Ever feel weighed down by the prospect of a new dawn, the iridescent glow of a fresh morning trailing all the problems of yesterday and another batch just baked for you. Its a constant struggle to cast off the misgivings and dress to face the budding day but it's a well worth one. cause hidden within the folds of time lie the vital incentive to strike a stride and fabricate a reality that conforms to your every need. Its a struggle much like drafting obscure ideas into prose and slapping into a square box with a timer on it. But when that clock ends and you're done, a sensation of relief is far more addictive than any drug conceived by man or religion. So seek the horizon, live a little, dream abundantly and above all else dress equitably for the unforeseeable oncoming predicaments. Cause if you cant win atleast lets go out in style
There is a thrust of distraction that surges during the peak productivity hours of the day. Political events, financial happenings, corporate takeovers, holiday sales, celebrity gossip... it's all confetti from hell that sparkles and whizzes and taps on your focus-shields and whispers through your earplugs: "this is important." What do you do? It is your daily battle. It is the crisis of your mind. Your attention is at stake. Your future hangs in the balance. I know bad things are going down. I know we are expecting snow. I know things are happening that will change everything, and that revolutions are being born and revolutions are being squashed. Reason matters not. Faith matters not. Truth matters not. Only agendas and opportunities take heed. Only the things that arouse the powerful matter to the powerful.
This is Minnesota. Cold hands, especially the backs. Icy everything. It's hard to move. Yet it is in movement that heat is generated. I have these black gloves with the finger tips cut out for writing. It is hard to type with them honestly. Subtle differences in how they feel. Micro-messages to my brain. small perturbations, pushing me off course, causing typos, slowing my flow. But this is Minnesota, don't'cha know? I proceed with hindered flow. I write it out. I've got my beverage. I've got my classical music. Now I just need to create. My brain is icy. My mood is cold. This is Minnesota. A place no one should go.
Yeah, there are strange creatures creeping through the woodpiles. Yeah, there are important things to be discovered with our eye cameras. Opportunity grows faster than weeds and poverty. But I want to sit down now, Carmone. I need to rest these invisible gravity forces inside me. My inner atmosphere is too unpredicatable right now, and I need to still myself. I take my chances with the forces that are chasing us. I’m too downtrodden, Carmone. If you want to go on without me, that is fine. I understand. You have much to live for. You have many reasons to embrace these opportunity sparkles that perpetually barrage my vision tablet. I’m losing the will to go on. People jump to horrible conclusions that are only partially true. They activate their detachment protocol because of the stupidest flaws in my spontaneity mission. Leave me alone, Carmone.
The people are getting nervous, aren’t they? They are biting their nails and stumbling out of their sleeping quarters at all hours of the night. We can’t heap blame onto their plates, though. Why? Because there are crop circles in our corn fields. There are toe-tapping atheists clapping their hands at our crumbling churches. There are butt-fucking viruses mocking all our pesticides. The people are worried. They rest their hand on their stomach and pass squeaky gas out their overweight asses. But we can’t jump on their blame button. There are governments passing out drastic taxes. There are indoctrinated psychiatrists prescribing laughless capsules. We wash our medicines down with lactose-free milk. Yes, even our cows are altered from their inner-most neurons to their outermost cow-ness. If you want real milk these days, then get down on your knees and pray that NASA will find cows on Mars, and that you can somehow get to that organic cow-tit before corporate America does. Hurry.