Your sick but you don't know it.
Your a worn wheel turning counterclockwise
and your wobbling against a sad current.
You cannot understand this feeling, a want
for escape.
You have tried, you've left, and all you
have found were more wheels, more mechanisms.
As you wheel and deal, you wonder.
If there is a place of peace. Is it hidden
in this quagmire, or has in bounced loose
upon a greater apparatus.
You ask the boss why when you turn to the
left you hate, and when right you well up
with compassion, and understanding.
The boss say's "eyes front!"
and your sigmoid flexure tighten's.
You ask the axle about faith and gospel
and query about "according to the son".
The axle grunts' and grinds and tells you
"we survive in the end", " and "yes I stuck
around".
You feel another tooth decay.
What wonderment to flow with folly.
The song continues and the day becomes dark
and you puzzle about this consciousness.
What is next?
It's understood that there are limitations.
But what are they. maybe your a non-believer.
You bump and titter and work with this ominous
existence.
And yet you still feel stuck. You feel there
is something bigger, fulfillment lies elsewhere.
lessons from the poor.
You've tried travelling, you have been transferred
from here to there, tried different gimmicks and gears,
and yet you still felt like you were going around in
a circle. A bigger circle, yet the circumvolution was
what you've already experienced.
Curious.
a weird wetness ensues. and you lose your dimension.
This certainly is a primitive gadget you hear yourself
mumbling so as the boss doesn't determine.
You realize your consciousness was a blessing
but believe your hurt began at birth.
And you wonder if you still have the ability
to love.
somebody say's "suffering succotash" and wally
the wobbling drive-train is removed from the
line. His breakdown makes you nervous, maybe
your next.
Sold for scrap, everything has it's worth.
a parallel gear warns of the polarity of a pulsar
and your mindful of the flashing emanating from his
mouth, the timing between beams is perfect.
and your ascending colon tightens like leather in
the desert sun.
The beat speeds up, as the power from the top
adds fuel to the fire. You understand that with
time the pieces will all deteriorate, impossible
to hide the erosion from within.
As you spin faster and faster your suddenly aware
that everything is calculated. You view the
power at the top as a frozen emotion whose
mind is a chaotic bulb ready to pop at any ulterior
perspective.
You view this image with pristine clarity and begin
to giggle.
You realize you are rolling with the punches
and this adds to the hilarity of the moment.
As your filled with an insatiable hunger you break
from your bind.
Your having fun, that's the habit.
The gears have shifted.
This is method.
This is purpose.
The best intention is comic.
The best moments are merry.
The best creations are fun.
The cure to all disease is just this,
make it a merry whirl.
Break past the pain, and sorrow,
fight hard to get over that mountain.
Once surmounted you will find new
perspective. You will see there
is not death, that death was
invented by the great mechanism.
Here you will find laughter. You
will laugh as only a child can.
A child who does not understand mortality.
Here you will find your bliss.
Here is eternity.
...gatsby~
