Soul~chewing train

All aboard... the soul chewing train. Train your brain to chew your soul. It's so chewy. So soulfully chewy. Chunky. Steak and potatoes. Eat it with a knife and fork. Carnivate your soul. For UnCarnal Knowledge.

So, it sounds like something that meant one thing one time. That thing I forgot. Spoiled ironies. Dried to husks. Pointless to harvest. Like dust. So, emote about being a mote. Sound like fucking kansas for a moment. WTF is with that moment? Let's mosey on. I'll see myself out. Take myself to the woodshed. Waiting on a rewatch of mad men episodes by Matt Lieb.

Sigh, groan, at what live serves up to me. To us, I can include others. Try to enjoy black humour. Really, try harder. Try before you why. Why nothing, just try to appreciate some aspect of the horror show. Even though the share price of poetry has plummeted again. It's not good enough to be bad even. Bad hasbra. Low value man and woman. Synthetic testerone could be rivalled by lab-made ampethamine class prodrugs.

Fit to be tied. Fit for a substack. Adrift in the vast sea of the market economy. Paddle to the sea, yo. Shock humour of 1999. What's that worth?

not all soul-chewing

Soul Nibbling.

And soul repairing.

Removed that annoying controlling format.

So I've chewed on my soul vigorously, frothing at the mouth with tiny bubbles of short-lived BEST POSSIBLE WORLDS, tearing them to gristle in my teeth, grinding grinding grinding til they taste like ashes

but I swallow those ashes, find a way to perk up, desperately at first, for hours that seem like weeks, then more confidently, then, like spotting ocean on a sea of sand, the prospect of soul, again, and I can play, play with light, of light, reflect it like a diamond, play music, reflect it to jupiter, amplify it to the sun, cast to the universe.

Animals can restore soul, if I let them. My two cats. Beautiful handsome creatures. Noble beasts with poo-butt. Silly spastic prisoner pets. Tati inspecting my keyboards. She's gotta sniff all the knobs. 

I might chew more. I thought I chew too much. It felt like the awful truth at the time. Those were long times. Now I'm revaluating. It feels good to revaluate. Consider, maybe it wasn't all a waste. The balance I've been seeking between the sardonic and the sublime.

When I amplify music to the universe, it's actually not that, so much, I'm not inviting much of anything except a very specific zeigheist, a stellar spirit from the far future.

 

Who can I talk to about this? I don't know, maybe no one. So it exists in the form of a blog post.