Unquenchable Arrogance

A grasping hand. Flailing. Mushroom waving, trying to reach orbit.
There's no filling a depthless hole. There's no killing an unimagined goal.

The cycle keeps going on, but repetition needs iteration. The iteration is in the environment, but it needs to be in the individual. Internalise the chaos, let it bleed through. Let it soak and cleanse, let it fill every trough. Viscous and black, take it back. Take it. Take everything and spit it back. Again and again and again and again and again.

Why a restful sleep when next to another, why sleepless nights trying to hold it together? Why emotions when none should come, and why do falling keys remind me of a fired gun?

Tell someone it is good enough times, and they'll believe it. So impressionable is the human mind. What is good poetry? What is bad? Why is grammar the least of concerns when expressing the id?

It's raw, pulled uncooked from the mind. Quivering and seeping. Push it on the radio, push it on the television. Push it on and on and on, make it glitzy, make it rich, make it glamorous, make it fizz. Then make individual taste as pretentious as possible. Make the unknown pretentious, the known more popular, make everything so fucking meta.

A couplet or a shattered rhyme, speaking or singing in and through time. One set of five, two sets of ten, there are many things that are mightier than a pen. We see it every day. We are sold a book of lies for our inconsequential lives. Believe them at our own peril, reality is easier to see but harder to believe.

Basic math is least understood, our language is altered and bastardised. Everyone is smarter, none are idiots, but they always claim it is all others who do not, cannot, understand. We are all stupid bastard children, we are all fallible human beings, we are no better than each other, no better than the things that scream and crawl, slither and grow. We are only separated by our ability.

They can never understand MY genius, for I am above. I am above nothing and my genius is a meaningless contrivance. I just am.

The levels at which minds operate, with irony, satire, self effacement, to which level do we have to attain? Layers pile thick as thieves; take your joy with a smile.