stuck, thinking about the what is and what it could be, what is it, what it was, what it is. a singular process of learning to forget, or more aptly to put aside, way back, last door on the right, next to the hallway closet, which is what? more shit than i can shake a stick at, more mud, more, more, more. stop thinking, laziness is a long process.......................
the past unloads fast and furious, as vastly subjective memories stand at arms length, fingers hold the ability to express what cannot be said, the mind holds it's breath, the pen is not mightier than words thrown carelessly, to backtrack is to spin precariously close to destruction, whether or not that is an end or an ends to a means depends, once again, on where one sits..................
drying time excluded, a wavering desire to return to seemingly less complicated, in hindsight only, chairs and stares, the walls could speak, the plants themselves held meaning beyond belief, a vertical ascension to a horizontal timeline................
behold a sneak peek at a show that one can already see. 
i owe alot to a little, running in one direction only to return to the start and tighten the figure eight, 8, miles ahead in the distant memory lies the lies told secretly by originality and flavor, the two lost souls propelling forward into the night sky conundrum, a little salt goes a long way.......
to stumble and fall begets a loss of skin and a furthering of the fast twitch, preferable to a slow simmer in a satisfactory sulk, meaning nothing and something all at once because nothing is something after all, if only to continue an ongoing conversation....................
