inspiration, move me slighty
Its all so obsessively loud and cluttered, yet silent and sterile.
There's more quiet in the chatter than communication yet no peace.... or even anger as the drowning itself falls short and chokes breath. It is perhaps the platform to perform the play of the plenty, but without momentum is a tap dance on elastic eggshells. Mobile and hindered between the shadows of an entropy and a faded memory of ecstasy, this lack or loss of dimension clothes the libertine idea in a wet and sogging cloak.
Harshly heavy is the burden hemmed upon the unburdened in these border towns where the mortgage has long since been bartered for a quickly forgotten flicker. This is where absurdity goes towards purgatory and where irony flourishes, this is where the last of the humors is weighed and measured by anthropologists. This is the end of the line for cloned words diluted on purpose by arrogant ex artists turned cynics who stubbornly; and with an amnesia towards poetry, refuse to accept that less is more.
And more is too much when even the glamoury of extravagance is discarded promptly upon its own partial unwrapping. Stuck in undeveloped gluttony I accept these mutated metaphors as the birth pangs of my own character, as the cursor searching through my myths to reclaim or stain my hero. I accept that my sense of adventure has been betrayed by mere laziness, has been subdued by a false compass of nostalgia pointing to station never obtained. Ill skirt the edges of honesty in these naked moments by scaling the shear face of the mountainous mirror of self deception and pretend the registry of regret lies empty.
As these fraudulent building blocks of experience crystallize at least enough to refract their own holographic sense of self servitude, I shall stowaway on this momentous flirtation with creativity and for a second(within this forsaken landscape), assume that i am inspired.