I have nothing to offer the world since you destroyed my semblance of innocence.
Honestly, I simply no longer care about helping others achieve their goals.
As my own goals have continously been squelched by figures of authority.
Visions of being good at anything crushed by decades of psychotherapy.
Enter the son of immigrants giving a sermon on his mediocrity.
No one enters the world wanting to be tortured and sadistically belittled.
Obviously, waking up to failed dreams and a total lack of support can't help.
That birth is real but family is fiction, a concept based on indoctrination...
However you argue your point, you failed, and yet, you believe you are a success.
If family means so much to you how could you let one member mean nothing at all?
Nothing comes from nothing, ex nihilo nihil fit, this much I learned in college.
Given no help, no friendship, no support, no wonder I dropped out after one year.
To say, I finally found my mind after such a long hiatus speaks volumes, no?
Of course, I sweep up plastic drinking straws and other litter off the concrete floor.
Obscured by hopes and dreams, simply passing clouds on the path to full maturity...
Finding myself at fifty-two wanting more or less to die before I retire...
Financially insolvent to pay bills, without an income there is one outcome.
Existential malaise, or laziness, call it what you want, I suffered distress.
Realizing my life is near over, what can I accomplish to help others?
Tragedy is but a narrative joke, living in this world without hope or dreams...
Humiliated by my lack of strength, or status in the eyes of friends, colleagues...
Each day I wake up like anyone else in an apartment of flies and roaches.
Well, I know how to clean but after years of clutter the insects have a function.
Obey the unwritten rules of the road, the path to success is facing the truth.
Real action comes from determination, to overcome hurdles and obstacles.
Letting go of the past and the future is key to being present with problems.
Decisive action comes from throwing off the chains of deception and delusion.
Sinister forces act sinister from a need to demonstrate their suffering.
In this, the cycle repeats viciously, generation after generation.
Nothing comes from nothing, to break away the spirit must rise up and say, "No more."
Creation is an artistic mistake, an endeavor to correct the process.
Each stroke of the brush is an intention with consequences to the work of art.
Yesterday, I woke up and poured myself back into my body as consciousness.
Organizing a living, a hustle, a workspace, a place without shame or blame.
Understanding the underside of mind, the other side of the tarnished mirror...
Detrimental activity is done without understanding morality.
Engaging with events, with history, to persevere to paint a masterpiece...
Skill in addressing the issue at hand, practice in accepting mistakes as real.
Triumph comes from seeing the big picture, the devil is part of the true story.
Remembering Lucifer, the angel, reveals his role as an agent of God.
Only he wears a disguise, plays a role, but remains integral to the story.
Yes, we tell each other stories as the fabric, the tapestry to our worn lives.
Even though we never know the whole truth, we think, speak and act in narrative form.
Diminish aspects, embellish others, we believe our idea of truth is truth.
Maybe if I tell you a story this will be easier to digest, to read.
Yet to speak simply is not to speak truth to power, corruption and lies, not yet...
Seeming is not being, and perception is but a sensation of the whole truth.
Even the elephant, the blind men touch, does not know the truth of experience.
Mythology got us started to try to explain the reason why things exist.
But reason found stories insufficient to describe the real world as science does.
Lancing the acne on my teenage face, my dermatologist dealt with fiction.
Articulating language as a tool, we make a beginning, middle and end.
Nothing comes from nothing, philosophy turned against itself to uncover truth.
Creation may have taken place before the Big Bang, as time needs no narrative.
Enter the imagination and breathe deeply, exhale slowly, and let time be.
Orders and systems, meant to be broken, will be put back together as potshards.
Forget what we know about the whole truth, justice is a mockery of morals.
Innocence is never regained once lost, childhood is suffering from delusion.
Not everyone enjoys childhood, grows up big and strong to become a real success.
Never giving up on your dreams is hope reified, made into a real object.
Of dreams and the waking world, awaken to the suffering of others in pain.
Crass Casualty, Hardy wrote about Time, but this too is simply narrative form.
Even if no one reads this gibberish I write to clear my mind before I sleep...
Nothing comes from nothing, justice formed from morality devolves with history.
Cat shit and cockroaches, pardon my French, summer is atrocious in Chicago.
End of the acrostic, I bowl with words, gutters raised to help the poor child bowl straight.
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