The smokestacks contrast the green and rise like enormous grey fingers stretching into the sky. Into the clouds they point, into the skies of employment. A blue collared horizon welcomes every one of us. Beckons our contributions. Some come for the human wilderness, some come for the opportunity.
I came just for the view.
I came to smell the sweaty skin of
With a flicker of indifference and a small spark of genius, I framed the world with my fingers and called it mine. I called it hers, and we began ours. A traveling bunch we became, through stairs and stairs of buildings and buildings. We were looking for a dream which traveled faster than we could. Faster than I wanted to go. Rushing, rolling, pushing, pulling. The formless fingers of consequence pulled the strings of conscience tighter as we went. I wanted this broken reality, I brought us here. Where?
To where we are.
It started making more sense as we moved. The February air misted our faces and our cold stiff hands joined, a basket of white knuckles. A short-term promise of each other’s salvation. Through stores and stories, and endless visual conversation converging and reminding me that she was infinite. Dozens of figures passed on either side, dodging us, hands still holding, hoping and wanting at length to escape the cold.
A comfortable silence.
Euphemize my life, its what I’ve always done. Things aren't so bad.
so bad.
melodrama takes over, and the trappings of youthful disillusionment fade into adult incompetence. bound by English.
bound by grammatical syntax. i am no artist, and even words fall limp in my lap.
grammatical impotence?
enough of the phallic references.
I’ve been thinking.
I’ve been thinking.
Everyone wants so desperately to believe, or have someone believe they are special. we all want someone, almost anyone to recognize the talent we wish we had.
We want someone to see something in us that no one else does.
But, we do. We knew it was there all along, we've all cultivated some facet of our individuality so as to prompt praise and appreciation. we want to be known.
Even the most independent of us wants to be known.
If we could choose what we were to be known for, what would it be?
I think I want to be everything.
Validation through disconnection.
Leave me alone she says, leave me alone. This, supposedly is what we all want. Our higher purpose can be summed in these three words.
Leave me alone.
i want to believe more than i do. Take that how you want it. I’m just being honest.
Accidentally honest. An aspiration of the gods. To be honest, to be true to yourself first, is mans plaguing problem. The thorn we were born with.
bandages bleed through, and stitches lose suture.
in the end, we are held together by our own hands, by our own faults, by our own truths.
what is truth? truth will be discussed on a later date friends.
truth is what we want it to be to us.
validation is disconnection.
if we aren’t here, if we do not belong here, we cannot ever be right with this world.
i wish this made a scrap of sense.
