one question that fits like a ring to rule them all: how can i be as selfish as i fantasize about being when i use self reference four times in one line? i see everything as an extension of my being because observer is the observed. how full of one's self, how ego-centric. tell me, then, how the fuck to break free from these chains of self loving - loathing really. its nights like these that i find myself behind the wheel of a machine i lost control of long ago now spiraling down a road crossing a bridge above infinite nothingness between two open sores actively spewing forth the essence of a planet incompatible with a species serving as the cancer thereof. consider pus the by product of a pill swallowed like ibuprofen or melatonin for those with neck cramps when sleep comes hard and stiffens muscles and joints so hits are hard to take when rolled too tight. tossing and turning all night. freezing but loving it because the elixir of life is always found in the absence of having to retrace steps pages at a time. here we go keystroke by keystroke. who's speaking through my fingertips when i type such bullshit after watching a lunatic speaking back into a phone call received by he who made the call himself leading to a soundtrack of recursive samples bleeding us all of what we believe to be no more than a game? it's a shame we can't find the patience to punctuate our thoughts these days. breathe in with the sound of singing in sync with sighs for today's highs and stress for tonight's lows. a six pack and hydrogenated oils. fuck those who aren't there, who stare through others impervious to themselves. too many movies blind them to the wells through which the liquid of life flows so project endlessly so long as one makes projections a reality. STOP?! Why? i can't and won't and simply don't want to. this is as real as it gets for me, so full of shit is all everything is finally at peace with our illusion. my illusion, my dream of peppers growing as the head of a crushed red bell no longer blue. lusting for mind, but not body. lusting for mind and not reality. separate the two that were once so beautifully intertwined in thoughts of tomatoes growing from behind a court for shooting hoops on the wrong side of reflection, reflecting the wrong side. reflection of the wrong side. SIGH, its over for now. at least until another track fires up the heater again - an attempt to deter what one has set for the second. even more primitive. Florida never glamorizes such delusion and i appreciate that but still feel compelled to join in the trap. only an amateur would walk into that claiming it was his or her own. i know its not. there's no way could it ever be mine but its what was handed down. i love something else. shes human. shes real. shes good to me. fuck the illusion. fuck the distance. fuck the dependency that has been replaced by an even better soundtrack. drizzle your light rains while i bleed dreams as an elitist for now, sure ill grow out of this style in awhile. fuck downtown. lets get the fuck out of town and find ourselves. if you already have will you join me on my journey? id love to take your hand in every state, at least in as many as it takes for me to realize that Ive always been who i am and who i was. thank you for your saintly patience.