Welcome to the machine?
How about welcome to the street of need and inability, two things that should never have to be together
So we say welcome to forever, it’s with us for a long long measure and the pain in that really beats on the face of our pleasure
We’re stuck here in between the sender and death, the great pretender and we slave over it yet; we break over and take what we don’t want over the all-clutching realness that we just don’t fucking get
A machine? Tear it down, make it sound instead of crowd, make it burn for a while, give heart to the homeless in the dead mourning chill
Some of us have houses, with walls and gazebos, indulgences to feed those that also see nothing; but they’re frightened too of what room holds more realness for them or for whom the realness came from instead--instead maybe it lives in their heads and they can’t tell the difference because it’s all just walls walls walls and black and grey and perfect things to say
Where is the thought
Where is the day? All these things meant to be gave are shaved off and away and you’ll never see them again or the person, the friend, that you can’t even look at in honesty because you know nothing
Where have we gone
To the machine
We l i v e in the machine, and so its dreams are our dreams but we have real being so the dream sharing becomes jaded, cross pollinated, between living and latent; it becomes the worth of nothing again.
So where are we now?
Well our bodies may be held inside some oxidizing metal hell, but our minds and the rest are free to leave themselves and go to the dirt or the swells or just meld to the one that really is all
So call, call, welcome us all to the land of the machines and the possibility of their destruction
Welcome to just god be damned being.