If someone told me when I was younger that drugs only enhance what is already there I would probably never have started. This hand and this face would be the same, not perceived through a thin veil of escapism but that time is over and I didn't learn, I kept walking through the old ballad and I tried.
See ye not that broad broad road across yon lily leven, that is the path to wickedness but some call it the road to heaven. Here we're marching across old and dusty memories, you were eleven then getting on the ferry, you, mom, dad, your brother and your sister and as you stepped out of the vehicle, oil and tar were heavy in the air mixed with ancient salt water, washed ashore on this contraption created in the hopes of a braver new world.
Why do you relax, when there are so many things to destroy and tear asunder, you have so many emotions still bottled up that has never smelled the sweet scent of wet hot asphalt or freshly mowed grass or never felt the catharsis that lies in rage, buried in what we used to be, horny monkeys beating with bones. The air went out of us as we came in from the rain and made hot chocolate and sat there and spoke and talked about everything else but each other and we were melting
looking for love for the oldest of the sacred hearts but it was shriveled, a cold thing at the bottom waiting for a beauty or a beast to pick it up, out of curiosity or out of the fact that none of them have anything to lose like none of us really do, we do as we think it through, we can't do it, we got a good thing going here and to lay waste to it now
after all these years
of squabbling and being retarded together as we learn that pun is the first syllable of punishment and we are reminded later on in the same thing that it's never about hard or easy and always about the job at hand but it is only a world we sometimes wished we were a part of- it is black and white and our lives are not and never for through each panel, each bubble and each page red trickles down and gives us our third dimension so we can fulfill our dreams
our job
in blind rage we plummet into the task at we shut our soul down as we, the flesh is alive and every drop of blood is singing in our veins, we remember grandfather monkey, wisest of them all, beating bones and sticks to shrapnel not understanding why he does it but reveling in it, seeing the world that we only see in dreams
in the forest is a monster and it has done terrible things, in hiding it sings this song- who will love me now, who will ever love me, who will say to me, you are my desire, I set you free? We sit on the beach just the two of us and on us are bugs crawling like hope, one gigantic chain and every link is as weak as the other but we keep it at bay with our words and we know it will end like we know the levee will break because it's that humming in the air, impending cleansing but it will come later and we will have had our sunrise, drinking tequila from a senorita's shoe
we speak but do not talk and we enjoy it, the aklo of it all, the desire to put a gun to your spine and release it, wondering if an alien would indeed crawl out or if it would only be heat leaving meat and that was it. The older I get the more I think about old Lovecraft, what estranged thing he was and would have been now but so greatly displaced with so many gods in his head
There is a task at hand and we should do it, flooded by memories that are not ours of what others have done in our situation and we are hedgehogs in a dream riding on elephants with swastikas on them, speaking swahili in a world we should have left behind but have dragged with us on this journey, this thing we call an adventure when in reality it is so much more dull because it is life and nothing more.
:mittens:
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The last 2 paragraphs are absolutely amazing