Friday, June 17, 2011

rusted memories

the gambler danced back in
he came from the cold winds
he wore his age,
deep with cuts, pain
he found the story hard
he lost his all
"find the time, fellas,
don't be like me, here
i threw it away for some cheap beer
now i'm here, alone, drunk
wishing i hadn't sunk so low"
he pulled a streak of silver
and pulled the trigger
his head exploded
our hearts were forever corroded

no sympathy to the man who can't hack it
none of us are equal
none of us fall into the same set of circumstances
the differences between us are vast
when you look around, you see life doing the killing
you realize that inevitability begets a wide spectrum of outcomes,
horribly chaotic, to beautifully fortuitous
you are you
whether you try or not,
whether you 'anything' or not,
you are you, and only you
you have to live this set of cards out, like it or not
if your hand is shitty, it's not your fault
and there might not be anything you can do about it
but finding inner peace,
reaching true transcendence takes no time
it is, in fact, removed from time
and, finding that peace, is really why we're here
seeing life for what it is,
full of ups and downs, full of triumphs and tragedies,
is the most beautiful thing life has to offer to us living
whether you were dealt pocket aces or not,
this understanding will come to you at some point
maybe not 'till death, but especially at death
if you're in the thick of it,
and can't see it,
don't worry
you will

"you cannot go against nature, because when you do,
going against nature is part of nature, too"
-love and rockets

you decide what it contains

i'm ashamed… who am i if i don't output? what am i worth? what is all the sensory input for if i'm not to observe and report… to unveil surprising and not-so-surprising ideas? i really can't say that life has any more meaning than that. the sad part is, art can only go so far. the beatles, in their infinite wisdom, and humongous sales, timeless generations of fans won't be so timeless when millions, billions of years have passed. "let it be" will mean nothing to life, other than its limited impact on billions of people(!), in a very limited space in the uni(omni?)verse. what is the point of our art, then? it will, in full effect, never be full. but, therein, lies my contradiction. the fullness exists in the artist. life has now become complete for the artist once the art has escaped him... a pureness is reached. i've become emotionally confused because i'm lacking in the simple ritual of releasing. i've nothing more to add to this piece, seeing as how i'm merely saying i should be making some art, which i'm gonna go do