dying season

Season drips, seeps into groundwater, gets absorbed, another cycle in an arbitrary number, smart money is on what we expect, a normal president - arbitrary tributary - burn everything else away.

It's hard on me. Yes it is. I'm in the void now, raging against the dying. In the nearly-dead season. And over there is that newly-wed season, glass ceilings, gated communities. You all have it made, my bitter lament. And paranoid too. And selfish. Still did the stunt of helping that guy though, so now I'm allowing myself delusions as welfare, in a welfare cosmos. Remember what the things mean...

Bill Burroughs said, "exterminate all rational thought". Fuck that, pyrotechnically sterilize thought bonds, disconnect from the sources of supreme futility and failure, stand aside, seeing what a crazy paranoid trip that is, but still too attached, to feeling it must be true.

There will be another seasonal shift. But how many more, I'm not sure, it's a little concerning sometimes, facilitates remergence of primal fear - or decorative yet derivative paranoias.