twenty, twelve.

copycat year of anticipated doom I will undo you into your rightful parts and I will force you to live in the real blinded by nothing awake to yourself and the truths you have shrouded for decades

twenty, twelve
I'm done with your simulacra bullshit
untwin your twins 
own your art
revel in your insanity

EVERYTHING IS REAL/ IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN

animal that therefore I can't help but be

amidst the madness and stress bombs bulldozing through me every work-day, one phrase is resonating:

Nothingness may well have been more convenient 


Emil Cioran is right, nothingness is more convenient, probably. But this last week has thrown me back on the toiling brain-path and its steep and the rewards aren't physical and much less often monetary but the rewards are gifts to the mind, progressions of a personal sort that for me in this brain in this life I fight for and devour and keep on going, creating, climbing-

It is work and it is hard and it is good.