Don’t expect anything from anyone, ever. Don’t believe in altruism, only lust, only want, only self-preservation. The human animal: the human disease. Flights of enormous fancy that fall from your mouth like teeth, spill off your tongue like wine. Simplicity simplified. A contradiction shopping at a thrift store. Becoming a hand me down, a used piece of kitsch. Perhaps the Surrealist object. Nothing ever really defines itself in large, bold, and broad brushstrokes which illuminate the night. A colorless form, a ghost of glass and diamonds. An obscure repentance of sin. Vice controls/vice consumes. Bury all your art in the garden, plow and till, ignore and fool. But DO NOT slip into self deception, into compromise. It strips all the words right off your spine. The poetry on the page: a joke in spite of control, in favor of contempt.
If I could speak to you I’d say so many worthless things. Pointlessly consume myself from the inside, a fear of dreaming about my fear of death. A fear of living out my dreams in life. Push me over and laugh like a child. Cold and distant, an innocence of nothing, a purity of malice. Only life can tame you, only the mirror can show you. I’ll say goodbye as I say goodbye. Almost, always, and again. Like rusty needles just under your skin. An indifferent infection, biology not orchestrated by man. The nature of nature in its natural egress. The putrid stench of the self-obsessed.
I had something through the night. I attempted to hold on, but it managed to slip away in the warm confusion between dream and consciousness. The things you remember without reality clouding the way sometimes help you greatly, other times they are disposable and meaningless. To be able to differentiate is art. To see the subliminal connotations is merely technique, something that can be honed.
