My literature teacher once told me I was too "wordy."
I was reading back on some of my old journal entries today, and I realized that I never really write anything anymore. Well, I've written things, but nothing that could be considered real writing, or poetry. I thought to myself "why?" and I didn't have a good answer... So here is the first thing I've written in a few years, it's a Saul Williams/Aceyalone inspired missive:
I realize that this life is a realization of the ultimate trip which is neverending. I'm sending mind-bending postcards back from the black void of beyond as a form of mending the rending caused by a lack of understanding. A man deemed mortal could not stand under this demanding teaching without me reaching his heart and soul, breaching his whole paradigm to a place where space and time stands still. I fulfill human destinies at will, yet until I find my fate this mind state is detrimental, as an infinite soul locked in a mold cannot control it's unlimited potential. ...Let alone achieve a reprieve from this penitentiary, where they would have you believe that penitence is essential. This dimensional paradox is very vexing, but sex seems a good substitute for the absolute, so cosmic prostitutes stand resolute on the street corners while little Jack Horners penetrate their pie. Thus we spy spiders in the form of spiritual whores of Babylon babbling on their webpages, while I stand firm and return to the source code to confirm my exaltation. My third eye discerns that my high station is achieved by liberation from all limitations... But from this vantage point I must point out that I doubt the best is yet to come. So I time travel backwards to unravel the mysteries of history from which we flee due to the hesitation of the sixth degree of seperation. Fuck your medications, I libate great debates based on my meditations to make you vibrate with elation.
I realize that this life is a realization of the ultimate trip which is neverending. I'm sending mind-bending postcards back from the black void of beyond as a form of mending the rending caused by a lack of understanding. A man deemed mortal could not stand under this demanding teaching without me reaching his heart and soul, breaching his whole paradigm to a place where space and time stands still. I fulfill human destinies at will, yet until I find my fate this mind state is detrimental, as an infinite soul locked in a mold cannot control it's unlimited potential. ...Let alone achieve a reprieve from this penitentiary, where they would have you believe that penitence is essential. This dimensional paradox is very vexing, but sex seems a good substitute for the absolute, so cosmic prostitutes stand resolute on the street corners while little Jack Horners penetrate their pie. Thus we spy spiders in the form of spiritual whores of Babylon babbling on their webpages, while I stand firm and return to the source code to confirm my exaltation. My third eye discerns that my high station is achieved by liberation from all limitations... But from this vantage point I must point out that I doubt the best is yet to come. So I time travel backwards to unravel the mysteries of history from which we flee due to the hesitation of the sixth degree of seperation. Fuck your medications, I libate great debates based on my meditations to make you vibrate with elation.