Accounting for my self-help ph"Accounting for my self-help philosophy Failure"Accounting for my self-help ph
Roll me up in your light stick fantastic The pace of my passing is snapping and sweetening Heel clicking Pin sticking Taste for reality And a midnight beating
Pace of envy Dead mans breathing as dry and rasping, lipstick phasing, ruin and razing, rarelly able and so unknown as my thoughtless pacing up and down with a splintered arm Jagged bone and fractured joint
Point
Take the point, firetrap blazing glory Sometimes life isn't boring It just feels that way
So I'm humming my tu
Open Fisted PhilosophyIf, given infinite time and an endless sheet of paper, I could attempt to write down every thought that enters my head, how long would it be before I tired of trying? Minutes, centuries or seconds of the dull methodical analysis? If I can see sonatas unfolding in my minds eye, touch the stars with notes and words, then why do I not reach for them? Attempt to justify these sounds and sights? Can I let myself believe it is because language stops being relevant after a point. Are there simply too many abstract feelings that have not even had words created for them? Does happiness fully describe the passing of a secret letter? LikewisOpen Fisted Philosophy
So now I actually get how this all works
Neutral
Show me your art.
That is all,
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