fury

and so, my mind is falling into a dull gorge, black fading delaptiating i grow tired from the fall feel empty as a man who has just been swallowed from cleansed and drained, blank as blankets armed with aristotle higher thoguht and swelling tides move in and around us like sparks shot forth from the great gone mastery state of infancy: there is a darkness and it is me, a silence and i am made of it and motion is only flying flags flowing waters slim rivers widen at the risk of seizure (we are a thousand dams) ands when it comes the darkness (of us) a moment turns to shade and and laying there, we see can see that the darkness either swallows you or you swallow the darkness defined by moments we are shouting instants grown free from petals and ashes (dust to dust) and littered through and through for and because of what we were what we are it closes in and shooting down the moon suddenly loses it's crazed-eyed glory (a fusion takes place) and we can be would be will be should be and...damn, what the fuck?

but i've heard a few new stories passed them down been rewritten by them because, what else are we to do? what else happens how are we supposed to get it if we are not, in fact "it"?

and sooner, ink rains, let's just list out certain emotions and vileness build edifaces the are remarkable similar to castles only dreamt of by frank llyod wright and his falling water mythology and we'll be just certain of how things go what happens to the rest of the way we moved and thought: our memories are as dim as our thoughts ont he future, but

it's not like we're thinking in the here and now: we're just not thinking at all not pondering not wondering not in wonder not in awe (we lost those things so long ago) and what's worse, we haven't noticed they're gone, we have yet to take into account the things that made us shine (and could again) and trapse backwards, trapse forwards and figure it down to where it was and it was always me and it was always you and it was always us and we were ignoring each other, ourselves, yourselves, myself- so self lies crumbling rippling out rhythms or pattersn undescernable even to our own knowings our own learnings and thinkinngs and how we are who we are how we are is who wea re and who we are is how we do it how we make it by make it through.

you were born (and i) and motion calls us terrifying how me wander-lusted the sky starry-eyed mastery of the circumfrance of a heart the side of a soul and spirit gorws though sentry arms stading in formations made of wall-ball wonderings this isn't coming together the way i hoped but it's been it's been will be and as it's always been we see it we see it, the darkness the darkness- what written slips us by squeeks us through the tiny corners the little army encampments for the future and the past is ours the past is theirs we're just dropping it off but not to look ahead just beause we stopped looking at all we stopped paying any attention don't bother won't bother paying close attention to detail to the size of things looking straight on at everything and anything at once or nothing at all and what i'm saying, what i'm getting at, you see, is that you don't and i don't and why the fuck not?

2004-06-06 | 11:20 a.m.
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