Perpetual Adolescence

A blade of sunshine slicing through our humble game. I don't dare overstep what has been created, the outcomes of such foolishness is already known.

I always live in fear of having no control. The common notion of a lack of control of one's life reflecting failure is absurd. If you are deemed worthy only of victory is that not comparable?

What has become of me, of us, of this situation. The perpetual adolescence of our lives is harrowing yet utterly incandescent, such beauty staves off change. I do it for you, precious angel, too pure for this world. Take heed, earthly temptations of the flesh only sour the external and impure creatures are loathe to look skyward. Fly, fly from this place! Knowing the greatest feats of humanity were accomplished for angelic souls like you.

Utopian Riddles

Its haRd to cry for help, when you can only speak in euphemisms.

Stumble into heaven, before the cyclic radiance envelopes you. One always holds their caricature in the utmost neutrality. Orbit around them, angels. In the grAce of the clouds we gaze , their opacity equal to that of concrete. Where is the ecstaCy of being so high that you can't remember there's something worse. recoil, hesitate and. Liberate your niChe, Its diverting but, have you ever tried to stomp the lose button only to find it's malfunctioning. You don't know whether to laugh or cry. Then find it's really just clichéd. We proclaim jokes, but we must stop deciphering the riddles of how we keep the feeble below, and just use it to our advantage, just enough to make us forget.

Nothings haRd

Thirds words of each sentence possesses rankings. 1 2 3

Metalcolly

Witnessing the excrescence of what you adore is a trying bestowal. Watching as the blood slowly cascades down your arm, knowing full well that it will soon reach that hand, the fingers, and drip, drip upon the floor, drip upon the lifeless soul from which it came. Your thoughts have grown into somewhat regrettable actions. It can leave a bad taste in your mouth, like drinking 6 bourbons then running 10kms. Metal the fuck up and go listen to Vulgar Display of Power.

Climb

How would you react if you saw a man with no eyes walking into a bottomless pit surrounded by laughing miniature trees with malicious toothless faces. Would you first react to the image painted in your direct field of view, would you try understand the predicament that lends itself to such an effigy, would you question the absurdity? I suppose you never fully understand anything. 

There's nothing more beautiful than originality of the human mind when spawned from within,  truly internal manifestation. Conversely, nothing will drag you deeper into the morose depths than finding out that the idea was planted by another. An evil bud sown within, can grow, take over and leave you crippled by it's branches like a derelict barn on the prairie.

Avoiding such pitfalls is an easy game for the strong. You simply must question everything, especially your own mind.  Like a finely tuned of an imported sports car will turn to scrap metal if it isn't serviced, like a dog will become diseased and vengeful once abandoned, like you will turn to bloated filth if you eat only from the freezer, keep it in check wide-eyed youth.

the terrace

I see the sheep walk in a disjointed but flawless unison. Oblivious to the binary outcome facing them, to be shawn or to be slain. How do they not see what is to become of them. Caffeinated beverages of Italian name in cardboard cups keep them high enough in a legally and socially acceptable manner, high enough to forgot how much they hate themselves. Look to the sky, the rain is falling, instead of cleansing this crowded wasteland it just adds solute to the cesspool, mixing all the blank stares into one.  Or am I far too naive, is this everyones fate regardless of geographical location. Fuck that.

Speculation

Is there luminescence to be found at the conclusion of this linear passageway?
A man I knew once spoke of the road we all think we must travel, he said, if you believe is to be a road you will find an ending. However, if you accept that there is no road, your destination will be nothing and everything......

On occasion, such nonsense relapses into some majestic parable. I think the more troublesome part is not deciphering the words but rather understanding the reasons why we interpret things in such a way. I don't  talk of finding contentment in simplicity or trying to revert to some primal manner of existence.

I know you think about rhythms of the sea, of the ocean. Can you see the rhythm of humanity? Where are we now, are a verse, chorus or bridge? Was the renaissance a solo on an ibanez? Was world war 2 a drum crescendo? Are we a bass line fill as it often seems, something deliberately dull to make the next scene more powerful? Or are we the fade-out? all instruments and vocals reducing in volume to silnce.

Do I try convince myself that I talk in riddles to add color to an otherwise morosely monotone world?
The quest for comprehension of my drivel merely acts a proxy for you to ascend higher into the unending skies of what?, maybe knowledge, maybe detachment. It doesn't matter, as long as it keeps you occupied,

Concluding

A bright clear 35 degree day, Waves crashing at moderate swell of one metre. Aesthetically flawless girls on the beach periodically gazing out to sea, they see me here, gently bobbing to the waves, Duck dive another wave with ease, pop back up for a breath and see the faces on the beach, looking slightly more distant this time. As if I'm suddenly a hundred yards further away, how odd, turn and duck under another wave... except this time fail to surface as intended. I gasp with unprecedented force, taking in a colossal mouthful from the infinite supply of sea water. Unable control my legs, can't orientate myself, a sense of weightlessness and detachment overwhelms me in this enthralling circumstance afflicting my person.

Finally surface after my longest ever duration binding my breath, I see the faces on the beach again, they appear closer than before. All of them now fixated on my vicinity, arising with haste and approaching the waters edge. However, its the blue eyes of a blonde haired elegance seize all my assiduity, fixated with far greater authority than those stares from the adjacent forms, their alacrity becomes obscure in the periphery of such beauty. I see only her, surrounded ominously by an encroaching scarlet hue. A hue which now covers her face, her beautiful eyes, as does the water... I fare thee well, kind maid, You make it all worthwhile.