Mount Sanity In the Foggy Distance pt. 3

The desperate and disparate vintage of gaining visage. Turning the tides and tables as the yokes of burden make you painfully aware of all you have missed out on. Reflecting on the doomed seafarers making pussy jokes in the wake of relatives who died in the terribly torrid wake of kraken speeding after ships to eat for dinner. That bloated self you become and hate so much. Covering your truth like kudzu in southern Alabama on a June day. The god fearing catastrophe of incorrect adherence to my own demise. And I cried about that? Seriously? Or as they would’ve said in a different time. Legitimates? That cannot be a word. The heartless cold seeps and sinks into the pores halting any and all singing. As we devolve into the music found in death. To dissolve the discoveries found lasting too long for their own good. Like doing lines of coke at six in the morning on a Thursday in a public park watching the joggers run by with their damn purposes in life. Cowards!

Their were of course as there always are moments. You know, large swaths of your life that in retrospect become one single memory. I understand a lot more these days then back in them glorious olden times. It takes time to truly understand that the coldness of winter in for the self and a loved one only. Together or alone you must stay warm. That paradise of you. Oh bliss in holding someone so close just shut your pie hole. Its what happens when you listen to the words he listened to when he listened to her. Drama alert! Nah its all chill brother man. The ages of mountains as they sneeze at our weakness makes me realize that there is little point to the sacrifices of sacraments when one has that glorious knowledge of nothingness. But in something what does remember? The rote routine of coming home to everything is nice. Numbing like a narcotic. Safe like a suicide in spring. Dreaded by dirt bags only. Held into grand esteem by all who know its sickly sweet ways. I would take this all the time. Don’t you worry my love.