Journal Entry 1: Snowflakes.

 Reconvening, in and out of reality, was a single man's thought. Oh, how this man was confused... There seemed to be pearls in his eyes one moment, and the next he were to be in a not-so-lovely place. Things just happened around him. Thoughts were splashing on a canvas in his mind. People from different corners of his social group gathered as he entered a new reality. Piles upon piles of emotions developed in a single notion. And then poof, feeling still remaining, but experience readjusting for a different life. And suddenly, sitting again here comes the unreal, doubts crossed his mind as he rose to the tower tops of the world. The only thing he had to blame was everyone and everything. He hated all as he put all of his twigs of doubt, reluctance, hatred, annoyance, guilt, deceit, and evil all bundled up next to a stone of his root. He burned this pile of twigs, and watched as they manifested in hallucinations of different times and places. In one eye, he saw his father suffering,

It's A Stats Game

Wake up, interim afoot Slow down, the silence is endearing. There's blood shed on the porch It's Thursday once more Grasps, rattling at the floor And here stands that assurance for tomorrow Peaking through the clouds The sun arises And peaking through my brows My eyes open to the fog. Heavy hearts of the percocet Blinding shadows of death in my sight And firing, barrages of love and harm Emotions rattling my core Fast bullets fly in my kitchen The stool falls to the floor I can't live like this I will die before I lie. My heart is piercing my eardrums God please forgive my thoughts, But I don't believe in you. Restless geodes dancing in the air, I can't tell if they're real. Spinning, swelling tears of a man And happiness of a war left me. There lay on my back, a receipt Five ninety-nine for a prime specimen The money spent on boozed dreadful women Beckoning calls from the sky To the director of events Whom thoughts of cheery concerts rushed in their head. Black

The Tax of The Poor

  Grumbled rumbling of the mountains in the air tumbled and fumbled all through the lair. In the lair stood a man on his deadline, three hours and thirty before his adult prime, and listening, thorough, and beautiful sorts, out of his pocket his last wealth short of a full, and glistening in his eyes, tumbled and fumbled through his prime. How he stood, grasping his look, and ferocious precocious ashes and soot, gathered on his brow, and low and behold his damned fatted cow was yelping, spinning, and breathing his heads deeper meaning, leaning and gleaning, creating a different breeding ground for his death. How he differentiated his time and money, this man couldn't tell what was funny when he looked around and saw, fat thick browns and the law stated he wouldn't be allowed to be poor anymore, for he would have to be looked at by the ones that wore Gucci and breathed the same air that he breathed. The homeless innate to his health brought upon him lack of wealth, a


Wailing deep shouts from the top of the roof, how have we lost this part of us? There he was, with primal emotions of the anthropology of humankind. Forget what we have decided is fine, this is what it is. Nature will be nature, how should you shout to make it retreat? It will never listen, it will eat your ears. The wisdom found in nature isn't what we find in our urge to fight. No, nature is our soul. We can ignore it if we want, but it won't ignore us for long. We will believe things to be real when they aren't, we will divide our souls into its many parts. We will be what we think we should be, and yet, underneath our search for truth, we are there with our fucking nappies. How should the soul believe truth when there is no such thing? Sitting, stroking our locks of hair, we have indeed been deemed  the soul finder's truth. We are  the laughter in the forest, and we have lost  this part of us. This individualization and root understanding comes with a

Father Time vs. The Human Race

Space Cadet - Mary Doodles (CHECK HER OUT!)      Beauty leads in the same light we have bread. Stemming from the vultures of time we have been reformed to our setting. Sitting across the Galaxy was a rumination, and that rumination formed differences of opinion. Sometimes, things seem a bit haywire. Sometimes things are explicit. Wherever their tastes, the gods of the eleventh dimension have approached us without ease. They used broad strokes to formulate our character.      Crazy to think, how in this plane we are interdimensional beings of the same type. It's crazy to imagine one day how different it is from the next, simply because our mind's eye isn't stable. It's crazy to imagine that it's not crazy to imagine world torture being dominant in cultural exchange and attitudinal shifts of consciousness. It's crazy, that we are just crazy.      The world works in a beautiful way. Staring at the mo

The Fear of Fear

When those of us whom lose everything, when we lose who we are internally and we lose our love of the world, we aren't able to return to normal. We aren't able to be who we were anymore. We know what it's like to be at the bottom of our rung, we know what it's like to lose our humanity. I have found this knowledge to be useful, the experience of detriment cannot be replicated through language. Discovering your death doesn't mean you must die, it only means you must not live.  Discovering your death will leave you dumbfounded with society. It will haunt the very core of your being. It will make you afraid of change and of hope. After being dead, you realize something: hope is a catalyst to loss. Loss bleeds through your skull day in and day out. Your hope will be lost, and it will die in the same vein that you lose yourself. Hope is the one thing that drives you to a distance, but that distance isn't stable, and acknowledging this can be the most disgusting thing

Sip On This Gin Rin

  Sip on this Gin Rin, It's time to wake up. Gather around and I'll pour you a cup. I want to know something so deep and divine Something only a pretty girl like you could refine Yes what is it? I'm sitting all ears, The light is too dimly lit, And you can spare me the cheers. Well, I'd like to know how you feel in this place And how your mind is within it's own space Is it just me or is it me too, I'm sitting on this chair without a clue. I can tell you certainly, And listen up, Your eyes shine pertently  Now pour me a cup. But what is it about your reigning image? I can't figure out what it is that's damaged. Is it my love for you Or my hope? Or do you see yourself with a rope? My and my, deer Beneto, Sit on the couch and clear your toe, You've given me something to ponder, And it's something that you will forever wonder Because I am here And you are there In this trivial pursuit, Now dash to your right hemisphere and toot For I wil