Route of Attack

We sit up high

There are places I see from my peak that I can not reach nonetheless

In my mind exist a few

The sparsity of the phenomena

To explore

But have no say

What I mean is

There are distinct problems

That are very large

That I guess I could attack

Knew I how

At this point people call me crazy

Maybe it’s not even real

The language is simple

Overly so

But I must communicate clearly with you

I have goals

I have problems

And others have problems with my problems

So it’s pretty antagonistic

In sum

This leads to a lot of discord

And conflict

Inside and out

But for now

I’ll just get my coffee

So what do I do? Where is it safe?

(Is work really so easy for everyone? Is it natural to function? My behavior is not considered by modern society as functional or (literally, as in convertible to money) val-u-able. I wouldn’t get paid to do what I do. But I think on the other hand that many people are like that. But what they do is valuable! So why aren’t they getting paid? Because money is broken? Because the economy is crude? Because abstract technology/concept is not there yet? It’s definitely concept. But I don’t think probably not most people understand it yet. Do most people understand that money is intended to represent value? And that value is a natural human phenomenon, a natural human understanding, feeling? Intuition? I don’t really understand what’s going on. This is all broken, everything around me, you, everything. Nature was cruel to begin with, it lets living things be eaten alive, to be tortured to death. This is not a good place. This is not a good world. Invent something. Make utopia the reality it once was.)

I can’t shower. I can’t shave. It’s very hopeless. Orthogonal. Orthogonality. The proper propaganda for the generation is soup in a bowl. There’s no breeze tonight. I wonder. When it came? When sustenance? Why hap? Often, too little. I can’t breathe. Someday, I will have to (not). I’m not prepared for pain.

Too many pictures in front of my eyes. Too much makeup under the shirt. Dirth, belittle, fragment. Nation of objects. Obscure in touch. Tactile. Marketed mayfair. Could be swallowed. Never under the pillow. Miss my roll. Cat baked ketchup. Stickers again.

A nation of How to Tolerate Pain Successfully.

10 melons. 101 words. Plentiful dog nap, cautionary space for cavitation of capacity for care with crimson creen. Map osfunction. Fungle. Save time for save the game frolic. Gratitude. Awareness. Cream tea. Space. Lots of Hubble. Huddle round the oven, for I see the future of people and it keeps me from them.

People who own rocks are abusive.

I’m sorry that’s all I have now.