Mind Crap or Art?

It's all a part of it this sixteen year carousel of deserts and wobbly knees found myself an accidental seeker cursed with entropic forethought the lyric all gone wobbly too with the mediocritous voice of legion electric, crystal, eternal truth, lie, eternal drivel a hallucination of GABA flood post-anti-coital, cats fed dogs watching the season change to winter out the last unshrouded window 13 sticks of green sandalwood in the rice mannequin riddled with penny nails all about the hands and feet (maybe I could go all the way before it all goes away) almost brighter with eyes lidded all enigmatic figments of meaning snatched and hooked onto the briar truths of emptiness blank permutable formlessness and all this symbology propaganda sixteen year search to gain the cheap product of a Frenchman's sweat but an answer without a question the beginning of formless endless love and the law of increasing separation falsely cumming to seizuring angels wading thru the corpses disregarding the tidal blacklit scrawlings a bullet, a collapsing lung, a door hinge pant leg, another bullet, a sudden highspeed sidewalk encounter, timeless desire to fuck an inkwell only wretched answer to brain it never tells me fucking shit having not slept and without further plans to just choke on vapor then smoke and remember and forget brain keeps stealing all it's images little grey thief

little blue mush chalice brimstone july two penniless swordsmiths frozen in sandstone but little grey thief, he stole it cerulean minnow faced wanderer Sun Shiva and Avolokiteshvara things don't get different they're always the feigned disregarding begging cars and red liquid highways clouds of soiled Nepharim descending, blotting stars another forgotten canyonland twisting rivulets of earth and era no more avoidance no more redefinition the inimitable force of context David Lynch to quell brain sirens but all of Jack's effusions were wrong everything really is dead especially the vital essence words of nothing, immutable strength of nothing love of nothing, breath of nothing all such littersome dualities onus of fantasy and seclusion awaiting predestined waves of static nothing to be said to the clueless after you've placed a clue on their tongue self infected sicknesses get no answer there's been enough waiting on who's next enough speculation on a tryptamine flood desperation of ages encrypted in grainy image desperate dronabinol handfuls after barclose that merely a measurement of time fictionalized in tapestry light tricks the only requited love is a dependency a chemical one at least honest most a subconsciously premeditated divorce creation only does so to destroy Ouroboros feels no pain Ouroboros glints a bloody grin each scales passing weight a grindstone on multitudes slithering and singing his trust-in-me song

all such slaver sung comforts another iron maiden's embrace a door leading somewhere at least I want to catch a hold of your ghost lapel inhale your fading frozen co2 or smoke feel the cool drop of rain on cheek that condensation your once hot tears to tremble with that still decaying vibration that was your voice speaking unfettered words artful words but without artifice anything to glean from the deleterious street to eke an infinite from your passing but when you cease to breathe you never were not, at least, that you can ascertain and after a fire or a few handfuls of earth neither can anyone else without a court order or accusation of extreme morbidity never a chance to watch each other rot puncture old favored bruises a moment's scarified punctuation the tattered scapula ache of severed reverence