Blind Me!

help me close my eyes to not open them again.
the density of the reality, the gravity; the strength, the power, and the depravity of information.
the third eyes is scarred, the focus is off. 
i need belays and anchors to make it across the ravine.
the full circle is the end of the new, and then starts the cycle of the known.
consistency is contrary to nature, huxley said.

the padded walls makes it look like a palace(it could be the paint),
versace make the straight jacket unbelievably comfortable.
this is one hell of a ride, my propeller car, my baby, care for a fuck!
the gasoline makes it unbelievably subliminal
creativity has killed the creature; the new life is plastic. child, you are a poetry in plastic.
the vision is never clouded, paint thinner helps clear it.

The Son of Argon

His father wanted him to be a Nobel laureate in Physics. Nobody knows what he really wanted to do with his list; like most of us. Thank goodness there is a flow to which we can swim. Lately the reflexes and the reaction seem to go from bad to worse; with an underlying tone of sadness. We don't know if it is the fuckin' 5-0 kicking on the nuts like a mule or the sense of loss growing like a shadow; dark and creeping. He struggles too hard, he make it way too hard on himself. All it takes is a few hours, well more like 72. Maybe he can find that lost kid, his last hope and that kid might be ready to set the pyre up.