Tactleneck
Ink Blot

I'm not normally the one complaining about love, surely there are vast oceans of far more important news to convey or gossip about, but alas the heart strings tugged and the chemicals combine. I know what I have is well, something I thought I wasn't built to have, not truely anyway. Fuck! The catacombs that entwine my psyche are astronomically impossible to map and memorize I can't even figure myself out, who would else could endure it or better yet who would want to? But she does, mostly unflinching,

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There will always be those self- indulged motivational speakers hellbent on emptying your bank accounts, only give credit where credit is due. Even the half-clever ones can conjure up a well structured idiom that can inspire the momentary but absolute sense of self, the proverbial flicker in a steady flame, but within all the languages of all the world, every dialect, each urban characture rudely assumed, is there any word or phrase, paragraph or formulation potent enough to enduce a perpetual muse,

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Pushing pulling, sewlling shriveling, dynamically tact, flowing crushing branding bleeding bruising, fast-forward, reverse but never unbecoming. Poached plundered, hindered under the weight, stretching salivating, the device of a permanent marker, fatigued energized, godly adamently sure. Softening hardening...in more ways than one, simply on edge, peculiarly at ease, indifferent indisposed insumountable, functionally broken, astrnomically impossibly uncomprehensibly certain.

Order and peace, this pendullem of modernism in which neither end shall meet. Gasping at tall tales of men not at war, children playing in the streets, in fields, in their mothers arms. Each action supplies their own means to an end and our future is no more than the direct result of our own will, yet the one rushing the horizon is but the burning ruins of our dreams. Slowly I begin to co-exist with the ghosts that have tainted my every step. We laugh, we cry, we apologize, we move on. We talk of

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Touche to you the victor, whom undoubtedly the lines I drew to keep out you use to keep me in. They've grown a customed to. You adopted them, the bastard children of my anti-socialism. Oh how quickly doth my offspring find new guidence in a stronger hand. Entwinded and entangled with my limbs I fail to even tend my wounds. Ravenous hellions, setting my own convictions against me. No matter how big the walls I build, they're always downwind of a hurrican.