||[Sep. 3rd, 2014|07:21 pm]
The struggle and screams of years gone by leaving marks on the mind as distinct as the silent sound of neglect.|
Nature and nurture nothing and the sound of the screams in the silent.
The silence leaves its marks, the words and works that want to be done or spoken.
Gunshots still in the distance and years of it, and years of fires, though it did not happen they tell me and then I hear about another friend, brother, mother laying on the ground again, the hammers pounding a blast against a cap that leaves one capless.
Without cap, without brain, without skull.
The unintended bullet hitting the wrong person, and another fire burns one too many innocents facing the explosion that I have been told that did not happen.
It did not make the news, another mother, brother, sister dead and it did not happen the invisible man born on a story and game purposely played on incomplete information.
The incomplete information repeated and repeated the lie growing and growing.
Ah it's the truth because it is a really big lie told over and over again.
Overcoming the edge the tooth and the fist.
Overcoming the screams and the void.
Overcoming the marks that cannot be seen.
These marks pervaisive these marks indelible.
Though we might write ourselves out of that which we love.
Love the active pen of a minds desire.
Tapped, cast and played the events unfolding a plan prepared seeming random meeting the moment.
Overcoming lack, overcoming society, overcoming the edge, overcoming the self.
I stare at myself in the mirror knowing that I am thanatos and eros, life and death:
For all of these things are written within me upon me throughout me.