Most people don't bother to skirmish with the true evils of possibility.
(Radio music pretends to break this barrier, to parade around in its two-faced lyrical purgatory that we live in a golden age of risk):
And live we shall under this temporary cancer, this upbeat tyranny, some kind of feeling that we don't fully understand, one that will be lost and gone in a month and a half.
- - - - - - - - -
We need to talk.
I see the white red flag everywhere when I walk down the street and when there is music in my ears.
They are waving it in the air through showers of falling petals; the battalion's rows march through a proud, colorless city under siege! Then,
there is a slow-stop-motion sequence of someone that was once there, and it dances with the music.
It dances,
But I could never see his face.
And this hits through reality.
These images play in my mind so many times a month,
because life is a story told through a proxy of visualized glory.
We need to talk, blondie.
There's still a little time left, and around every tiled corridor I ask myself if I'll run into Trouble-Prototyped again. Every time I walk by Kerchof, pass through the lawn, walk down JPA, walk down that street off JPA,
dream through someone else's blood and heartbeat,
wonder if I can take the heat.
It's not that I've been dishonest: everyone is my best friend for an instance in time. Whoever is most beautiful, whomever's stride I walk beside when the winter is most crisp - I'll have no shame in taking their arm.
Whomever's eyes are most evocative,
so as to seem jarring to the public jury.
To be seen by the eyes of god with one of his finest creations, because,
whom better to prove yourself to?
When you look through the same pictures of something over and over again, you forget what it really looked like.
All become are memorized patterns, and you are conditioned. Routed circuitry from A-path to B-path. Your glance is a few hundred milliseconds,
and it will never see a different path.
It's not that I've been dishonest,
it's just that I've got an itch,
and the only cure is to skim the surface of an irreversible evil.
