Something I’ve always distanced myself from was coming off too intense, high-strung, however you want to label it.
Did find some success, and however gently the moments go, nevertheless it keeps festering. Festers a festering to fester.
I can feel the ethereal hands – ones you could feel when you rest still enough – form as iron even if they’re tapping the keyboard. It’s like holding the torch which defines generations; which justifies nothing but still persists: I will destroy and rebuild everything.
I’m not sure where this destructive force comes from, but it just builds and builds even if I look away from it. Even if you got a cutesy laugh about it all there’s this hidden benign fury which waits to flatline civilization. The story of Faust and the modern American circuit sometimes align. I think that’s a real funny story in a way. Inundated with plenty of ideals but once you do your first business deal you understand.
It bubbles up most often when one is forced to confront the folly by which most things move; the folly by which most things continue to move. Of course it is that way, but why is it that way? And if it just has to be that way, then I will continue to make a personal hell and spite everything.
It’s either you’re waiting to be eaten by the Creator or you decide to bite into its calf – maybe with enough mutant sickness so squirrels morph into cerberi.