life continues to be an incessant shuffle to claim some sort of psychological stability despite all flaws in this thinking. the universe cares not for my humane desires and feels at times like riptide of poor starshine leaving me lurching in horrible darkness, struggling to maintain direction despite forces pushing me underneath in opposite way.
HEY YO...
the tiny moments of art which fill the gaps in the day's gridlocked routines - the flipping thru photo books from the university library, expanding my eyes. the scribbling of verses on pc notepad at work, printing out before leaving, folding into quarters and tucking into back pocket hoping to remember not to leave in the wash where many a ill verse has gone the way of dryer lint tray.
HEY YO...
blasts of music in shitty aging minivan which is my destiny, with transmission starting to slip like 40-something knees beaten from decades of self-destructive enjoyments. minivan which has not felt smooth in forever but is all I got to get back and forth to maintain same barely breathing position in the aforementioned riptide which pulls me further from dreams.
HEY YO...
the frustration and anger and resentment and mistakes I didn't know any better than to commit, it leaves me feeling empty and hopeless, and this is when we embrace the dark arts, the music of fuck it, the naked images of beautiful ugliness. it is in these dark times the flygod feels good.
HEY YO...
says the flygod, and for brief moment as grimy minimalist baps boom, I can breath again, and imagine a future with a fist full of hundred dollars bills, middle finger outstretched at the present. fuck all yall fake motherfuckers.
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