The gods are approaching.
Can you hear their sacred footsteps?
As they clumsily strum our divine minds.
For our reality is much more plastic than theirs.
It's fantastic.
Depression is an item which I hold
inconsiderably close to my heart.
The relief of all distress,
a blame that actually harbors my deepest pain.
But, when reality sucks, it's all the same.
I came and now I am moving along.
Boys here, girls there,
I have this keen attraction to long hair.
Be it this, be it that, I'll be each idea for awhile.
Noticing my deep purpose and absence of style.
It's just another task or so I should ask.
The distance that occupies my deepest knowledge
is vast in capacity and pretty full.
Who can tell from this adolescent mind,
that I am who I say I am.
I am who I say I am.
Ladies and gentlemen, pay at the door,
for when that happened to me,
I swore such an alternate,
that it became paradoxical within itself.
Paradox, orthodox, peace as I am diving off the docks
into the blue oblivion I call my life.
Calm and tranquil seas that ripple my constant discourse.
So surreal and yet so concrete.
And over time, it all just repeats.
October 1, 1997