fausto
drawn upon the hollow earth here you sit all high and mighty cupped by grass warmed by sun emperor upon thy conscience tyrannical abusive abusive abusive flogged and withered scarecrow propped by seeming standards of success.
we will never be content.
(i mean that in a bad way yes)
there must come a moment where you renounce all pretensions and expectations and acceptance of the rules. there must be a formal informal surrender to chance where you will simply not know what happens next and where most paths ahead are bleak void of productive conclusions all blurred within without each other.
crush break rip all you want violent response to conformity self-imposed—you have chosen aware—why bother n fight? warrior tendencies less than berserker more raging at chance world consequences self.
there is no true you—
—no true magical identity.
troubles you go through are damnable yet appreciated by the bleak-eyes that gives no value added double plus plus you do not speak their language try however you might learn to toki pona no tu suli.
you brought this upon thyself whips cracking the blood will fly as long as it flows—accept. harrowing to come no shame in it no shame in the tribulations of a mind gone begging for scraps of meaning purposes like porpoises slowly coming slowly going feeding off the richness of the sea an abundance of variety but you are no fisherman.
what then is your trade? you are no thinker you are no fighter you are no athlete teacher talker writer musician director consumer creator hunter gatherer special unique intelligent marauder interesting lover philistine sycophant faustus marlowe morrison minority majority oddity.
tortoiseshellskullcap atop your head below your head protection against the environment anything other than your own biosphere planet planning for greatness never will come an ethic driven towards mediocrity predisposed advocate for a columbian expansion stopping short havana no cigar.
burns branded onto skin by shadows of thy—
julesvernetourdumondechckseeyamon—
—what?
why—
—do
—you
—write
—like
—this
record your own existence by way of thought process yet corrupted under/by influence of those you wish to become as if.
how much of your creation is actual emulation immitation derived and impregnated by meager experience as an excuse to make a mark and say
yes
here i stand stood
among the weeds of oderstrasse—me.
you know you are not good at forward thinking.
you know you get caught up in bursts of emotion.
you feel as if they might offer final escape that the critical step once taken will bring future walls come crashing down as your own interior model of berlin spring.
breathe.
in——out.
you closed a door you opened a window this might be the fresh air you need a bed a bike a dog train for what will come and then make sure blood will spill and nourish the ground it falls upon choose another hero malaria comes from africa wouldn’t that be a sight to endure climb the mountains out of yourself there mio coppi.
make no sense / cover the miles ahead.
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