Paint Chip Photons
By Neurosine
Archaic in matter, inconsistent splatters, on an open window sill, calls to me still, like magnetism, multitudes of stars in the sky, passing by, unconcerned with my wonder. Esoteric notions passing by, I'm worried, that I'm not in my own loop, can't quite understand my replies, to the infinite matter, 'cross the table, talking to me of the lies, of infinity, disdaining the sheep, shagging ass to some pretend order. You'd think they could be, some imbecile illumanati, babbels children, dropped on their head. They'd like the better butter, they'd like the better bread, they'd trade their soul for a chance to be great, but the illusions effectively fed. Greatness has been raped. Excellence quite out of shape. Transcendence trivialized, existence delayed, near demise waiting for some empty promise. Hey, Nothing's better than now. It's something, No one can replace, they just fuck with the frays, in hopes of personal gain. You're responsible for your way, paths and stains, characterize you, you're alive, please try, to attend to that truth. Strange paint, stranger proof, somehow, something unatainable through reason, reaches me, sunlight bathes. Written February 24th, 2002 © on Feb 24 2002 01:34 PM PST, Neurosine 0 • 10
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"Archaic in matter,..."