Lyrics: Hindered by sober restlessness. Submitting
to the amber crutch. The theme in my aching
prose. Fantasizing the sight of Manhattan;
that pour of a bitter red being that escapes a
thin frame. The rebirth of mutual love. The
slipping on gloves to lay tenderly.
"I'm dying."
- "Is it blissful?"
"It's like a dream."
- "I want to dream."
And so we press on, boats against the current. This is it... this is all that there is. Is that not brutal thought to ponder? To look around and realize that there's nothing else? If life does not inspire fright in a person, I'm doubtful of their connection to its reality. Life is raw, life is harsh. We fight, we struggle, we laugh, we cry- and through it all we try to convince ourselves that we're not empty inside. What futility! What absurd fantasy! Misery! Tragedy! Ephemeral race! So it goes.... so it goes... so it goes...
Vonnegut was correct there. Why ponder? Why wonder when the content of our realities are strewn with such misery and meaninglessness? Pragmatism is the most difficult of positions to strive for, and most of its practitioners are lairs... fucking liars! I hate math as much as the next guy, but at least math leads to a concrete answer. At least it provides some sort of sufficiency. I can understand why many great minds hide behind its alluring completeness. There's nothing complete about the human spirit. It fluctuates. It bends. It evolves. Nuance is not a compelling enough word to describe its contours.
I will be forever horrified at the words of Solomon:
What do people gain from all their labors
at which they toil under the sun?
4
Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.
5
The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.
6
The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.
7
All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.
8
All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.
9
What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
10
Is there anything of which one can say,
“Look! This is something new”?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.
11
No one remembers the former generations,
and even those yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow them.
Fuck these rappers and moguls. Solomon was richer and fucked more bitches than all of them. If Solomon was really the wisest man, then we're all fucked. "Regarding life, the wisest men of all ages have judged alike: it is worthless". Academics chortle at Nietzsche's nihilistic tendencies, but their cynicism is foolish. He was right. Thus is existence. What is knowledge but a a distraction? What is fucking but pleasure? What are relationships but arrogant lies- supposed transcendence of the parameters of reality? Suffering, suffering, suffering- all permeated... no drenched in lies.
Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?
I don't even hate idiots anymore. I covet. I covet ignorance. I want to feel again. Why do I say again? I often wonder if I've ever felt at all. I have no memory of sufficiency. There's little beauty in trying. Concession seems like a wiser thing to embrace.
These successful cunts are whores- sucking corporate America's cock. The tits had better dry up soon before we all drown in capitalism's evil. Or fuck it! Let's all drown so those of us who see the evil can scream and curse the fools who perpetuated the status quo. Loving their cars- as sexual as their mistresses- lost in translation, lost in the world.
Flashing mirages- lacking in substance- lacking in purpose. We individually pack our hearts like cheese- selifan wrapped souls, wracked with sorrow- bubbles of emotion- ready to pop- punctured by the slightest stimulus.
Escape or fall, stare at our scabs until they turn to scars and their noticeability diminishes. Until they match the complacent cream of our skin- faded memories of things past. Regrets and accidents. Fuck the world, and get fucked in return. Rape victims without therapy. I'm dying and it is quite a dream.
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