The music has survived the apocalypse
For this, we rejoice
In all the ways we know how.

The beat lives on, an
affirmation of our survival
and a praise to humanity.

The voice shatters silence with a perfect tone
survivors claw themselves out
from under rubble.

All stops, silence reigns, under a moving shadow
A roar like trumpeting thunder
Sends them scurrying.

It lands with the crunching
of pavement
and spreads scaled wings.

When they finally dare to look:
A harmless man in black clothes
Leather trench flapping in the wind.

He asks them to sing
Pleads
And they see he’s crying.

The elvish features always
snag my eyes
the real ones
you can just tell.

Eventually, image reflects the within
whether we want it to or not
you can just tell.

He’s no businessman.
I remember now.
He’s a lawyer.
A dirty one.

The image reflects the within.
Sounds like a theory that
As time approaches infinity,
the difference between faked and real
approaches zero.
Inverse relationship.

Eventually, everyone will know
It will be common knowledge
worse yet
It will be old news

That you’re faking it.

They’ve just lit the incense
It’ll be at it’s strongest in about three minutes
Dig that scent

God song, bad song, good song

Entrancing strangeness of videos
Feeling, writhing, writing, thin as lies

A businessman is sorting the ashes
as if the butt was a broom
and has already devised a
marketing scheme

Is advertising
normalizing
an attempt to steal it away
into the ranks of the
sold-out?

Isn’t that what we all want?

What is the value of distraction?
Add to it the stigma of education
and it is wondrous
or at least worthwhile

We are all struggling to catch up
know more
be the best
now that nothing’s being handed to us.
Fucking silver platter.

So we gather distractions around us
“tools of learning”
or will they be another machine
to play Solitaire on?

How can I push myself?
How do I bring myself to want this goal?

What would happen if I let go of the goal?

I am not surprised at
ladder-rung reproduction.
Nor am I disappointed, it gives me
something to do.
Maybe not the right thing to do
but a thing.

Oh, Draconis!
I’m not even sure I want this goal!
Detroit calls to me of its grime and grit
and potential
Lansing claws into me with bone talons
pleading, “don’t leave me!”
And I wail
angsty and goth-like
because I can’t make up my mind.

Oh, Tiamat!
Is this weakness the core of entropy?
“Not with a bang, but with a whimper,”
Have I been shown the ability to crumble
within myself
Time only brings more pain
it seems
more knuckling under
If I succumb utterly to you
am I learning
or
am I giving up?

Back from Ohio
Things left in the past
Unfulfilled not-quite-expectations

I am on the verge
of not sure about
releif or disappointment

My apartment is returning to
pseudo-comfort
worried about mirroring in this

Not bummed about anything
which is a mild surprise
considering unmet goals

Pleased with my car and
other mundane aspects of the trip
like money and food

I guess there’s always
a time when you say,
“okay, we’re done.”