The night drones in in silence.
A computer screen illuminates his drawn, worried face.
His fingers dance across a keyboard with years of experience, exposing his eyes to the entry in the search engine.
He knows better. He's always known better. Tonight is no different.
This search is not dedicated to him.
As he clicks the search button, his finger hesitates for half a second. Click.
His eyes rapidly dart backwards and forwards across the ugly paragraphs.
Paragraphs that are mere paragraphs to most people are vials of poison to his mind.
17 percent live after 5 years at stage 2.
20 percent live after 3 years at stage 3.
He audibly
Two pairs of feet circle a patch of wood as the band plays on,
Her arms were around his neck, his hands at her waist.
The simple, innocuous act of rhythmic movement,
Toes flexing to keep bone, muscle, and flesh in cadence to the guitar.
Skin covered appendages bending and swaying to the swift direction of the snare.
The woman crooning on stage to disco, the conductor of this grand spectacle,
She festoons the sea of humanity with purpose.
He looks into her eyes, lets loose a string of syllables and she smiles,
She responds with a jumble of consonants and vowels, he nods his head and laughs.
The swirl of bodies changes tempo as mu
I stand in the open, cool air, gazing up at the stars,
They number into the quadrillions, dwarfing any thought drifting through my mind.
It's amazing how any problem, predicament, or trivial matter could impact these careening, balls of gas and earth,
Looking up into the great beyond is a personal wake-up call to the joke that is life.
Your bills, your education, your personal success, mean less than dick,
Your relationship, your family, your happiness are just a blip.
Seven billion blips combined into one, bright, blinking laugh riot,
This is the human race. This is you.
Life is ending one second at a time, of which is a construct c
The white lights glaze the red room with "cheer" as frantic hands tear through stock paper,
Forced smiles of joy plaster skin as souls die a little more with each revealed surprise,
Pushed aside, immediately forgotten for the promise of quantity over thought,
This is what we are socially-engineered into embracing.
In a world where dollar signs equal self-worth,
It's amazing that anyone savors oxygen over a Wii product.
The new sun reflects off of the glass;
the scenery rushing past without a backward glance.
The seats perpetually face the wrong direction,
allowing irony to see what's being left behind.
I blink my eyes once, twice.
The third blink lasts fifteen minutes.
The trees are gone, replaced with industrial housing complexes,
bridges, businesses, dark tunnels built out of stone.
The number accompanied by the tree signals the start of day,
the start of a walk, and the conclusion of the journey.
Funerals come and go,
but there is only one that lasts the rest of your life.
The scenery moves by me at a crawl to the sounds of slow, tedious footsteps.
I glance to my left,
to my right,
and I realize that the path to freedom is terminally blocked.
My prison has been formed by tardiness,
my situation sired by thirst and hunger.
The crowd slowly builds.
Growing and growing, rising up out of the toilet bowl of malcontent.
We have been wiped to excess and disposed of improperly.
The murmur grows louder as the limit of human patience is tested.
Someone shouts a derogatory remark, and the tension heightens.
Love perpetuates throughout history, always doomed to repeat itself.
It is the eternal blockade to commo
Light pours in and I blink my eyes to the sun.
My clock reads half past noon, spiting me in digital form.
The new day is already ending.
Oh how the bending shadows mock me.
I look about the room at incomplete projects leering from dusty corners.
Piles of laundry threaten to betray my mind's true intent,
and all the while, the shades try to deny what is already going through my head.
"You've wasted another day. You will never get it back."
I pull the musty covers over my face and grimace at my decision.
Resolutely, I shut my eyes and block out my responsibilities.
The day will probably be more inviting at two.
The night drones in in silence.
A computer screen illuminates his drawn, worried face.
His fingers dance across a keyboard with years of experience, exposing his eyes to the entry in the search engine.
He knows better. He's always known better. Tonight is no different.
This search is not dedicated to him.
As he clicks the search button, his finger hesitates for half a second. Click.
His eyes rapidly dart backwards and forwards across the ugly paragraphs.
Paragraphs that are mere paragraphs to most people are vials of poison to his mind.
17 percent live after 5 years at stage 2.
20 percent live after 3 years at stage 3.
He audibly
Two pairs of feet circle a patch of wood as the band plays on,
Her arms were around his neck, his hands at her waist.
The simple, innocuous act of rhythmic movement,
Toes flexing to keep bone, muscle, and flesh in cadence to the guitar.
Skin covered appendages bending and swaying to the swift direction of the snare.
The woman crooning on stage to disco, the conductor of this grand spectacle,
She festoons the sea of humanity with purpose.
He looks into her eyes, lets loose a string of syllables and she smiles,
She responds with a jumble of consonants and vowels, he nods his head and laughs.
The swirl of bodies changes tempo as mu
I stand in the open, cool air, gazing up at the stars,
They number into the quadrillions, dwarfing any thought drifting through my mind.
It's amazing how any problem, predicament, or trivial matter could impact these careening, balls of gas and earth,
Looking up into the great beyond is a personal wake-up call to the joke that is life.
Your bills, your education, your personal success, mean less than dick,
Your relationship, your family, your happiness are just a blip.
Seven billion blips combined into one, bright, blinking laugh riot,
This is the human race. This is you.
Life is ending one second at a time, of which is a construct c
The white lights glaze the red room with "cheer" as frantic hands tear through stock paper,
Forced smiles of joy plaster skin as souls die a little more with each revealed surprise,
Pushed aside, immediately forgotten for the promise of quantity over thought,
This is what we are socially-engineered into embracing.
In a world where dollar signs equal self-worth,
It's amazing that anyone savors oxygen over a Wii product.
Light pours in and I blink my eyes to the sun.
My clock reads half past noon, spiting me in digital form.
The new day is already ending.
Oh how the bending shadows mock me.
I look about the room at incomplete projects leering from dusty corners.
Piles of laundry threaten to betray my mind's true intent,
and all the while, the shades try to deny what is already going through my head.
"You've wasted another day. You will never get it back."
I pull the musty covers over my face and grimace at my decision.
Resolutely, I shut my eyes and block out my responsibilities.
The day will probably be more inviting at two.
The scenery moves by me at a crawl to the sounds of slow, tedious footsteps.
I glance to my left,
to my right,
and I realize that the path to freedom is terminally blocked.
My prison has been formed by tardiness,
my situation sired by thirst and hunger.
The crowd slowly builds.
Growing and growing, rising up out of the toilet bowl of malcontent.
We have been wiped to excess and disposed of improperly.
The murmur grows louder as the limit of human patience is tested.
Someone shouts a derogatory remark, and the tension heightens.
Love perpetuates throughout history, always doomed to repeat itself.
It is the eternal blockade to commo
Current Residence: Abbey Road Favourite genre of music: All Operating System: One that fucking works MP3 player of choice: iTouch Shell of choice: turtle Wallpaper of choice: I prefer paint Skin of choice: peach Personal Quote: "Fish don't have hands, but they can still swim."
Favourite Visual Artist
Neutral Milk Hotel
Favourite Movies
Moon, Hamlet 2, Inglourious Basterds, District 9, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Seppuku
I've done it before, I can do it again. Deny what I want for what's sensible. One thing at a time. One thing at a time.
And if it's meant to be, it will be.
I'm sick of thinking about this. I'm too goddamned romantic for my own good and it's getting fucking ridiculous.
"Enough."