All the love in the world is a mess because the world is chaotically disorganized.
Pure and true intentions even fail when amidst such opaque understanding of what’s pure and what’s true.
A million are mourning, weeping, suffering under oppressive conditions.
A billion more are struggling to defeat the oppression.
Ceaseless virtue is condensed character compartmentalized outwardly through flexible dexterity in the human being.
A Christian group is singing songs of praise to Jesus. Some Luciferians mosh angered dissonance in death metal. And Beethoven’s 5th is elevator music in Europe. How will we merge them into stunning magnificence?
What is this immaculate design symbolic for teaching?
As one person’s livelihood dwindles, another is escapading the trapeze into fortune.
Some lovers are devoted to the core. Other lovers are core to the devoted.
And what’s worth devotion? What’s wise devotion? What’s your devotion?
Did the reliable husband drop bombs? Or did the deadbeat husband make himself into one? Do all cheating whores with no remorse take cover? Do all timid damsels in distress take over?
How Bob Dylan was banned from playing ‘The Times They Are A Changin’ while on tour in China.
How authentic significance is seldom recognized until the impact of grief settles into your very bone marrow.
How jaws drop because they want to speak, but can’t grasp the words, the language, or the tone.
How someone, somewhere, somehow is doing the utmost impossible, but it’s only because they know they can.
And all the broken hearts, degraded sexualities, impaled identities…
They, too, belong and deserve experience of the opposite of the trauma done to them.
And this hunger from dizzy malnourishment inflicted upon self is simply because I’m too weak and tired to make the fettuccini.
I’ll lay here, half past one a.m., and tiddley wink a monolith just to feel enough ease and reassurance from the silence of my mind.