Workingworkgettheworkdotheworkgetthatworkmakethatworkwork
I $ave the monie$ doing $hit I don’t really wanna do so I can do cool-a$$ $hit tomorrow. I spend working hours maintaining the distribution of awarene$$e$~
The hourglass in my wallet collects racks that are tracked by no watches, the moments are scoped without relativity, like grains of moments falling down a warped bottleneck of attentive grasping.
The passing time carries my cares under the bridge of regret and onward to lap the shores of silty revelation. These eyes watch the hills change during daylight, reminding that we live in a slowly melting painting.
Time is called money. I may not be clock wise, but I am subject to the same cycles as the everything.
Gravity and distance meet to dissolve all form, sleeping & creeping beautifully like a bloody red sun rolling behind deep ocean blues, there is no way to contain the need to feel, think, & do.
Conceptual hot air takes the winds from corporeal sails and leaves nothing more behind than a snails pace and trails of slime.
Are we living legacies or leaving them?
Destroying preconceptions is tough work, like sawing through sun-hardened driftwood roots to build a fire to cook on. I keep sawing and sawing ’til the sun goes down, the teeth on this small folding blade are becoming dull, my arms burn as I huff and puff, I wonder: is the effort I exert greater than the fuel I harvest?
Time is never wasted, but it can be utilized instead of fantasized.
For a perpetual daydreamer, this is a cornerstone to balance.
“Clarity is power.”
Rambly laymanphiloreligoslaughterosophy musing complete.
Love,
me
WitchDoctors Medicine 