too much as hemlock

and, truly, thou ART the hidden god. but i refuse to search every moment, every person and every corner to find proof of a thought. a thought that whispers in tongues and promises in stereo, maybe, but a thought nonetheless.

dwell on this with me. imagine fate staring down will until both begin to blur. until faces suffer sharp angles and the room starts to warp. walls melting. floor tilting.

not again.

fate and will locked in some eternal staring competition until their eyes leak out or it just seems that way. trick of the light. like saying a word over and over and over again until it completely forgets who it is or where it was going. what were you going to say?

you said it. there was just no definition to the words. and suddenly fate looks like karma and will is just a shrug. all because you stared too long. thought too hard.

live simple.

intellect gets in the way. it makes us forget that we decay just like our country. it allows us to call forth emotion that does not fit circumstance. instinct works. it is raw and crude and probably wrong but it feels good. i don't know if you've guessed this but art is instinct. when the poet begins to think he is not writing. when the painter sits back to consider his work, he will never again find the exact spot or posture he assumed when the painting was first born. it will never be complete, because everything has changed. the original portait is ruined. heart trickles out of the cracks that thoughtful pause caused.

do you see?

live simple.