oh, I won't be coming home tonight 'cause I've run out of ways to feel I've started a fire that I can't put out so just go ahead, set the table with your entrails oh, I won't be coming home tonight 'cause I've run out of ways to feel I've started a fire that I can't put out so just go ahead, set the table with your entrails go ahead, set the table with your entrails

I do not have a shit-ton of discretion (I have a shit-ton of discretion) (lacking vitamin B and external validation)

I knew with an announcement drawing near left at the footsteps of salt-tracks toward your bed brought closer by the heat-index and parents everywhere who left us, or you I've tried this I knew what it was like four or five seconds in spun like a catacomb, wrapped like an aunt's Christmas tree remnants aim for the bottom yesterday afternoon somebody in a serious tone turned seriously to ask me if I'd "be born" "be", not "been" as if I hadn't already-- maybe wanted to, but needed help the creatures around here leave themselves almost daily and from another town over your landlord holds up a sign with marker, that says': "you'll get used to pay'n" would you still wake a sleeping child to give them medication? insomuch-as everything is only ever a collection of other things where are you headed? act curious for questions you know the answers to act curious for questions you know the answers to the most important way you can make someone feel is act curious for questions you know the answers to

I know you're thinking to your Self (I hope) this is even half as cathartic for Norm Macdonald as it is for me-- him watching with his arms crossed-- you crushing a florescent light-bulb onto a series of colorful rugs you pulled across the alter their shards illuminating the air between your Self and just pew after pew after pew of the most confused and confusing somewhere within there two men decide this was a bad idea and you run literally grasping at that same air in front of you pulling your hands silhouetted if you could just get a grip if you could if you could just get a grip if you could if you could just get a grip if you could even if you could if you could just get a grip even if you could get just so much as a handle even if you would you would tug and you would tug and you would tug it like a rope and pull yourself and swim toward nothing instead you're just stuck, spinning slightly but if you if you could just get a grip you would you would C L A Y T O N P U R D O O O M intuition orphan is like a tea-timer in the corner of your ear the doctor will see you now but the doctor will always see you now right now somehow even you can't see you now right now you're thinking, "I feel some sort of purpose.." just don't look down just don't... ..look......

somewhere in-between you wash your intangibles with delicates fold a few together in confusion-- --and...

I'm sorry to inform you.. ..but... you fall asleep outside again behind behind your eyelids behind your eyelids behind your eyelids behind... ..behind.... ...behind...... ....behind........... .....behind................... the first time your child say's, "fragile"-- --you: the first time your child say's, "fragile"-- --you: the first time your child say's, "fragile"-- --you: wake up you ask me my dream you told me you could smell the seagulls growing my eyelashes sitting in their forevers but mornings come between my (ears)

some where in in your home home is a is a house where you will keep the list the list of things you you you left behind some where in your home is a house where you you keep keep the list of things you left behind when wait was the loudest thing you'd heard in a long time the difference being: the Difference Being the Difference Being

(the man who has to live with hindsight...) the man who has to live with hindsight had a steady bad-habit diet that wore him to toothpicks bore him like newsprint from vagrant palms and if that's the inevitable for a man who Knows, I feel sorry for You-- --but check this in: life was never about "knowing", it's about Learning the difference between "being" and "becoming" that thing you have where you can't understand how much what you are experiencing is affecting, they're stuck so curiously and firmly within the present begging yourself to find a way to get away with anything else how many times a day you lose yourself entirely in parked-eyes at cross-streets lately it's been empathizing with trees notice the difference between a swimmer and his water was never such a distance? dark hair sits down next to me on the train and the entire time their arm brushes mine and knowing I don't even need to see their face to feel something other than just alive attempting desperately to connect with any single thing to validate my own reality this morning I nearly drown in tunnel-vision buildings I suppose I could walk back with my eyes closed but bury my head in a hole from my heart to China on my own? ..I don't know....

every time the thought changed his fingers felt the same every time the thought changed his fingers felt the same every time the thought changed his fingers felt the same every time the thought changed his fingers felt the same within their reflections and their jewelery shadows hollow outlines in the sunset sit not too far from familiar distances some humble, others peregrine-- --both the distances, and the people, that is but the doors separate periodically and it would seem usual discourse could be heard delicately dissolving into upward blues and greys in a better place each person on this train is a protagonist (some will argue)

old friend's sold home kept me awake last night to be fair, I was there they left their water running they left their daughter running (no one) no one ever told you you could change everyone (but you knew) no one ever told you you could change everyone but you knew from the inside-outside the same way you walk to work every morning with your eyes closed and try to make it back the same way home maybe very noble being part of something the point of which you cannot fathom nor bother to try to understand your motivation in exchange for instant gratification and the illusion of a righteous purpose you couldn't figure out how to say it it would never come out naturally you knew you'd die eventually but your friends didn't seem to act like it so you went to work and it would bug you from time to time crawling out of your own skin in the middle of the night something other than being everyone else still incredibly confused as to why anyone might try (spinning slightly between hyperbole north, and hyperbole south... ..spitting things out..) one was the pharmacy you promised the daughter of a daughter you could fashion a briefcase out of plastic bags if she promised to help you then you explained, "this is pretty much it"-- --as far as you were concerned-- not a whole lot more to look forward to, but at least you two could look professional in each-others ending eyes and work is, incredibly important to me! it's going to, change me significantly! for the better, teach me to grow-- (selling bullshit to bullshit people) it's a good thing, you'll figure it out and you'll never know any better undoubt you'll know anything about them or them about you you'll never know any better or know anything about them or them about you you'll never know anything about them or them about you you'll never know: (you are entirely full of shit constantly)

(within my own lines) where have you been? (within my own lines) it's been so long... (within my own lines) take your hands out (within my own lines) your sunglasses, off.. ..earbuds burst, (within my own lines) a new trail, blazing like a troph for your IRA Roth never know when to fold 'em, like Holden (within my own lines) if you disconnect less (within my own lines) than a 56k modem, that should leave you with room to feel chosen (within my own lines) by a set of spacey CTA eyes searching around subconsciously under the guise of needing to be validated but not being able to bring oneself to admit this reality leaving almost every second of every day near-death empty as if eye-contact, or a brush on the arm would manifest itself i n t e r n a l l y could sink right past your tongue and plop, wet into your belly (within my own lines) (within my own lines) (within my own lines) taking a vacant seat somewhere in-between your insecurity making itself at home until another missed opportunity as if duality could find itself or define another cathartic piece of art (or at least the time spent) is this why this won't get through to me? does my abandon proceed me? is this what won't get through to me? does my abandon proceed me or does it suit me truthfully? can I catch my unawares with eight hours of sleep and a healthier diet? sneak up behind it with an enormous net sown from good intentions and a baseball bat signed by Malcolm Gladwell and near my last second will I catch it and beat it to a pulp screaming, smashing the shit out of all the things I just do not want to be and when it's said and it's done and I empty the remains across some alter from some dream I once had or haven't even had yet is it obvious that every person sitting in every pew just waiting to hear that they're going to be "okay" someday too, that my netted friend will always just be "Me", caught spinning a reflection within the eyes of onlookers and "Me", standing beside the alter somewhere on the other side dying to dare to draw dying to dare to draw dying to dare to draw dying to dare to draw dying to dare to draw dying to dare to draw dying to dare to draw dying to dare to draw within my own within my own lines (within my own lines) and if you could, you would you would draw, within your own lines if you could, you would (a m b i v a l a n c e)