Love what you mistress.
Every little insect here has a secret to share but with whom, lies the bigger challenge. They say all life holds value, and in my opinion that means that every last experience these little bugs could have lived is worth words as well.
So I’ll start with the dung beetle. I mean I had questions of my own like for staters, how great was his sense of smell. How easy was it for this little guy to tell poop from mud. And for the weirdest bit, was there a better and simpler way to predict just where next the next meal would be dropped, or did he like; roam for days and nights hoping to run into a piece just laying there, fresh or otherwise if at all he had a preference. I had all these unanswered questions but to my disappointment, all this beetle was willing to share was that dung isn’t actually quite as bad. That infact, if we all fed on dung, then there’d be more of fruits, deer, and lettuce for everyone to look at. An endless supply he insisted, and even went further to extract some valid reason based arguments, some scientific even.. like Global warming, Trump himself. He went on like this until his 25 minutes were up and up came the worm. I know, he’s a non insect. He walked and talked funny, this one. I guess everything really does have a side to them yet to be discovered, I thought. It took him 5 minutes of human time to get to the stage, more 2 to centre himself and by this time most others had began to make aware their discontent as to this waste of time.
But then he spoke; so gallantly in fact you could hardly tell him apart from Bonaparte.
It’s the while in the wait that often gets us on edge, he went. I know for one not to wake early or do anything rushed, cause mostly experience. Us worms are early risers, and as an early riser, one day you just won’t show up after that morning crawl and everyone will start wondering if that call was even genuine.
You might assume you know everything but sometimes its better to take your time. Other’s too.
Along the road.. the next step to every evolutionary phase has always been a single bastard with a mission
I’ll now assume me constants constant and lay them down just to lay with them or nothing at all. Cases. Old stakes infact. Some to spike chantless fears off your dead grandmother’s spear but still you’ll yield every now and again to rage off demons yet to become
This life — only you are accountable no matter how much of an asshole you’ll prove to become, guaranteed.. nothing ever stays the same. The idea is to try as fairly as heeded to keep at pace or drop out already
Spears don’t shoot, you see.. and knowing your limitations as it is can and will always be a cardinal factor in understanding why it is certain things around you fall into the joint places that they ultimately did
I for one value privacy and see no reason to round about it. I swear. I’ve since said all that’s been called out then got on a jaj or sumthn to get away or say, prove points to strangers
Hilarious as this sounds, letting go of focussed living can never be the option to it.. in this game, again ..you get quit, you don’t. What you people don’t seem to gather.. one simply cannot walk by you. They’d try but look at these folks. They’d ride along my ambitions to exhaustion and still couldn’t race this parallel me to anything ever again
The thing about pictures.. one can never be too honest. At some point you’ll have to wonder to yourself if that’s all the portrait was meant to mean anyway.
If you took a thought to spare.. somehow you’d know to duck when and say if a bullet went off. That further so.. art and poetry alike are about those too honestly speaking.. creating.. narrating.. call it what you may — just drive me home after. I’ve always been presumptuous when it came to matters at hand. My one rule was spare a while only when I could and that for some reason turned me into a Charlie Sheen. Originally Dr Cooper, and before that; a one Christopher Jane. Yeah.. you heard me. But now I just think I’m the cleverman. Making ends meet. Selling lifestyles. Stripping Truths bare, if you nahmean.
I understand life
I understand pain
I now know why none of that matters and why we all should follow our own path to destruction
I should be on T.V
The idea behind price is that we’re all worth something
The bitter truth behind that further is, not all of us are equal — if only George Orwell were here
I have me notes here and the one recurring thought in my dump of a mind simply spells Arucohol (Mike’s idea)
Perhaps now I could finally taste me that walker blue.. or something alike.. I’m thinking nonsense here.. I bet thats your business still … cause me and the world are just stories happening around you.. who could blame you? The mere fact that you care enough to have me in your kind blistered heart rather loudly spells “reality” to me and to whoever is listening
Who wouldn’t want that?
I can name you three hundred things I bet no one notices about this photo at first glance. It’s not the art, I swear. Perhaps the geometry to it — the calming and yet humbled face of the child in the bottom right quadrant whom I assure you is much a pain than hungry hungry Allan Baldwings off whatever movie commercial I just made.
Take a moment to reflect if like me you’ve wasted a greater part of your life in the joyously enchanting phase we’ve grown to name teenage-hood — toying about with decommissioned trucks and firearms.
And again if you’re keen enough you’ll notice the bullet hole just above and right of the child’s head in the photograph.
I don’t suppose I’m allowed to pen more of this.