Understandably, reprimandingly, single-handedly so
compromising, unsurprising, undecidedly whole
counter-parted, broken-hearted, open-started and go
simply vicious, so pernicious and auspiciously droll
A coal miners son, fed to wolves one game day
a namesake afforded him but never felt the same way
after that, and no matter what you can’t have it back
the men in black amount to the means of seizing reduction
On a one-way vanderbilt, the man who built it stood stared
out on the whimsied winter, wondering what could stand it there
He hadn’t dared to be more than a keen observer
but sooner or later every nose gets a whiff of the fervor
Stir-crazy, a rat and terrier columbine
Shocked when I met you still you claim that you’re collar-blind
and hard of mind, how wonderfully wrapped in cryo-flame
centered on the wisdom you’ll willingly live to die or gain
Am I ashamed of the person who is becoming me?
Am I to blame for the one who wasn’t confronting me?
A honey bee would a sting a single soul for its sweetness
somewhere in heaven the mercenaries are paid back
Somebody claimed that a man is born just to see himself
to breathe in stealth but it seems we’ve turned it to greed and wealth
you needn’t help us, we’re well aware of our dire fables
So introspective, connected to all these wire cables
It’s all a fallacy, malice, I say it callously
no golden palaces, chalices, gleaming gallantly
In a million miles from now I’ll only be lurking
around the corner, working off a morning’s worth of insanity
We talked about how art means more than critics do, how everyone’s a critic and even the good ones don’t add as much to this life as the people whose existences they live to justify. The point was raised that you ought to at least be an artist yourself in order to qualify as a critic, but that doesn’t really seem to be a requirement after all. Everyone’s a critic, but what good is that? What good does your opinion of public expression do for anyone else? Is that your expression, your power, to glean your purpose off of everyone else’s? Shameful. I don’t listen to music or read a book or watch a movie because some other arbitrary individual with a title of authority suggests that I ought to or ought not to, I do those things because I decide that they’re worth doing, or that the art speaks to me, and no one else can make that decision for me. So why does anyone feel the need to spend their time qualifying anyone else life over doing something with their own?
If I were impatienter I reckon I’d be stationed somewhere…different from here, sure, but that means nothing as it sits. If things were different, things would be different. If I were less inclined to let myself be happy… more maybe that’s precisely the problem, and I’m only running in circles from myself, to be ‘successful’ or be ‘happy’… as if it were even a question worth asking. Masking your bullshit, the bullwhip’s got me pulled in and there’s profits on the line, stocking every dime, stop! there isn’t time. Binding, these mind games, wishes never penny-tossed for, many-crossed for, 3.25%. Blimey, what a time to be unwinding, right before my eyes a new environment in entirety, I see it shine and it inspires me, they could fire me and I’d wire the sum of my parts, no, more than that my common, two and essence back into my account of how this all ought to go, what we all ought to know, but are all too afraid of letting go. No more buybacks. No more life hacks if you just stay on the right track, act like you’re your greatest asset, facetous, masters are coming after us but what have they got on us, what do we think we need from them, aside from what we’ve already inherited, the greed of men, we bleed in the end intend to do something beautiful, useful with existence up to then. The tide is coming in and though we don’t know where or when, we ride it, glide but never bide or go outside it, we’re pirates, and life is an unmapped sea.
Measly me, seized the deed the dieties, to eternity, burn with me, for tomorrow you may live, and you’ll want to have a few decent stories to tell then. Fend for yourself, they tell you, as if it’s not the only thing you’ve ever done, as though living here means you’ve never run, well aware you were always the clever son but could they’ve made a better one? Better how, exactly? Someone more exacting, precisely civil forfeiture, torture, mortuary and no more. Boredom, sore cords in the throat, frozen open, totally silent. A recipe for violence, riled up little rhyme or reason craved heathens, depraved of even a time for being reckless, a crime for us to expect this life to be more than paid breathing to us, screw us, who us? Your brutal constituency, are you listening? Misdemeanor for tagging beams on the sidewalk while the guy talks about protecting coal mines, and I’m the dirty dealer. We don’t want to be what we were before, we want to be something new, better, whether or not we make it surely won’t stand to take any more of your improper-pander, slanderizing idealizers, scientists and final visions to halt the grimy emissions or at least incite the fines to drive these mindless men toward kind decisions, environment dying, buying ourselves a ticket to mars is about the lowest crime there is, time to ditch this shithole, fix ol’ red up for business, admissions exorbitant, commissions come forward my friends. Let’s end it here, or clear it up, dear god, steer us toward salvation from our own contamination, or make sure we don’t get far enough to fuck it up again.