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It turns cold when the sun sets and we are able to say it is a better way for us to live. Bare feet running against the concrete. Loud noises about town. It surfaces and leaves us barren. Who took us there. Emotions it seems run parallel to the glass ceiling. Before it breaks we rule out all options and strive for normalcy amongst each other. Care to explain the pact you made with those at the bath house. It is a scent of will to task us to lift the youth by natural standards. It is a source of sour tastes and loud eyes that are rulers that gesture to the cow fields. We stalk them to greater heights.
Nov 1, 2024
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after All, every town becomes abandoned , a ghost, a husk of it's lifetime preserved in the chemicals Of light appearing on our Dark reflection. Isn't it horrifying ? fleeting Alike to the river Unrelenting upon the dirt Washing away every misconception of Life in the soil. We will become but ghosts and relics of a time of hope. our Lives predict the future ! O Boy.
5d ago
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It’s easy to condemn the world of QR code menus, HR talk, and big-box stores as bleak. It’s a reflex to be revolted by the sterile dust that now seemingly coats every corner of the Western World. Blue pill or Red Pill, I guess. When the only alternative seems to be outright populism. There seems to be a lethargic and sneering shadow that nips the heels of every passer-by. Isn’t easy to be ironic. Isn’t it easy to hold an air of apathetic sardonicism. Isn’t it easy to curse the cage we are locked in, only to tighten the bars in fear of what lies beyond. If Emily Dickson claims that “hope” is the thing with feathers, I wonder what she will make of the bird who clipped its own wings. Be brave, I think. Take courage to revolt against the programmed norm to hate and to despise. See beauty in the perfect cubes of Chocolate Milk cartons, find humour in the abrupt slopes of beer bellies. You haven’t even lost your skin elasticity yet, maybe you should just go fly a kite.
Apr 17, 2024
