What really needs to be said...when indeterminate silence clarifies. Who can follow among this rock spinning around fire why we find ourselves born into these lives. We are here. It's never fair. We have our battles. We even have the challenge of picking and choosing battles. No need for tears. Just fight through matters and try to sustain some semblance of a pulse. Some folks have little to battle. It's not so much their version on this rock. It's a distancing unknown to the map. Just fight it through and understand in the process how not to devolve into something waxen entirely. There are these promotions of love love, peace, harmony and the like. It's odd, in that, some folks, the promotion, is simply the end for their existence, all the while, those not among that avenue, can embrace and enjoy life as it resides of a different avenue. Again, a distance never to be found on a map, in the mirror, body to body. Some people are born into a nest. Some, are born into fire. Who made that choice? Indeterminate silence. Pulsating adrenaline. Blood shot intensities coupled with bursts of light-headed rlease. Rooms spinning. Laughter. Violence. Rinse and Repeat. The audience is enjoying life, why can't you. I think of the gladiator, all eyes, someone who found themsleves there when they didn't even cast the first stone. They were at peace, and wanted others to be at peace, and yet, it was all stones thrown their way, along with instincts ripping into their flesh. Indeterminate silence. Pain. Numbness. Head floating. Cheering in the background. To be among the existence as one doesn't exist, even as they are portrayed as an existence to be destroyed. To hold words that simply dance around an experience shrouded in silence. There wouldn't be tears. There wouldn't be some form of feel-good or feel-bad measure among the mirror. No eyes. Just silence. Existing among the existence as non-existence. Words falling off, a failure of the articulation. Again, an indeterminate silence. We all stand in the mirror, and the worlds vastly different, of which among the understanding, there isn't understanding at all. Who can say why the unfortunate event belongs to the beholder. Who can say why the fortunate event belongs to the beholder. Does it belong? I think different paths yield different answers. I think those who experience actual hardship hesitate, and those who experience actual silence ponder without words, but this is the mirror, and confidence will adorn the day that is our night with hollow words. What else could be said? The sun rises among suns, and the sun falls among suns, only the reference doesn't have to exist. Maybe the sun doesn't rise? Maybe the sun doesn't fall? Maybe we have a false sense of importance? Confident words likely find a counter. Those without confident words, simply can move on in silence. To move through the given oscillations, the hardships, the friendships, the guenine connections, toward something unknown without doubt, without knowing, without a need to be guided through, as the notion, doesn't make a lot of sense. We existed before there was a language, and yet, to understand on this basis as a safe way through. How so? I like indeterminate silence.
So each and everyday we appear before the mirror. Some of us embrace, others, with very different stories, reside somewhere else. Again, I think of Plato, to reside among shadows, a shadow language, smelling the shadow roses. It doesn't add up in any sense, one plus one or three's company. We flow in, and we will flow out. No need to be saved when something already has you. It's going to be okay, of which no literal assurances are needed. And any of us could question the literal assurances, though few will. Why these assurances? One desiring the entire matter, considering this world, such a willingness can be used, of which considering the hardships surrounding all of this, the entire affair isn't so silent. It's the sound of war. It's the fire on the runway, as earth angels march in a straight line. To be the one upon the arena, a gladiator, on the floor, bleeding out, with those viewing you as a spectacle, finding pleasure in your erasure, seems more alive than the stands enamored by the mirror, embracing formations among a modern tarmac, circling at the surface. Rock spinning among fire...To reject the notion of a better world? Who does this? It's largely sparkle tits and earth angels on parade, why? It's a smile for the camera rather than a sobering stair, why? To have a sense of living in a way that isn't always looking so cosmetically alive? To simply live and embrace that living, neither happy nor sad? To have a presence, rather than buying into the inundations of a need to be present without a presence? Be enthused. Be happy. Be Successful. Fuck the process, who needs to know the teeth from the meat? Be the body that recieves acceptance and earth angel glory. Be everything that everybody wants. Be the star that is so close and yet so far. Shine in the mirror. To live among a sobering sense of living, to understand among this indeterminate silence, seems impossible or needs to become an impossiblity. At best, there are professions of knowing one does not know, coupled with salvation in the mirror. It's complete bullshit, but safety seems to be the way, unless you don't mind bleeding out on the coloseum floor. It's Charlie and the Chocolate Fear Factory. Here you will meet your death as a shadow among a glinting nothing. Sign the dotted line and the Charlie's grid experience will be all yours. Shine on. Enjoy yourself. The table is set. It is all yours for the taking. Desire to your heart's content. XOXO. Here, take a picture, as you lose a sense of what that picture ever was about. Understand the new you. Strive. Again, the oddity of even existing among this.
