its hit slightly different this time,  perhaps its permanence has become the menace.  seven feet tall in all directions is the monster i cannot beat.  fleeing the feeding frenzy   everyone's meeting at the community information source that i have missed the boat on.  freedom is frighteningly easy to obtain by mere execution, but forever contained in the valley crevices, lurk more evil monsters with powers, the likes of which you have never seen.  at what cost have we seen the end? 

it was all funny how you knew yourself and everything was new to yourself.  infinite exploration develops parameters.  measuring myself against the sun, i have grown very little, after all, with various parts still trapped in its infancy.  its the thing you always mean to get to.  can't see much future  stranded in the past.  they still remain though, all those times that didn't happen, some of the best times of my life.  i have an inability to see myself as being real.  we rifle through the gun rack still tripping.  "you ever fired a gun?"  "not that i can remember."  it was in self defense . of myself.  i didn't break down, i compromised. and now i am one day farther from it.

ever holy and all knowing spirit elusive in existence, it as real as the bullet that came from the gun.  your memory echoes and  croaks in the distance near where the sun set.  at times you feel you have unraveled the mystery and defeated the challenge.  you see the fatal flaw before you become it, but it already draws closer and closer to the flickering flame until it becomes you.  i try to hold on the the physical world daring not to elaborate any more than i need to.  i save my strength as a weakness and give in to my convictions.  realism plays out on any good actor's stage, knowing that truth is somewhere between existence and beyond.  no simple phonics can reveal my true heart's conscience.  its a clear passage clouded with clarity.  its best not to over think what you have done and collect it for as long as time will let you.  if no mental picture can be contained in this frame, then you will have never seen what you're afraid of. 

catch my drift and walk in on my conversation brow beaten about the head.  you merely exchange yourself for another and so on and so on.  to say that we missed the purpose of unpredictability is reacquainting myself with the inevitable.  when you have to count forty loaves of bread, you start to wonder, can i be true to myself?  deep in the ravine, as i recall, trees blowing in the wind of the storm.  i was true to myself and laughed with confidence towards the future.  long ago is not so different than now.  its still on the same road that leads to where you grew up, but the physicality of memory is weathered and destroyed.  put an exclamation point and move on.  the greatest days of my life are set to random.

i vomited hard rock sugar candy in contrast to the liquid i find already on the floor. i am suddenly religious and promise to never do it again regardless of the space walks around the block totally immersed in my own orbit, "painting on rocks" as a good friend once explained to me. you cannot treat the past as you would treat the present playing capture the flag on alternate avenues. i have taught with much great experience to myself in many difficlut ways. i never experienced all of the great colors accociated with the setting sun, but have only witnessed them vicarously through my own perception nor have i founded my own source of ever lasting wisdom. maybe i have expanded to new depth, sinking farther and farther into further and further. oh what my father might have said at any given moment i approach with respect, maybe from a tree several years ago. its almost unbelievable, the amount of time i've spent already. days, at their fullest, seem half a day long at the most and i've had dozens and dozens of those sometimes feeling that yesterday didn't happen at all. but i mean it obviously did, i'm not trying to say that.

not sure if it was a side effect of whatever method i was using to go back in time when my father accused me of shooting up.  i dozed off trying to explain that it was the cat's syringe and that i had been drunk with my friends on the hill.  "hey, we're not done talking."  he said as he hit my foot, waking me up.  he has been deceased for several years.  somehow i was thinking of a memory and then placing myself inside of it after taking a mental picture which i could then see from various angles in 3-D.  so after spying on my friends on the hill, i eventually join them again in the past.  after hours, a car drives past full of teenagers who throw something at us and then drive off into the night..  feeling a bit paranoid, we run into the woods where it becomes apparent that we are being chased by something else.  eventually we come to a fence that is five feet tall with barbed wire on the top.  still being chased, we climb the fence and get over ripped clothes.  we then instantly come to another fence which is fifteen feet high with barbed wire on top.  there was no way we were climbing that.  it is between these two fences that we are then approached by an old man who informs us that he knows how i went back in time.  after looking more closely, i realize that it is mr brickner, my junior high school "technology" teacher.  he too had learned the technique and entered into one of my memories.

there are a couple of extremists that would like to lay their mitts on me. a few of the torch carriers that lead the way but can't see more than ten feet in front of them. you will get burnt out so not radically. shielding yourself from their vision, you escape narrowly through a passage of time. that's not the way it was always told, the roots of it buried deep beneath soiled earth. earth companion near, earth companion far, may you journey triumphantly through life step after step never regretting the sweat of immoral labor, never tear shedding round back after a loss. to you, you are, until you are no more. just the same old dust blowin around again. the same old destiny you've come to expect. the future knows not what it holds through its slippery hands, only the nothingless of preexistence and ooze, kissing yourself in that memory of yours.

win yourself amongst losers and lose yourself amongst friends, its the same old tell tale rattle the cage. even in my old age. i still feel young, strong yet unconscious. its the rain again spattering against the flames from the pan rattling the cage again. i've stood in so many places forever frozen in time as all my stuff collects a new layer of dust. my whole world is a museum untouched a bit by poisonous mold spores. its the kind of cycle that goes around and around but never completes itself. always a little off, one side or the other. how can you be exactly right with things that were made up in the first place? sustain yourself and live your life as if there was no question why.

you don't care to go up the stairs
looking at faces hiding in the door
second from the left
stabbed a man in the chest while holding his last breath
you wore a red dress to the parties that were best mesmerized
then i tore up the list
highest price gifts
neutral to nature mother
i'm partial to every other why bother
just to sell another lie
keep it on, if you keep it down, when you keep it down
all around great guy
then the magic changed when the static clinged
and the phone ringed like an african drum
you plead for peace from the west to the east
every little man sayin please


* contains a sample of "nothing but a heartache" by the flirtations

the utica flower company, in its brief history, spread its seeds and ashes across the silent era dance floors as time itself faded to black. the dandelion garden bends in the breeze by the greenhouse, as you ponder by the pond, wandering for hours on end through the tombstones until discovering a black and white television set plugged into the greenery. the sound is turned down out of respect for the dead, but it heals your head a bit to see it, though it is not out of place with itself. the flowers in the garden begin to grow and break in the breeze growing toward it. don't they know how fragile they are? you try to stop them, and turn away from the television. the signal fades. you gently pick up their petals and bring them by your nose. not one unwanted gift from the other. the television then tunes out, and i return to the pond, not knowing for sure if i will ever see my little friends again.