The First Few Lines of Act II
Stories borrowed histories lifted
monsters and daemons in funhouse mirrors
Heroism is a lie

Self-sabotage and self-destruction
Different planets galaxies exclusive

The practice of giving up prior
to ever having ever tried


The practice of blowing up after
having tried everything

Member privileges compulsive perverted*
Decadence insanity and the ultimate collapse

Seductive sirens of distraction
strangers not wearing masks
Too late for salvation


Fridays 8



Discipline With Style
That I believe in my own philosophy
is actually the only thing that ever mattered
Free from fear and the crippling responsibilities
associated with the discipline of progress
Professional detachment despite intuition
Contingencies anticipated - dodged - dismissed

My demise will come from the lethally toxic OD
combination of ever feeling important
and the possession of some manner of advantage
Self-immolation over-analyses masked as
A dispassionate sum of work plus desire plus
the acquisition of what someone identifies as talent




Today feels like one of those days when
you never happen to catch your
own reflection anywhere
Timing always just off
Angles just odd or unexpected

Like a ghost losing all semblance of self
in and among the populace
A last lone jigsaw puzzle piece
dropped under the sofa and
badly mangled by the vacuum

Neither performer nor audience member
an existence reduced to a
sometimes functioning surveillance camera
Non-subtle yet wholly ignored
Potential always trumping utility and allure

The relationship between creation and consumption
Never optimal always complicated by fluidity
Need Want Expectation and Responsibility
Measurement units irrelevant when
balancing scales is only objective