(0195) synchronization of the dead

we were reeling from the leftovers. kids who lock themselves in their basements with more alcohol than they have money for. and when the timing is right, they dig up past ghosts who yearn to find a voice in the future. they should be feeling better for the non-believers when their curiosity is augmented by a neverending cliche of futility. but the ones who stay complacent can't be blamed for their hesitation. information is everywhere except where it should be. my head is spinning like a bowling ball going down the gutter. and so light reacts accordingly in time - the grand illusion of movement and change. something you thought you felt. something you thought you saw. a reflection of lost hope. it's just common sense, but is it really as common as it was before? i doubt it. what was once a shooting star becomes a black hole over and over again.

(0194) blinking off superstition

noise pollution. feeling empty again and no way back now. the whispers were enough to keep me balanced temporarily. tell me once more. who was it that fucked up? palatable only to a few but enough. intake through breath; feel soon the death. if i wished to not exist, would it be any worse? feeding on the restlessness, caught up in a trance, never coming out until i need a second chance. tasteless, i know. comes to nothing. walk away when we can, leaving footprints that are gone three hours later. and always reaching for that helpless hand. oh, just sleep it off they'll say. read a book. no thanks. i'll write my own. fingers crossed. the immediate consolation wasn't much, but i had to take it otherwise.