Because it's already there

We need to learn how to stop keeping that gold just out of our grasp
And realize the gold that's already on the inside
The good, the gold, the right
Use your energy for good
Change what you can
Help who you can
But don't scourge yourself because you couldn't save the whole world with two cents

And there isn't an infinite list of mistakes and incorrect actions and errors
And the normative means of communication are rightly down

You are whole

And the gold is in your heart

Su mente

It's time to gain some ground
I just want to keep the fire inside of me from turning this into a wholesale conflagration
I can't lie
I can't be untrue

Nebulas

I just want to feel good
That's the only thing about this
I'm about the point where not just one thing
Is going to make up and make me feel better
When you have a haybale
There's no last straw
When you have a chasm
You'll never reach the end
Leads me sadly mistaken

I'm sick and tired of playing this like a game I'm losing
Calculating every last thing, weighing, balancing, judging
See a misshapen man
And you'll be hopelessly mistaken
And I can't help you

Freedom is when you have nothing left to lose
And we'll always have something

He's a linguistics major

"All he eats is linguine for dinner."
"I would go as far to say as I wouldn't trust any man with a goatee."
"Cheese is the duct tape of food, dude. If anything is going wrong with your culinary endeavors, you can most likely remedy it with some cheese. If anything, it certainly won't hurt."
On The South: "They eat so much salt their blood is like the Dead Sea, but without as many Jews."

Standing on the verge of a sometimes frightening reality

This is a time in our lives that is rife with uncertainty.
This is a time in our life where nothing is concrete, nothing is sure. We've been holding hands for so long now that to be let go is more of a shock than ever was the direness of being controlled. Now, all of a sudden they want us to go out there and make decisions for ourselves, do things on our own?

Who is out there in that sea of puzzles?
Is there a lantern at one of these docks? The river's currents are beginning to pull me into the undertow. I'm working hard to hold onto these styrofoam life preserver.

Into the gray we go. And hopefully at some point it becomes red and black.

You just have to know yourself to know yourself.

This is the opposite of an ocean of apathy. This is a sea of too much caring. So much that it's become crushing at times and I seem to become immobile.

But there is a lantern on that dock.

Rain's a coming

It shows there have been good times as well as not so good ones. Keep your shoulders straight. Remember that redemptive rain. It won't always be so clear.
But enjoy the times it is.

We can only go home in maps

As I sit here in this fetid stew of sweat and regrets it has dawned on me that we can only go home in maps. The place we once held so dear the times where we soaked up the most sun can only be reached in the vaults of our own skulls, buttressed by dendrites and neurons, there is nothing here but a smile. There can be nothing more of those indexed thoughts and emotions, those laughs, those tears. In their stead there must be created new halls, new annexes of hearts that we will not forget. When the past is clung to it starts to erode the future. Like the bank of river choked off by developments, you will wallow away. And now the zooming in is all we have left. It is all we know. And you're bound to be bound if your mind occupies such shallow lots. To be reiterated, there must be a new edifice.
Enjoy the ride.

The Crushing Limitations of Physical Being

At times it appears things are the way they should be, that things are in order. But then I am reminded of the intrinsic I, the thing that can't be, that shouldn't, that needs to be fixed. Or that seems it needs to be fixed. I wish I could be a floating object that only observes, that needs nothing for sustenance, that needs nothing to continue. Something that only notes and records and does not ever want, ever long. But this, I suppose, is the inherent problem with being a human. I'll never be satisfied until I'm satisfied not being satisfied. But maybe it's my job to look past these innate inadequacies that befall each and every one of us. Maybe it's all of our jobs? I'm going to leave my legs in the street and breathe, and be.
And just be there to enjoy the ride. Instead of letting the ride take me. Maybe all you can really do is laugh in the face of the absurd, right Albert?

And it seems as well that instead of a constant stream of questions that instead a constant stream of non-answers, of actions, is in fact what should be. The viewfinder can no longer be questioned for the thoughts of others, the question of "who am I?" can only be answered within the weak paradigm of our own construct. Our minds are only so powerful and to continuously question everything without some kind of baseline is only a means to a fiery end.
I'm not sure what the point of this lexical vomiting is but maybe I'll find it soon. Let's have a soundtrack to our insanity, shall we?

Anxa

"I'm not crazy."
-Dontrelle Willis

It is all too often that the prickling uncertainty within us begins to manifest itself...leading to a life between walls. Inside a drywall penitentiary, insulating oneself against all possible (probable?) criticism, perceived derision and impugnment. To have your very core beliefs questioned is one of the most disenfranchising events that can befall you when your foundation is built on crumbling twenty-one year old cinderblocks.
But it is with this this same flux of pessimism, the same palpitations of the amygdala, that can cause this insuperable butte of fatality to flatten into a florid prairie of opportunity. And it is my/our/your responsibility to curb that wellspring of unchecked questioning into a calm, concise, and objective scope of what is in fact reality (which is by definition uncertain - something we all too often refuse to acknowledge...the veritable fallibility of our own construction) and what is unnecessary noise.
Like the static of a television tuned to the wrong channel, you have a grating hiss of snowy signals, a mental mountain pass obscured by a noisy winter. Pull the remote out from under the couch cushion and press that goddamn "3" again before you start watching a blurry infomercial on what could have been. How sharp your knives would be. How fast you could clean that metaphysical soap scum.
Like an arrow.
You're not crazy.
Just unfocused.