qwyrxian
King of the country, that person on top swinging his great big metaphorical hammer around ordering this and ordering that, a little crush here and some smash-em-up in a 3rd world country....
Crashing drums direct the push, firebombs flying, that plexiglass right shield absorbing the blow...Windows break, chlidren huddle in the back, afraid.
I think of that album, that so depressing time with only hints of pleasure and honey (though honey was actually from an earlier album). R.E.M. told me what people must do, and it is that drift; that sadness; that is saved only by momentary or length connections with others. Our life is.
I wish I had some. Bathing in the Balm of Gilead. Pain, fire, it continues now and forever. Comfort is forbidden. Crimes must have their payment.
The called him a radical. As if somehow his irrationality, his refusal to be square(d), were a thing of value, as if it were his true identity. Never mind what he thought, whether or not he could be reduced...well, at least he wasn't negative and imaginary...
Some of the 99% have it. Almost none of the 1% do. Except for that Buffet guy--he's smart, and he's compassionate. That dude is awesome. Occupy it all, tear it all down
That time of death. What? Yes, for it is the time that the darkness dies, when those hated bulbs push up their roots, killing the pristine unbroken ground which had levelly handled my dark gaze all winter. Spring forward, spring.
I must do this. Is it a compulsion? No, it is the absolute certainty that can only come from having tasted divinity directly. No one can stand before Him and not follow the Law...to see is to know, to be in the Truth.
Towering high, they press down on me...their collected wisdom-weight insulting me, because I do not know this and I do not know that. This library, this prison. I cannot escape so long as I do not contain their knowledge inside of me.