Trudge with me...deal with the life of Scribe of old, in new fashion, passion that is, wanting to learn, to write, to have the sight....not caring what the words are...knowing only that the words...are....who cares if its for pain? who dares me to refrain? the writing is what matters, the writing is the only matter...what's the matter? why should i have a concience when all the nonsense churned out is yearned outside the minds of others? oy yes...deep inside that pit of greed, of need to destroy and harm...No alarm! sounding one now would be wounding those around...how? coin coin toil and join, keep the faith, the godless kind, people starving..pay no mind, only humankind! they didnt get the silver platter, to hell with them, they just dont matter...all the polution, fuck the solution, we're making money, so its not sunny, and never will be , doesnt affect me, only my son, poor bastard, we've left him nowhere to run; oh but the guns! weve left them that! he can kill his way, thrill his way! live and die by violence, none left..... silence.
Is it still golden?
Within the heart of the State of Chaos, Lies Capitol Confusion, where hawkers and criers and pilgrims gather, vying for citizenship in the fastest growing city in history: selling their be-wares, shouting sensible rants, and preaching obsenities of man, to man, for man to hear and pass on with the currency of chaos - the buck. Everyone loves the buck, passing from one denizen to the next, the glitter matching that of the eyes of Ms. Chief, that ever so clever pawner of mayhem, trading treachery for treasure.
Mayer Murphy making law in tarnished ivory tower, while Maxwell sits atop the of Palace of Perversity, surveying his subjects, worthless worshippers all. Having had the honor of hour upon hour with the Royalty of Wrath while passing through this water less island maze, I realize up is the only option, past layers of tarnished linings. Although leaving means membership revoked, my heart remains forever within the limbic anarchy that is the capitol of the state of Chaos.
Confusion.
Well, here is the dream of the misguided gender; freedom "they" call it as they shaked their mindless skulls in moronic mimicry of a jealous man. . .strange, the human condition; we all search and long endlessly for that which is possessed by another only to cast aside our dream as if it were merely some tarnished bowling trophy. There has to be more than this!!
Where has our trust gone? has it fled our souls and finally convinced love and sharing to abandon as well the darkened circle choking what used to be the home for such feelings? What do I speak of?? The soul! Our blessed gift given to us by whatever higher powers that be.
I'm not insane, merely a man with clear vision in a smoky dimly lit world. . . no idle boast, just a fact I say to you whom I would have once called friend but now who would think that a handshake meant a hug and a hug declared of wanton favors.
I want the paradise lost, the place within our visions field during those times of blissful ignorance when our mind dares wander from the chaos of reality but for an instant. To be taken and held in those frozen moments in time that has built our memories, crafted our personas, each seemingly a life within itself. Each a treasure more valuable than any folds of paper or any string of zeros for these investmets continue as they always have and always will; to be profitable. . .
You must please excuse me now, for I must go. . . and live.
