just some more things to ponder at intervals of around eighteen
sometimes i honestly believe that everything i have ever derived composition from in my life can be traced back to nothing more than a scrimmage for control. is the concept of control as 'trite' as the people who dictate 'trite-ness' let on? (and who gives said dictators the power to prescribe such words, anyway?) i don't know yet, and i don't know how to know yet, and i am weakening in fear at the elegance of our duality. your spirituality and your stressors; where do they come from, what do they come down to? daily i set out, equipped (two condoms in an altoids tin, plastic half-dollar shot glass, over-exalted cancer buffet, portrait of the artist, wit and intellect, and all other sorts of bad-ass paraphernalia) to be found by a war whose outbreak see-saws violently, and deceivingly (an entire atmosphere!) above my head (taking the form of just some carbon-copy petal, unknowing of its soon-to-be cosmic destiny, fluttering from some carbon-copy daisy-in-the-sky that some Jehovah or another picked from the endless daisy-masses, as he mindlessly pulls at it, whispering, "she loves me, she loves me not.................").