Whisper unto the decaying death trees.
Desperate and apathetic
dreams of serenity and bliss
magnified and hightened
like a drug;
like heroin
pulling and reeling you in.
A tear splattered,
an undignified shatter
cutting my life;
slicing and dripping,
crimson blood oozing cherry hearts.
And when the
ghosts of the dead start roaming the machines
it may be time for you to throw yourself into the
elaborate swirls of the sun the
binding and intertwining
of
tangerine and lemondrops
and
life will not weild a yield sign for you.
She utters a shuddering plea and a
call for cease fire.
Blind polka dots
and
deaf tulips dare to befriend one another
in a
world where the
pink tree flaunts an idea that may be of value
to this
popularity contest
to this
media blitz
binding with blazing bright white blinding light
in the eyes of the youth.
Where the
average blase mind game resides,
devoured by what sells itself in the
best dramatic fashion.
Suddenly life holds a faux passion
and
while the majority of youth
glam themselves
and
pour makeup like a
pot of tea
onto their faces,
there is another sect of
abnormal youth.
These young delegates
consolidate and
liquidate
intellectual ideas that
flow from their engorged minds to their
soft yet
trained lips to
combat worldy issues of
signifigance and stance;
not like that of the media trance.
Motivate a dance
alluring to the human being and soul.
Dare to make a stand and defy the trend.
The brainwashed evening will eventually give way to Differential meaning
and purpose.
We are not your puppets;
your marionettes on lifes stage
forced to be a follower in the entirety of this life;
a marching maggot that never knew.
Propaganda painted me a pretty picture;
a prophecy of perfection on the eve of dignity
and an
opening of desires gate but
as it just so happens
the gate is rusty and its
hinges are stuck.
If you take a closer look
you'll see
perfection has barricaded herself inside the house
with the rusty gate
and
dignitys evening disappeared into the stars.
And now we cannot reach them;
an impeccable impossibility
isn't it?
Who is
after all
to say what is doable
what is fantasy
what is absurd
obscure
intelligible?
If i choose to wish upon a star
my fantasy will
become
a reality
and who are you to tell me otherwise?
It is
I tell you
possible to thrive from the unicorns pensive blood
and to
live in death bestowed upon by the vampires kiss
and furthermore
if I so choose to have a Romanian dragon of whom breathes hallucinogenic fire,
that wish
is
my
own
command.
Fulfilled by my passion
my longing
my determination
and you may think that this is utterly mad
but I am able to counter this accusation by pointing out the simple fact
that
you
do
not
exist.
I can blink my eye
redirect my mind
focus my energy
flick my wrist
and suddenly I am the intelligible;
the epitome of sanity;
the focal point of understanding.
How does that make you feel?
A generic question that flings iself carelessly at your
nullified face
and the answer, no doubt
will be decoded in the teachers addition answer key,
where all lifes little issues seem to propose solutions
or so i'm told.
For once
doesn't it seem
like it's time to face the world
and demand a dammed answer that outreches the ordinary.
Still awating that defining
"ah-ha!" moment
where the threads of society all across this planet sew themselves together
(forming a blanket kinda like the one i used to hug when i sucked my pacifier)
and propose a
life-altering manifestation
and harmony is he key word here.
Let's become one for a moment,
for all eternity if deserible,
and entertain the notion that
world peace was an issue;
something that it seemed
like we
were actually striving for.
Let's create a love circle,
pass around a peace pipe and
smoke yourselves into an era of commonsense
and I
strongly believe
if we
let the hippies reign in government
the world would
embrace us.
Tuck us in at night.
Present us a glass of water.
Maybe then the distance would cease to sound with
chaotic explosions;
devastation and destruction of our mother nature perhaps
little children would be "edumacated;"
elimination of global illiteracy?
Would the AIDS epidemic be assulted and locked away in the deepest depths of a grimy dungeon so that in time suffering would prove to be an impossible thinkability?
Probably not.
But they sure would try.
Am I crazy?
Do you think me mad?
Perhaps you are insane in this monologue.
How do
we decipher this?
Who is truly to say what is normal
and what is not?
What if he who wrote it
was insane himself?
How do we truly know that
you yourself are not
living such a
secluded life;
sheltered life,
that
everyone and everything aren't talking about you?
Your insanity?
your imperfections.
Can you hear them eating green
and
see them drinking B flats and C sharps?
Can you speak to the trilliums and
ask them if they are aware of the secrets of the Bermuda Triangle?
We all,
in short,
must be
weary.
For the
probability of being thrust into
whitewashed padded cells
encompassed in jackets that force you to
hug yourself and
entertain the notion that you love your
cheery little self,
is increasing.
But let's rewind for a moment
back to the part where the question of my sanity was posed
and
then i'll nod my head
and
give the "ok" sign with my
thumb and pointer finger creating a
dilapidated circle and my
remaining fingers outstreached.
A declaration of my retardation
because that is what you are if you
choose not to
question,
to
think
for
your-
self.
There is no wrong.
There is no right.
There is only what your mind creates.