Voidwalker

If you remove the television, the computer, the car, the phone, the family, the job, sex, relationships, food, games, possessions, books, libraries, drugs, eye contact, housing, what do you have left?

It is here you will find the core of man. Not to be masochistic, so at least the warden lets you walk around the block.

While walking one will naturally find their void. It is what you do with that void which makes you who you are. Who you really are. No vices nor virtue, societal labels and graces: there is no suit to zip up in on this samsaric departure and phone to Becky to push the meetings an hour later.

It wouldn’t be surprising to look down and find your torso gone. Phantom legs for each step. You’re welcome to walk through the A/C districts, whether Target or some gas station. Even though you’ll forget how to buy anything.

The further you dwell in this half-realm and though you can see others so frantic to move this way and that, so you begin to realize how much a relief it is to have anything take your time, until there’s nothing to relieve.

This is what it means to become immortal, psychopathic too. Arms fall extending midnight’s skyline devour, and with each sway one swallows every ounce of air between. Walk with Jesus Christ, let him watch as your sense of self entirely collapses.

How can anyone have an opinion at all on anything shall only befuddle you. But you get to see a slice of heaven, perhaps.

And how people format their words no longer makes sense. But something will format yours. Lay down and let the Sun scorch you til a print on the pavement.

Rise again and claim the whole world.