The Effort Is The Thing

Welcome back to a past unwinding like vines, un-entwining, fingers that crossed laid lies upon lips and now come to pass are their venomous wishes. Twelve minutes past the hour and again you stumble upon the same room, same furnishings, same time. You spent three years in corridors learning facts, attribute that to a strategic plan from post-adolescents, (your parents), as comeback kids. They live vicariously through your brain attached to chords and chains, filled with buckets of stew and viles of blood of those hands who got dirty while yours remain gloved.

You pre-pretentious retro-scenester, you've yet to grasp the trends that cycle like a wash, worth about as much and not nearly as clean. Try and grasp, as fast as your idle hands can, a world that is vast and substantial, a time when winds were tranquil but medicine was not a staple of breakfast items and trying was almost worth trying. Can you fathom that? Tightly packed in your bubble wrap you must cut the chord and abolish the whorish schemes and deflated dreams of yester-year's teens.

Your efforts are a trifle, but the effort is the thing. Keep running through these halls, showing the cut and copy peer group who can scoff at whom. Stumble blindly if you can at all, and read books for the love of god, read books. Who would want to define themselves in a cycle that is even slightly below animalistic, repetitive, misleading and often self defeating? Those who choose to continue breathing make a constant statement of checking yes to the previous, so please, of this muddled mess, pull out what you can. Salvage our sullied doorways and create new exits for future feet to follow yours through.


"Stop dying, stop dying, that's the goal."
-The Fountain