beautiful confusion. i saw myself in the window of opportunity hinged on a listless expression of every face i have been, passing like the movement of a hand. i am someone inside myself. its the cello. its the gray. its the anger with out an enemy that sits inside a potential fall. its my scream pent in someone else's lungs. i suppose. i felt that the chords resonated in a dust bowl field, harmonized with the grains of wheat and sand, something about the horizon where the beige earth and the blue midwest sky meet in a subtle clash that is more metaphorical than it seems. everything is like that now a days. some how. indeed beautiful confusion. absurdity. they paint us with larger mouths then heads and our genitals more audacious and consuming than our lower extremities. they paint us no longer as bipedal. they are right. its the lament of the shrew. kumquats, indeed.

it makes me curious that imitating animals leads to trouble for the race. no, i lied. things are all too obvious, laughing is a drug like that. so are opiates and amphetamines and psychotropics and other fantastical nonsense. you are a joke if you do. that's what no one is afraid of being a joke. therein is enough humor for a lifetime.

everyone belongs somewhere. its difficult to believe your future is being made every second of the day you are awake and asleep. so become a constructivist or a sad sack then a philosopher so the mindless fools can have things to worry themselves with and think about that is orthogonal to their existence. the problem is i have been at the top of a breath for 4 years. arduous living. gadfly obfuscating opportunities often craft a comfortable chair, but life isnt a spectator sport to my dismay. so how is one to know? by running into dark rooms blind and laughing of course.