Intro

The most terrifying thing possible is to be confronted with absolute truth, an image or a thought in broad daylight, indelible, it cannot be described as a result of its pure wrongness. To see something that cannot be reasoned or described away to oneself or any witnessing the revelation. Once one’s eyes are open this wide, it takes many years of being lied to in order to attain normalcy once again, then we must ask ourselves if this is the life we want to live. Such is the way of honest, unnatural madness.

tabularch

you don't understand the sort of recreation i need

put me down in a big gray field with a little brush in hand

send your dog my way, i'll teach her how to be- free of charge of course

send her back and she'll sit good but oh it makes you wonder

i'll be that other half

i'll crawl in your ear and pick at your ideas

pull, extract, degrade, confound

and this will be my song each day

until i choose to lay down or He takes me by the hand

vivitar

Browsing one day in the gallery and I come upon. Eyes turn green with jealousy, the untouched canvas is white and fresh but oh how it has been covered since we last spoke. Since we last walked together that canvas is filling, my smiling face slowly crowded out by multiple unknown assailants of nobody in particular's creation. what do to with such a large building yet standing in front of a single frame that represents a single dead season. 

warm at night

barbed wire is my greatest asset and a big mean invisible alligator is my only friend

said the wanderer hunched over somewhere in the back middle left corner of the cantina

soft patches grew on his face left in in difference in a desperate attempt to formulate some sort of badge

his trail was not as dusty as it could have been, he only saw the ages and ages of dirt strewn out in front of him

give me water i am parched from the desert but he speaks little more though he has so much to think about

the man only discusses with the pure, pure sheets of looseleaf

he defiles them almost everyday with his nasty black pen black and smeared from his blackened hands, sooted by the fire

he has written so much on the fire, stolen though it be. he builds a totem to it every night and lets it die. 

I BUILD THE FIRE he screams, moans it next. he claps his hands together again and again and again to -show- the people to show them what he is capable of

the soot in the air would choke them if they were even breathing.

the sleepy fools in the bar fail to wake up, fail to take notice, they're covered in just as much dust as everything out

he pats the nearest sleeper on the back, those hands don't even bother to let that man know he'd been there

that majestic wanderer wouldn't give him the pleasure, they wouldn't even know how to take it but if you want to see him you will see the tall boy out at nights he will be crouching near a fire, afraid to lay his spine to the ground but not afraid to let that fire die if only for a day

stuck

this is how you know you're too deep. you're covered in glue and can't let go but you're stuck to a chair so you can't get off your ass and start that long long walk