at the youngest of ages, at the adolescence's turning swing, at the towering height of adulthood, and moreso upon the lowest of grounds, the shittiest of moments, when i doubt my own being to the fullest extent, when i am silly and distracted, ignorant and arrogant, tangent-wise and world-small, when i love more than i should or hate more than appropriate, you bring me to a simple rite for time well spent. you, oh, giver of a firm absent-minded ideology; you at the conclusive point to every sentence; you who whispers so matter-of-course/matter-of-factly, "but this is how IT IS." you who gives the baseline; you who struts the final mile, laughing at everyone else who stopped to catch the breathe of the trees; you who gives manmade hieracrchy, taxonomy, category, definitions a physicality then points to it as its own proof; you who shows me monsters are real shining a smile in your face, not scowling under your bed; you who has stolen the fingers of so many, the minds of so many, the voice of so many, the earth of so many, ingested and spewed back out the cultures of so many, the precious time of so many, the LIVES of so many ... and continue to promise progress of such lofty degrees; it may reach the highest levels of consumption with only these small error ratios, insignificant details, unfortunate setbacks ...

and you do all this without fear of where or why or how ...

this is for you ... oh, fast-talking machine, of the great void of organized organisms, oh, bougeousie facade, baking white bread just so you could show everyone you can eat like the thinned down aristocracy you conquered so many useless revolutions ago, so many trends of the bloody days ago, so many splurges of animalistic rages ago ... yet you still deny what is obvious to anyone, even you, actually it has become the joke of the day to wash away shaking fear ...

i spent the last two decades of my life, wondering why it was required of me to be you for any cultural substance, wondering why my abstractions held some lesser value, even hostile reproach, compared to larger more nonsensical approaches to meaning, significance, symbolism, and above all abstraction. why it was that i had no ground in things that seemed natural and REQUIRED of anyone desiring to be human ... why even after i had been more dedicated to my personal studies than most anyone i knew, suffered it day and night, jumped over the holes of insanity to find, denied myself and destroyed everything i knew just in case, spent hours upon hours searching, collecting, fighting, discussing, looking, practicing, waiting ... was told i was somehow lazy and self-indulgent for wanting to exist truthfully and to my full mental extent ... was told that since i could not speak it with conviction, could not live with it without drugs, could not believe in this mass ideal of progress or consumption or apocalypse that i was somehow odd, stupid, dreamy, careless, arrogant, dark, decieved, liberal, scattered, manic, insane, or in any other word easily dismissable and better off homeless ... unattached

even if society had no appreciation for talent or intensity or idionsyncrasy or desire anymore, it still accepted and had use for a warm body and an empty mind to fill with prescriptions and cancer drugs and peace of mind insurance and sprickle war just for flavor to confabulate ...

i do not understand why this road had to be so hard ... i knew it would be and that is fine, but what i mean i suppose, is why i must continuously prove to everyone i am just as productive in my own immaterial ways than most could grasp ... objectifying everything, telling everyone they can have anything they ever wanted if they just become materially wealthy seems to be the only answer ... no, you can't have everything with mindless labor, with a quick smile and an ease with bullshit walking, no you cannot be yourself and buy yourself at the same time ... no, you cannot have everything you ever wanted and not be owned by it ... i am a product of my own will, which is a feat indeed for anyone and forever being attained ... there is no defining moment, only pinpricks of light in the void ... an occasional falling star happened upon ... why can't i have this? why is it wrong for me to want this? why is it somehow not respectable to bask in the truly difficult? why must i earn my keep in someone else's clothes? how could this make sense to anyone, when one is truly confronted with all that it means, all that is missing ...

my father responds (after telling him i care for society like a child, i want to help it grow, not chip away my half of the pile) "i wish i had a cause."
and i do not understand how he could never have known this ... but i feel, in fact, guilty ... that i have no right to swipe the bedsheets from the sick ... why can't they just be left in peace, why must i give them the burden of pain and realization i carry, i am young. i can handle it, it is too late for them now ... should they not just be left alone? i don't know the answer to this ... but where i draw the line is when i see the cycle continue for this very excuse ...to the minds of the children

as i run in spirals and you run in straight parallel lines never touching, i wonder where we will finally collide ... i know it will be an end, but an apocalypse seems too easy to construct, our end is not the end of the universe, this ideology is not the center of the soul, and your religions are no more than shooting arrows at the blue skies, no more than kicking the ground and being amazed it moves ...