chriskaasi

Everything careless was so cylindrical, but what I really meant was cyclical, but the cycles careless ease lost track of me, so I faded gloomspun and sent, dull like nothing when your heads too fuzzy to say what you didnt mean, even if you didnt mean it and really, all I meant was to aim for one long, nonstop run-on sentence that would sum up everything when nothing fits right and the sighs are all you have on the sidelines when the sides are lined with the dregs of humanity and believe me, Im not judging, Im relating to the noise in my head that keeps that restless feeling in my chest that keeps me awake, regardless of how late or how tired or how listless or how bland I shouldve been by now.
Drinking gave way to sobriety, which gave way to physics, which gave way to zen, which gave way to the knowledge that now is almost too relative to define, and hence, its implied that when I say now Im thinking in terms of some cosmic one-and-all, or did I mean all-in-one? Probably, but it really doesnt matter now, nor did it then, nor will it in times to come, and fittingly so, its come time for me to say what I meant back then.
I distinctly remember the slow sound of lounge jazz filtering out of an open door up the street one night not long after it had finished raining the typical middle of the night scene and the party crowd longsince gone home the gritty feeling of shoes slopping through shallow water on wet sidewalks, and my hands in my pockets while I was glancing up toward the streetlights, noting the way the mist lingers in the bronzeglow haze. There was a faint smell of perfume, but no trace of the girl. The truest essence of everything is metaphysically crystalline, but it does you no good when youre flesh and bone, hung out to dry and empty. All you can do is wait once you have a sense of it, and the sense of it is the only thing that keeps you waiting. I dont doubt this is real. Philosophy is tired, and these days I have enough clout to make my own religion.