Your pipe dream has rusted...

How long will congregations of your past serve as a roadblock to quarantine your utopian dreams? In the midst of all the falling pieces of your sky, what keeps you from etching a new sun and envisioning a new horizon? The best laid plans, layered with familiarity and propped up with what is known today will surely falter and crash into the unknown of what tomorrow brings. Your complacency becomes your inadequacy becomes your failure. Failure to endure and enthrall anew. Failure to challenge and to astonish. It’s uncanny what unchartered spaces of your mind you have kept yourself from in adherence to the limit of your current faculty.

Sideways, not up and up and up. Those who rose from mezzanines of an ordinary skyscraper shiver with the gravity when pulled asunder. They will never get put back together, and even if so, the aesthetics would never be the same. The warranty is void. You stack up floors upon floors of mediocrity. You pile up levels upon levels of the constant buzzing of the most unsightly most ungainly of melodeons.  Your pipe dream has rusted and your tunnel vision has no light. You were never meant to scale up. Sideways. So sideways – new fields, new spaces, new sounds and new faces. In that lies your only provision to pass your weight to the ground and by buoyed back up. The proverbial spring in your step requires cohesion not adhesion. What's risen will be razed by the attrition of time. What's acquired will embrace you. Sideways. 

Queries about Escape

If escape was an option… how many people would line up in hopes of jettisoning their modalities and the beating of their days? If the new standard became the great getaway… then how exclusive would be the framework everybody left behind? How many people would like to slip into someone else’s lives and dreams and aspirations and broken chandeliers that they had left behind in chasing the way out?

Is it a restructuring of actual working modules that we need or a just a renovation of our minds? And if ignorance is bliss, is euphoria the abysmal dark depth of the unlearning? Who wants to regress into the unfolding of the codons and un-circling of cycles to a state of involution? You’d rather atrophy your vision then set sight on frontiers anew? Does it feed you the gustations so alien that you choke on the broadened horizons of your soul? Is familiarity your only last specter of home?

Where and when do you belong? And, pray tell, when will you let go?

There are answers you have unearthed for which no questions were posed to. There were many before us that probably led a more illuminated path of congruent peace and entropy. All of this amalgamates into one ying-yang of fashioned ideals. The obstacle courses created by her for her and by him for me, with a prize at the end, like the dangling of the unholiest of carrots. So feast on the nightmare that shines in your eye with every blink.

And when we find you still struggling to let go of your name; just know this: You have lived many other lives that spun from every misstep you thought you took and your parallels have taken up too much time and space in this alternate closet of vacuum. It is time to father the foster-child that you abandoned in the suburbs of your burgeoning psyche. It is time to dig deeper into the sky. It is time to make your bed. It is time to remember the reveries are indeed worth stopping for. Stop and sleep and dream a dream. Your circadians are aching from the rape.

In a sense/In essence/Innocence

The subliminal essence of days that pass me by are stuck like gum to my shoes. 

Like taffy to my soul. 

Like shadow to the minarets. 

The Attic Door

The proverbial attic door leads where? to matters of the heart or the heart of the matter... to the industrial mind, wallowing in the rust of the misery in refrain.

The attic door leads here... where the harsh skies bleed white & perceptions blur. How you wish you could reverse, erase or rewind till...

The attic door leads home.