decent, non-arbitrary, non-toxic, brain shaping fun. could have talked my way through jail but it didn't work at the baltic room, i cant be him like any other. fumes. its thick. they find a way to get me on my back. with a last grey light i see an archway on fire. "prepared i am not," i sighed, "if i was i would've packed a lunch." every nameless face i could get a glance of stared at my feet, unanimously saying, "death did us part." all went black as if to not be, until i felt the cold release of concrete on my skin. my face pressed against oil stains and cigarette ash, my legs in my car. the car had been running in the garage for at least an hour, giving me ample time to have not remembered existing at all.
painfully wrecked with stained glass eyes of heartache on my shoulder sliding down to my hand on a whiskey glass. determined to never find a way for regrets to follow a pill. all around me i could have convinced anyone i wasn't misplaced and uninformed at first receiving tugs on my jacket and willing to understand the extremely casually dressed pink skinned man asking with little tact, "my keys, they were here where are they?". relinquished of my duty for even a split second when he paused this burden was lifted and destroyed. "your keys? yes, your keys." i reputed, "forgive me now, a moment later and i would asked you who i shot, but whos kidding who, you're on a mission, yes? well i seem to know no nothing of your origins other than you and your keys are tangled about in a game of obsession and lies." walking backwards i feel around for the ledge to act as a sober leg. not sure why i had to feel obligated, shit the man lost his life, no, just the key to it.
in a moment like lighting a sheriff runs down the door, "where is it!" of course i've seen this before, no i was there, i remember it was a big tv. well who would've guessed i could run like i can smoke, of course, fate, what a horrible invention. "i said where the fuck is it?" the cop bolstered his chest. i snap my fingers, whoops, nervous habit, well at least foresight of the future will render useless. uneasy, i stepped out, "where is what sir, and how i can i find it for you."
seeing as i spoke, the man searching for the keys now 40 steps away and 25 steps from the door. the step count is a basic process involving the awareness of where you and where you are going, my father told me being aware means be prepared. yet i still failed math. could have given preparation another go, but a mold grows to it desirable deteriorated state just like the life of a person on a quest that doesnt exist, but that doesnt matter if you think it does. staring down the barrel of a glock 17, all i can think of is whether on a day to day basis if i see more of what i like or more what what i dont. tough decision, with a lot riding on it.
careless could be synonymous with witless or reckless but when asked what i have to live for and why i am still alive i can only say, "i have not found such a thing, should such a thing exist and i find it, i will have a response. for now, i care not. actualization of knowing how fragile life is like being able to choose at anytime to live or die. the ability is yours." in a second ive hit the floor wondering who lost their cuff link somewhere near my back and my face. with a hand to block the flourescent obstruction, the sheriff walks quickly over me towards the back door. at first i was realized i wasnt going to jail i commented on his shoes to the man next to me, "bulletproof?" no comment he steered back into my eyes locking me on and could even begin to ask him why he had the matrix code lettering tattooed over his entire body... and why it was glowing... and revolving on his skin as if it was a monitor. "snap out of it," i thought, "its not like that movie was real, just another abstract version of the known truth, with a hollywood twist."
rising to my feet i find the once frantic room regaining a sense of decent, non-arbitrary, non-toxic, brain shaping fun. could have talked my way through jail but it didn't work at the baltic room, i cant be him like any other. fumes. its thick. they find a way to get me on my back. with a last grey light i see an archway on fire. "prepared i am not," i sighed, "if i was i would've packed a lunch." every nameless face i could get a glance of stared at my feet, unanimously saying, "death did us part." all went black as if to not be, until i felt the cold release of concrete on my skin. my face pressed against oil stains and cigarette ash, my legs in my car. the car had been running in the garage for at least an hour, giving me ample time to have not remembered existing at all.
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