The fall came with the flames of a thousand screaming dreams. Seasons fold into themselves, all while the mad and hopeless rage against the hourglass. There’s magic in the air but it is as ethereal as your smiles have become. Innocence burned at the stake, as if it were something to be feared… as if it were something to be mocked. Vagueness is a survival trait wrought through the evolution of revolving doors and high-speed escalators.
From the couch you may become a party to murder and rape. Simple curiosity blossoms into a hate that has an unquenchable thirst for blood, and an appetite for vicarious acts of violence. Tragedy becomes a stage, whereupon all the actors claim their role and take a sadistic bow, leaving the audience dumbfounded in their own morbid wonder. How can one grieve, when the dead hold more life than the living?
An act of masochistic selfishness can leave the senseless with a reason to weep and scream and fucking rage against this brutal construct. The status quo has once again called your name, and just like the sad clown you are, you jump to attention. They ask of you to lay an egg, and you beg for what color would they like? They spit upon your pride and drag your soul through the dirt, yet you still insist to exist amidst the game.
My years here have taught me much, yet one lesson has always held prominence at the forefront of my mind. In a world gone mad, the man with the longest psyche evaluation is King. Don’t make me pull my file son. Don’t ask me to repeat where I’ve been or the things I’ve seen. Don’t ask me about loss, don’t ask me about love. Just respect the vastness you see in my eyes, and understand that while you’re standing there, thinking you see me… I’m a million goddamn miles from you child.
I’m a wisp of genius, blended with a solid insane base. I’m a ghost of a memory, a tale you only hear in passing. I’m the diamond buried beneath a million crushing pounds of black coal. I’m the street corner poet hocking lines in rhymes for a nibble of something better than humble pie. I’m anonymous, more unknown than the billions of obscure dreamers and fanciful foolish paupers, that have preceded me into the earth.
I am the human condition. I am the human sedation. I am the test. I am the grade. I am the beginning. I will be the end. This paper is my canvas, the words are my soul. Divine providence left behind in a scribbled mess of a thousand tattered notebooks.