from beneath the painted skylight

people are so preoccupied by death that they forget to live.

Songs sung by the idle ones lift spirits more than the plastic lips of rich idols laminated with their golden notes and circular trophies that somehow scratch so easily.

In everything it is so easy to find the ones you wish to become close with: the same soul-pieces somehow finding all the edge and middle pieces of the puzzle finding ways in which to strengthen their smallness and insecurities which never are expressed in any tangible form. And yet those round ones: rotund shapes unwilling to align themselves with any other shape for they have found it safer to be by themselves: biding their time with candlesticks burnt for only one darkness, forgetting any sort of cliché "inner darkness" for, to them, there is darkness, a REAL material darkness for there are no lights between guts and blood and bone; only on the surgeon's table are there ever lights, and those lights are blinding rays, an indication that the world is not in order.

Chance wears the pants that people threw away yesterday because it wasn't worth it. Fate is not quite unlike chance, except it pulls you more: you feel the rightness, that egg-white jubilation, when those keys unlock those rusty doors and there it is; but how deep and tumultuous is that feeling when what was supposed to happen does not happen after all, leaving one wondering whether such pillars as Fate are as stationary as once thought and who, indeed, was the blind Samson who pulled said pillar down?

The closed minded will never admit to it, for they are closed from themselves primarily so how can you expect them to be open to anything else? Locked in the Everdeep they pray only to sleep so that such bothersome things like conflict of interest will never occur. The open mind is sometimes a dangerous thing because a truly open mind does not exist: for being truly accepting of everything and everyone you become everything and everyone and thus no one at all.

Triangle tears fall from rhombus years and the shape of things cannot be compared to any sort of adjective you can modify... the Introverted stay the Extroverted stay... but somehow I don't know whether they can see through the thinnest of veils between them: one letter off Ann and Anne, but it makes all the difference in the world because one is in the depths of the well, and the other is crying out above the well, but they never do meet because one is afraid of fallacies whilst the other is frustrated that the clam won't open.

Oh, Sense! Never common, but divided amongst Adam, Eve, and their children. cast down down down the tunnel of eternity to the Nowlands stretching to the soon 10,000,000,000 souls on one spheric surface. Overtones, you hear so clear, but you follow the first pull that you never really stop to look around you , to pause, to hesitate. PLEASE, hesitate. Those undertones you never really listened to, because your music was the ALL the great lumiscope to take you to your one star, brighter than the cosmos in one illuminated dot at the end of the tip of your soul.

Yearning,
you forgot the learning,
and felt blindly
on the pavement
so hot to the touch
and burning
but you never found
the dirt.

"Be speckled. That's what you are, you know. None of this, PURE CONTRAST nonsense... even black and white movies are really in what is really "gray scale" . You land so lightly on that scale, it seems, not making a real go of it... colors colors colors that you drink night and day the contrasting conflicts that make you giddy and drunk with the sheer madness of it: Swirls! Van Gogh swirls, you say. All these heads painted with only one ear. It seems you like Picasso then? Well, what is this then? 'A Zebra with no stripes?' But, that's a horse, silly boy. Don't look at me like that! What do you mean 'fine then'?"

Fine lines bent to make way for things not wishing to be confined:
the dreams of new lights
try to fight
but so often
they never find a source
to help them on their way
these paper boats
so swift and eager to spread words down
in the endless ocean
never hear the sounds of
"I believe in you"
because everyone else is too busy
tearing each other down with
"Just Joking" sledgehammers.