What could I do? I was surrounded by troubled artists and house-poor scholars. I was sinking in melting tar on the collapsing streets. I was running from ill-tempered tax men. I was hiding from the parents of the youth I corrupted. I don’t want to be a troubled artist. I don’t want to be a prudish father. I don’t want to be the sold-out dolt who says, “that’s just the way this fallen world works.” Some people think the funniest things are important, while the really important things are funny! What can I do to change them? Their prudish fathers endorse their senseless logic. Their calculators are tapping loudly. They have evidence for all their selfish ideologies. What could I do? I can’t save them all. It makes me dizzy when I try to answer all their phone calls. I’m not technologically up-to-date. I lack the networks to accomplish the task
A florist focuses on her floor full of her own flourishing florescence. Formulating a force to form a formidable opponent. Few dispute the beautiful bonnet or the fuel that gives food to bare the fruit of her fair labor. A barrier between a barely able and blare witch fable. We create where we direct ourselves to accept. We favor what we project, never forget. Where we come from, its what we come to wear at our best. Day of depth.
In order for society to win i need to vent. In order to be in solitude i have to let others know where my mind is going. Unfocused as always but still going. Never wanting to stop to smell the goodness in someones worst. Piles of shit is a standard that can be lowered to see my own shit. Im guessing. Reassuring myself without a plan. Im okay i think. Or im not, i think. Im away, i think. Ill stay, i think. But whats the honest truth is that whether or not i like it, Ill pay for whatever ive done. Whether or not ived done anything at all is for my mind to think. Not aloud. Never allowed to sound it out in speech. My mind plays tricks in order for me to sleep. But i trust it from a noble source. To put me on the right course of action, not the same passions ive had before. Just remoi
Starting, and fininshing then starting again. never erasing entirely, never letting go of what keeps me tamed. All for what? What is there to really show at the end of the day. Satisfaction in myself is somewhere else entirely imbedded in my own ego i see noone else. Its me who stops me from being complete. But the circles never envelop a new step its always a rush to end nothing worth starting again. Its my mind that i seek. Its the time to build that i reach. Its more reading and more writing. More letting my moral standards rise and fail. Then find a waste inline with another ones mind. I am not lonely with all the circles. Im only solemly in the air. Wishing that i could start to care about myself the way the world is treating me with grace. Am i a disgrace?
Isn't it crazy how we train our minds to remember only what we allow? For the past four years, I have trained myself to become a different person. In no way is this a bad thing; it's just that it hurts a thousand times worse when the past finds a way to catch up with you and forces you to remember what you so neatly tucked away in the back of your mind. For me, it was something as simple as a tv show. As soon as that horrible scene flashed across my laptop screen, my head became flooded with memories. I suddenly remembered the struggling and the screaming and the guilt I felt for months after. I remember being scared to even walk outside of my house in fear that you would be right next door. I remember the months of panic attacks when someone would touch me from behind or even touch me without my consent. I became my own worst enemy. I was scared of everyone; I was trying to protect myself even from the people who didn't even want to harm me. I remember the scars that came along as a result of the pain that I felt in that moment. That moment seemed to last for too many months to count. That moment broke me until I rebuilt myself years later.