it sometimes is an ocean night like this cracking the sky open with its electric unavoidability. sometimes it goes like this the yawn before the moan the creak before the groan my mind is empty of evidence my heart filled to bursting with the ditritus of a thousand unlived love affairs what else is there but this in a moment such as this or that or another i can not give anymore of myself until the crows come to pick my bones as i live and breath this feast of breath does fill and empty me eternally i drive forward through the night on a vehicle of salt and fumes the darkness cloaks my naked form and i disappear into the landscape of my own dreaming only to reappear unrecognizable.
am i such a known entity?
what is it that thrills me eternally?
novelty.
that blessed curse that keeps the world spinning on its axis and will not let me stop moving even for a moment, i catch my breath in between gasps of unfamiliar air, chasing after my own ether.
either this or that.
where does inspiration come from and to where does it return?
i walk in a daze through the days of my life catching glimpses of brilliance between cracking open and sealing the seams with dust and petals and brine.
i am nothing without a muse. unfocused, unmotivated. the desire to create desire. the desire to transcend desire. the drive to move beyond such human cycles. releasing desire in the name of true pleasure. perhaps.


how undeniable subtlety can be
and how subtle, undeniability...

how immediately the moment goes molten
and only salt remains...

The noun of the self becomes a verb
eternally in fluid flux
yet solid in its flow.