Find an interest, then throw yourself into it they said. OCADHDHDACO I’m still trying to clear my head
enough to start looking for my Self. Books on my shelf, music til i’m dead, nature hasn’t stopped me yet: writing the self-destruction, healing the death of life…
my matter does not matter. By morning i’ll have lived a hundred years the frozen river of progress, Thai food and poisoned blood. A great and stupid fuck. Half-melted grey and bristling with the soft silver-white hairs of progress…peripheral, problem and solution in the same life sentence, where they constantly co-exist…mired in the funk of peaches and cancer.
Facebook status quo. Twittering with excitement as you Google the afternoon sky.
Progress equals faded wall-paper…
the crunching wheels of forward motion through the skulls
And i am you, a broken branch out over the road, spilling off into the sewer grate, mingling
down with the ooze and discarded dreams of a mouse named Harold and a fish named Gill…
they try and try but still they rust along with the metal of their steam. Condense A shun.
Confirm the wurst and damn the light…forever night. Forever plight, no reward, save
the few strands of gold in your pouches…pocketsful of promise
you hum your favorite song.

Breaking through the crust, the new flower sprouts its best morning smile…
and is met with the derision of a thousand blights on the face of a diamond, grinding its
self-awareness into a mushy-paste of paint-thinner and oatmeal…the hardened crust of fine
silt gone rigid with the pepperings of insensitivity.
Blood coursing through the pipeline into a war-torn city of deleted hope…
where all the buildings are shaped like the fallen heroes of our yesterday.
A haven of shaven heads and balding grey ( there should be a Spaulding Gray pun here…)
there already was.
Are we so miserable that we can’t move on?
Claim a new revenge on our selves…
This new season, a glimpse into the absolute zero of this present from the future past.