Nothing slows down for me and neither does it for you. We can try to be critical of the nouns, the usage of the slang, the power chorus to the build up; we can slow down our thoughts, we can say this, now that, we can say what about the proper way? We can say whatever it is that we can think of and relies on the past. We can, most will, say but. They will, in the face of the storm, the rain, the truth, and even some of them know that everything is changing, that world has changed. Humanity is a stubborn creature, and I’m not sure why. This is survival. Where did the will to live go?
Everything is different from one day to the next, and we cater to others, others that hold us back, and we do this out of love, I do the same. We hope that they will soon understand that the world is now ours, that we’ve grown, that we’ve grown sick and tired with how they treat one another, that all of these ideas and rituals are no longer helping us, that they’re holding us back, killing us, making us once again prone to old diseases, old false ideals, old traditions that we grew out of. Remembrance, this is fine, fine, again, fine, and love is fine, but people, some humans want darkness, the dark ages, they want things to be what can no-longer even exist.
What is possible? Everything, and for the past week I’ve worked refining my words, my thoughts, my eyes, my eyes have grown darker, and friday, the best night to write, the best, everything; it’s all there, one word, love.
The buildup to another fall, the fall that will cover america if we go back, and it’s not even scary to think about, it’s childish, and you have to let children learn for themselves. Everything, even love, even the possible, everything is a mess. Humanistic decay is on.
Pray to nobody, and please, humans, can you start blaming yourself for your sick, for your dying, for your gods? All of this poor rationalism that’s draining within the sink and echoes with the insanity of laughter, drowning out what should be confusion with your petty embarrassment. Nothing, applause, a driving track to this, to where in time we all might wake one morning to such a strange type familiar darkness.
Where will we wake once summer is over? The end, the end of possible peace, and you can feel it, you can etch out the truth of everything with the type of complacency that is walking around naked in front of our faces. Speak up. Why? It has all been said. March. Why? Be put in the basement of the corporate tower. Laugh? Yes. Wait for the morning and laugh.
Moving. Writing. Dreaming. Failing. Running. Climbing the ruins of this society that I was born into. My days will go on forever. I will not sit by and regress. I will follow the future, the future of peace that will bring me to the lake or the birth of spider eggs; the future will bring me to just another morning, another day, before the fall, the fall of what everybody can feel is coming.
Death can not be stopped. The spilling of blood by human hands can. The war, the media, the hell that will only get worse come November seems to look everyone in the eyes, and fingers crossed, Utopian ideals, science fiction is within all of us.
Another morning, Saturday, September, a dark realization of consciousness, that we are alive, Humans, alive within what the dead has given us. Now, awake, eyes, alive, you, me, us, them, beings; we have to know that to go back towards where the dead now are forgotten would be a waste of this life.
New forms of consciousness, a new era of humanity awakes for the first time, once again, tilting together, aged, mature, born for this, from this, laughing, crying, begging, no! I will not beg to be allowed to live, to love, to try, to dream, to evolve.
Morning, day, home, soon, gone. Silent weapons just as vulgar. Education seen as a curse. Beauty seen as perversion. America, born again, and it’s too late, we can’t go back.
Back, back, we can’t go back to the evil, the bombs, the bombs, the robots, the arcades built by a religious tyranny. We want peace, we want to be allowed to be grown children, to write and read and dream of the stars we can’t even see. We want to be allowed to camp in the summer and drink the water, to harness the grass with our bare-toes, to laugh at death, for if we allow it to be, then even death is natural too.
Another morning. Sunrise. Another September. Another Good morning. Peace. Human. Always. Peace…