honestly, it may be time to stop, just give up man, you are way past your prime. you deserve so much better but you know, life is kind of the pits so you know, just shelter yourself from the harsh realities of everyday life and imagine a better world.
my name is the future. i came with a hook. i fought for salvation and ran off with my book. i consider the future and piss on the french. i seek the sun and i weep to the moon, i endure and i fight and i win to the end, and i fall back asleep and mendddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
we are given chances and we are given opportunities and sometimes we get a bit of both in our minds. sometimes those moments are necessary and we even seek them out if we mean to, or want to.
i was sitting there smitten and indulging myself. i was the silent considerate magnet. bent toward the door in shame. i was his friend i said. i was everybody’s friend. we were all friends so importantly, so vitally. we were all such dear friends.
no not at all actually, stories with murder and so appealing because they raise the stakes so quickly for all of us. we all get that getting murdered is a big deal. a really big deal. we stop and look at that or at least have a legitimate emotional reaction.
trying to let the hair down, banging out at the keys and giving myself a chance, the killer is waiting, his eyes are fierce, but i just wont tell a story that involves murder. i cannot wrap my head around that.
I am sitting all over and fitting the wall not even the sex would redeem us at all I calculate and middle and respond and I diddle but I am still completely unable to figure this riddle
on the ways ahead, we can only imagine, our selves so tired and raw from the production, but we can still confide in the future we hope to bring and the irreverence with which we want to live. a direction forward, a concept of locality, of finding the big in the small. I can only remember what I held together in my own mind, and what the patterns would be. I had only felt new and necessary, but still fortuitous to know what life would bring each day, and that the day would be fulfilling, rewarding, arduous work only considerable in eloquence by its very knowledge.