Free Thought

second verse, same as the first
a little bit louder and
a little
bit
worse.
sine sine cosine sine three point one four one five nine; these are the numbers that make the world round and round and round again; it's cubed and diced and julienned
perhaps I am a horrible person but here i am in the zone the one the pwned the zone
every convert means I am a winner a winnar in fucking illinois though I hear illinois isn't that big on the fucking these days;
I give up.
I do.
I'm done I give up I am tired of this shit I will have it no longer no more no more there's a world out there (that is cubed, not square) and I will not deal with it any longer
the dream thief's daughter was singing softly to her father (her husband) who split the earth in two with a black, black sword; this story is not mine. none of these stories are; they are the tales of sunny hills and rainy days; the cafe isn't even mine it's just a sign, not a truth at all but a sign
I don't know whose story this is anymore; they are taken from pieces and pieces (and kisses, and kisses- I wear your trenchcoat) bastardized and romanized (maybe its the same thing in the end) and maybe I just need to move, to dance, to groove to keep my fingers placing themselves in danger danger will robinson the words cannot stop for if they stop they die and who wants a bunch of corpses lying around
(theron, don't answer that)
the strange truth about my characters, these quiet, soft, little voices in my head; they are lonely and they are lost and they do not know how to be angry; I do not know how to be angry, and I do not know how to be anyone but myself
I apologize for being myself; I cannot apologize for anything else
save that if I stop I may die; sometimes I feel like I shall never stop (I'll walk the tightrope)
and they all had it better; was I the curse that doomed small endeavors to nothingness? nichevoi nyet I cannot place these words, these characters these lines on the page
I am no hypothesis no hypothetical angel theoretical demon devil woman speak of me and then lose whatever thoughts you had; my brain must stay a few steps ahead of my fingers to keep one word from losing sight of the ones before it; it follows; all I do is make clear the path and everything follows
somewhere far in the future, the pathmaker forerunner waysaver naysayer wavemaker the one who went first, somewhere, that one has stopped; and in stopping, died, for to stop is to die and so moving is life so is this a little death when I come to the end of a sentence? full stop I do not know I do know what I do not know parets the letters do not follow please do not interrupt;
the nonsense happens when my fingers feel for muscle memory
I was talking about my characters at one point; it loops it circles, it does not stop; it cannot stop nothing can stop oh, nothing can stop
they are me and I am them but mostly they are me because my own ego is too strong to give this up; the only thing about me that is strong
I cannot blame this on my sad and sorry state; this is who I am- I am not worth your time or your letters or you full fledged full born blessed words- not to mention your sentences and paragraphs; you would kill me with a wealth of gifts and blessings. these are not things that i deserve; perhaps all that is my due is a simple punctuation mark, all the ink that can be spared to make a footnote that leads nowhere
I do not know; I cannot know; I fear the knowing and I fear the not-knowing
it repeats and it loops- once I said I wanted to learn everything there was to learn (but I lied, I always lie) and I said I wished to know enough to blend in, chameleon-like with every surrounding
I wish to know everything, so that, in knowing them, all places will be the same. I wish to walk freely without fear of being alone; I wish to go everywhere and find nowhere to be unfamiliar, nowhere to be strange;
I wish to be everything and everywhere so that I will never know fear again.
these are my motivations, but they are not strong
it is not often that I find the words making so much sense; poor rasputin has lost the will to toggle, and I have little enough energy to spare to toggle my own thoughts past the marker; do not pass go do not collect your thoughts this train has been derailed detrailed demarcated embarked upon but it's already gone
we were too late;
we've missed our ride.
third verse, same as the first.
a little bit louder
and a little
bit
worse.

I am nothing, if not honest.
(but I could be lying)