Is it night or is it day, I cant seem to tell anymore, all the colors seem so muted. A wailing of vexation, the clouds of thunderous silence, forming closer than I’d hoped. The bastardization of a malicious incantation, fix me now, sweet sounding deviation. Hindrance gaining ground, passions waning, secret of the artforms, commiseration. Populace now populating, this pestilence of the damned in waiting. See me from whence I came, to bleed me dry a final flame, senseless truth a crying shame. Feed the bewildered beasts, of festered meats, slurping and slobbering, time to stoop the hollowing, go reap the wallowing. Entwined, I do break bread, err to whisper, do i feel dead. Spent and warn, failure of the first born, set upon, the seekers swarm. The king of locusts comes, bringing torment, and lamentation, laying waste to all creation. Abaddon, the place of destruction, with sands of crumbling flesh and bone, lightning strikes glassing these fields of omen. The beast comes to bear, seated at the head of the table, with Kain and Abel. It’s the last supper now, with remnants of decay, fear not this coming age, the world is ours, so give it rage.
Who am i…..
Am i lost, a wanderer cast out doomed to venture further and further into the wastes of a mind only comsumed by darkness.
To have such capacity for good, and yet so demonstratively brutal a vicious intent. towards hate and artfully disseminated machinations of destruction. I have touched down where others thought not possible, to fall down a bottomless pit only to prove wrong the will of man. To be insane and realize it, truth lies in reality, lying in wait to steal unkempt breaths. fearing time, though time does not exist, but in the mind, an idea, an abstraction, a custom of knowledge, the cadence of curtailed freedoms self expression. Systemic of its intention to breed more dishonest foreboding epitaphs of humanity’s hubris. I have nothing but contempt for the human species, this race of desiccation, greed and monotony. Crude and crueler fates align, eloquently baroque beauty of selfless inhibitions, over arching narratives bleed for bleeding sake. Forgetting the one fact that stakes claim to the heart of true providence, incredulity.
Master of wanting but master of none, narrow your vision, quiet discontentment. Grasp but one thing attainable, to use as steping stones to reach the next trial that awaits.
Who is this…who am i becoming now….
I plug my ears, listening to my heart beating, and yet i can’t feel it, until i think about feeling it. Such a limited mind we have, and we expect of ourselves, to know it all. how many kilobytes of useful knowledge do we possess in this zetabyte ad infinium system we call a mind. Most can’t even string together a few paragraphs worth let alone make a cohesively affective argument. So I guess it could be said I take my literary and standard intelligence for granted; then again I’ve structured a life that can be lived with such ease, an asured fate, that any lesser mind could lead it. so if i had my persistent cumulative intellectual growth halted or even reverted back to a time i still believed in fairy tales, would it really matter. Actually it might bring me some level of peace if thats what i wanted.
Though, what do I want, what is it I’m really after when all’s said and done. What I truly want is in the course of my routine self reflection, to for once, feel that i have something concrete i can offer. When you look under the veil of who i am in the world, this mask i present, you see a depth rarely legitimate in the eyes of this world. I keep relying on my own outdated ideals, to show nothing but let be discovered the real fathoms, the unbridled elation of finding, I am more than anyone thought possible. All this has never brought me happiness. I have only known misery in this life, because instead of the intended effect of discovery of hidden ability, it has only led me to becoming an expert at subversion. And in a world where most can’t see beyond a very narrow margin, I just seem as hollow as I allowed others to see me, as a being devoid of all things, never allowing anyone to discover that, which i have become master at cloaking…….
Why do I feel like escaping so early in the morning, only to be sold on staying by the afternoon. It hurts so much this longing to be certain. The paradox of trying to hold on to the status quo, while your mind wonders beyond, reaching for more, for something new, a path of deeper meaning, one that brings greater purpose to a life gone dull, its edges blunted, and colors drained of vibrancy. Though, why do we fain such constrained fealty, to an existence growing colder by the day. Do we normalize, these empty versions, overlaying a world given a chance to succeed, a pareidolia, a phantom image, creating an environment we can tolerate. Though, in our tolerance, a languishing of present tense, rusts away a seemingly solid foundation, until, nothing is left, of the man you used to be. Do the mighty succumb to such encumbrances, or is the key to power a finding of this said certainty, yet the preclusion of nullified turbulence, can never be undone by a mere wanten desire alone. Its must take root, from base singularity to fully extended expression. So, when will I taste the delicious pleasures of fruitful ambition, learning to release my grasp on my petrifying old beliefs, and set sail, on a harsher, yet stronger current, rife with risk and danger, but in the end, non greater can be forged, but through the trials of their labours, being taken by difficulty, with the guardians at the gate of your attainment, the ghosts of all your past failures, standing as the greatest obstacles you must over come.