immaterial forces

smoke. projection screens. beyond shadows of doubs.

Cigarettes--the decadent manor of lament the sophistos manner of discipline: ten minutes of distractions for ten minutes of dazed focus toward that smoke briming with projections with their tenor disillusion of ending all that white noise.


The night was loud--innae sputters weaving through the massive appeal but in reality was all pleas.

Please for all sorts of things but those who had their taste of many know better to ask for anything more than a distraction.

Sometimes I watch because I long to speak to the language of a crowded room--knowing the whelms and manor of such immaterial forces.

Sometimes I join the madness, because it is human to enjoy the ephermal, phantom grasp--the rush of sand escaping my clasping hands.

Either way the rhythm--
the massive appeal is inescapable. I still wonder how to summon heaven on heavy nights on such loud nights--my own glee never being enough!

Sometimes I want to fall to such an appeal--chaos turns to vapors breathed by eager lungs!

End the human world I say--let's become something more.

But, then again, we are doomed. But listen, its beautiful.

Street lights christening asphalt as the benefactored of maddening vibrations. ANd we're just these lost angels, so it seems--I swear.