You search, but you are more afraid of finding than you are of holding onto the mystery. I can see it in your eyes, there is so much more to you than you dare to reveal. I can’t say I blame you, of course, I’m the same way more often than not. But don’t you ever lie awake at dawn as the traffic rushes far down below, hear the screaming sirens, and wish for the ending of the games? Don’t you sometimes find yourself exhausted of the regular people with their mediocre thoughts, their flat unfeeling speeches? Take a person, one on one, and I will get them talking, they will turn themselves inside out and let me touch them anywhere. It’s not me, it’s just this thing I have where I am consumed with mad curiosity, perhaps it is love, perhaps it is just a sick perversion. Call it what you like, makes no difference to me. But the masses are a blindly obedient herd, and if this doesn’t scare the shit out of you I’m not sure there is much else for us to talk about. Privileged troubles I know, but the world is the world it is and here we are bathing in it like two wounded animals in the open early morning air. Don’t you think half the time I wish I were not like this? How pleasant it must be for the ones who think nothing of challenging everything, feel no sense of angst or frustration with the way things are or the way things go. What good is this life if you don’t create it on your own terms. What is there if not resistance, how can you tell if you are getting anywhere if you aren’t pushing against the onslaught of the status quo? We are living, right now, this very minute, as your palms sweat and your gum line itches, in a dystopian nightmare. Want proof? I just had to “add to dictionary” the word dystopia. It’s like nothing we have ever seen or experienced before, this being led by a lie, the truth is not the truth, strength is weakness, weakness strength. It’s not me it’s you, or is it the other way around and when did you stop being able to tell? And we play along and we finger ourselves, pleasure ourselves, buy the big toys. I want the things that matter but more and more I have trouble discerning just what they are. In a world, in a time, in a place, where the walls are on fire and the smoke clouds the mirrors in the haunted halls of my mind. Don’t you wish it were different? Don’t you wish there were more love? Don’t you wish that instead of feeding you fire and calling it water, someone would look you dead in the eye and finally acknowledge the flames?