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More from ~lucidpants

YhwOne knows that there's no answer but one feels compelled to ask.
The question feels so natural as one goes about their tasks.
Some people hit the bottle or the needle or the flask
as the question it consumes them until there's no turning back.
You force one to confront you, world, you force one to submit,
as one starts to see they're really you, bit by bit by bit.
InterplayTo those of us for whom the universe seems to have chosen:
See that the perspective you've been given is not frozen.
Unwrap that understanding then, and stand under it, too,
As nothing but a simple trans-mission from me to you.

The salt that fires neurons take with your interpretation;
What I've said may only 'fect you if its 'presentation
Resonates the levitations and flotations of your mind;
Influenced, and framed by fate, but surely one a kind.
WouldThe pressure and the ringing, antithetical to singing, slowly slivering the seething of this most unwanted teething, clear the ram-parts. Watch the dust swirl where the feet no longer tread and the winds blow unbuffeted by apish form instead, leftover tendencies toward competition never quite resisted by petition for a more careful existence. Hard to see this.

Stream of conch-ousness, the sealess bliss of memorandum activus, the way the words cadence and twist but never stretch to stress or slip, the way the feeling fire soars to rhythms and patterns of yore, tempus from the salty shore, beats that know not what they're for, but simply are,
Tears From The Compound EyeIt was a desperate and noble attempt, for sure. No one could guess if it would succeed. They were to fly a reinforced blimp over the area blasting the Boards of Canada song, Tears From The Compound Eye, on several enormous megawatt PA systems to see if it would affect the progress of the relentless and, at this point, utterly pointless battle below. Nothing more than pride was keeping them going. The testosterone was too high, and nothing could stop these beasts in their full-on bloodlust. Save for, maybe, Boards of Canada.
MettleA ringing has begun inside my head that will not go away.
It's gradually clearer that it's something that is here to stay.
Peeling at my mind with a forceful gentle flaying, it's
A constant shallow scream that renders silence beyond saving.

Lessons in this life's complacency surely force me to see,
That we can only pave our streets with borrowed energy.
The line I thought by luck alone was fair and straight will twist,
Bending toward a rule of ground that must constantly shift.

Unexpected instability, unseemingly abating,
Will let me, when distraction of greater peace, appreciate
The serendipity that helps define to us our grief,
A
RemindThe fevered glances 'round the room, the walls adorned with eyes
Eyes that stare unflinchingly, projected from inside
Twisting turns of colds and burns, unchosen circumstance
The pins and needles in the air will beg perspective's chance

No event that happens is intrinsically unjust
But fear is found that this psyche has become too much
Schizoidal nerves are too aware and urges spread too thin
Difficulties conjuring security within
It's all in how the look is looked, but looking's looked at too
This meta-spective meta-shit is ruining the stew

Now how to find the pattern that will do my being kind
To meditate the agitate out from the

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November 19, 2012
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