Fire of the flesh versus gear of the wheel

Now is as good a time as any to say o bem ikedo. Oh well, oh well.
To say fuck it, forget it, farewell.

This double-standard only gets us all so far.
Stare straight into each other’s eyes and say, just this once, that these things can’t be forgiven.
And all the times leading up to now just fade into a mottled background of going nowhere at all. Oh, yes, well that’s fair. But what exactly happened leading up until here?

Bright lights. Another shot. Take a hit and pass it round. Sway to bass from speakers louder than blood in your ears. A rising memory of somewhere south of here. A drink in hand, swaying, wanting something I’ll never get more than what I have, had, know how to get.

One more second before complete blackout.
I can’t see straight. I can’t see the walls or the road. I can’t see you, at all.
I had a key, an answer, the way out — but that’s long lost on a bench somewhere back there.

Blind off my ass, I still manage to walk my two-wheeled deer home. If nothing else, this spirit of metal and grease loves me. Fuck flimsy flesh and blood. I need the inorganic resources right now. Hard and cold, I can lean on them when I fall. Crack my bones and break my head. But at least I know where we stand.

I wake in the morning and there’s sweat and steam between the sheets. There’s nothing like what I’m looking for. Only what I’ve got. Sleeping bags and statues in the other room. A dream I wish I would have chased. No flesh and blood responds to me.

But, the burning of the sun so far away its merely a speck in the sky beckons me come — come — come. Get up right now and move on. And so, I do.
But out in post-solstice cold: forgiving the monster before the machine is the hardest part of all.

I don’t have a lot of compassion to pass around. It’s very thin on the ground. Get in line and see what gets handed out. Consumerism and addiction is free today. Come have your piece of the pie.


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