Making a living versus the will to do so: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

At some point the abyss begins to stare back.
So I wave and say hello, maybe add a wink for inflection purposes.
I’m not too sure to formally greet all impending doom,
do I bow?

The doom generation’s stains
Each and every time I prey to continue on.
The only man left without a saddle
Invited to an all inclusive fool’s quest
to the tower of babble.

Spread thin, watch me scream
Just right then, killing you with kindness
At the swap meet in the trees
Where I tried to sell this thing between my knees

sitting so wasted, so willing to wander
It’s untold
So up, so down
just trying to get out of
all this headfuck

behold the miles and days
and last minute delays
on the road…..

Hello, they smell it
The hot musk of uselessness
they run so slow…
undone, sorrys
sorrow is just not doing it anymore
we encode as they erode
or so I’m told

distant memories
Smells like time machines
Wormholes composed of sounds

Something to wake up to in the morning
again, another day
this has been my mantra
the 411 of heartache

One of the great philosophers of the 20th century
you might know of his work
this Pink Floyd
another brick in the wall
as I have gotten older
I understand a whole lot more
the more I lose sunlight
I have built the safest nowhere
anyone has never seen
My heart curls inward into its shell
A throbbing mollusk of an organ.

I think I got this shit down.
Reoccurring events in a rhythmic intervals
Pi repeating backwards
Fasting to feasting

(August 4, 2009)