home on the range

this desk is unfamiliar
this keyboard is a stranger
and my screen, like my fingers
seem haunted
the spirits are flowing
my eyes are dry
and the classical music is playing
i’m somewhat sober
and i feel more at peace
so of course it’s harder to write
but write we shall
cause what else is there to do
on this dreary spring hump-day
he’s been calling me to return
and so i defiantly obey

cat claws, green jars, and stale cans
remembering a dizzy night
the old man bellows
his tainted optimism
as canned poetry howls at a hollow moon
how we laugh and cry
at the boredom
of this safe and sacred life

freedom and slavery are so closely intertwined
as i seek this elusive cloud-form of the divine
no trouble to speak of
yet i’m half dead
living peculiar patterns
and lurking in this unreal world
the 9-5 life is no life
so i struggle
to maintain sacrilegious sanity
and a dangerous purpose
as revolution and revelation
beckon me to an obscene obsession

playing the game
sex as a symbol
like a wine drop stain
on a esoteric notebook
everything and nothing is hidden
trapped in a dream
or a distorted waveform
i try to write righteous and epic tales
fighting dimensional demons daily
as i seek
alternate reality escapades
because i am a specter of the night
grounded as a surreal subject of the day
yet, the grand mushroom is calling

waiting for love(undefined)
waiting for something to happen
fuck this flat existence
fuck these grey hairs
fuck this broken communication
that fuels the rules
of insane routine
and unreal reason
hope is just around the corner
navigating false idols and fast women
i speak to many
but only a few hear
my spectral songs

and i understand
that nature comforts
but it does not forgive (our many weaknesses)
time has no meaning
and what is this rabid fucking zoo?
i feel so many indifferent emotions
as i traverse cosmic expectations
of this animal kingdom
i need rhythm
i need..release

addicted, numb and half alive
humanity persists
like a dry fungus
waiting for a dead, wet, and decadent revival
life recedes and twists upon itself
as dis-ease and simple simulations
corrupt our collective spiritual ascension
i will never submit
to this trans-humanist nightmare
i will consecrate and consent to the grand creator

(thankfully)still fucking insane
i have a remanent of hope
because these wrinkles contain wisdom
and this soul wades in the waters of alter-life
focusing on renewal
and living in opposition
to all these false gods
as i drive towards
a luminous geometry
and the gift of gratitude

i think
therefore i am
so, light another cigarette
tip the glass
and breathe
for this message
is just the beginning


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