ruminations

Freedom from this fickle fighting world is a hard thing to come by, there are many places to look: a bottle a syringe a burning spoon a song a lovers embrace. There're all these places but freedom, not escape, can't be found in any of them. the conlcusion though seems to be in death, but not an unnatural death. Freedom can't be rushed

My eyes are pulsing to rhythm of dwaynes mechanical manufactured drums, its drawing my attention capturing my imagination. Taking from me all of me. Damn him but I love it all the same.

Every time I close my eyes I see sunflowers and poppies nothing else. Just sunflowers and poppies. They aren't moving, there no wind to make them undulate and live. Just the starkness of these two flowers mixed and staring back me. Daring something in me to snap, but what. What do they want to snap: sanity, love, hate, excretion. I don't know what they want

Whiskey and cigarettes seem to be what god gave me to taste heaven, and perhaps welcome me there a little faster. Who knows. Who knows anything. Does anyone know that there is wisdom in knowing nothing. I don't I guess no of us will ever known anything

fuck