how to go about this thing ...

how to go about this thing,

this measure of heading forward.

wrapping my mind around that which

never occurred as possibility and

that which writes itself off

like a nice piss against the wind.



see, it would be no issue at all

to simply continue beating my head

against the stony wall;

but the lessons of skull being tougher

than brick make that impossibility alongside.

they just don't make bricks like they used to, see?



always been stubborn this way, my friend.

believing enough, caring enough, tortorous enough,

to actually have ideals and principles and senses.

now, where have these nuisances brought me to?

exactly where you shall see me stand,

poised to take a go at the barriers with cranial might.



i would wear it all on the sleeve,

if not for the haphazard ways in which i cover.

these old rags are just fine, friend, don't worry

your own ideals are not in jeopardized state, see.

for there is no way i could ever poison your motive.

i only say this to assure total misunderstandings.



from this point onward, there will be no purpose.

we will find it easier that way, you see.

without purpose, the journey becomes a much simpler manner.

a manner of flailing with emotional repose,

flopping about like a mudfish gone to far from the moist.

let's welcome that realization, shall we?



i will slither about in my disguises,

tatters of my ideals and principles and senses

dragging along behind such as the shed scales

of serpentine purpose and existence.

oh yes, i shall drag them and the dust shall

not settle upon this moving beast.



how to go about this thing?

simple, one might surmise, though he would be wronged.

he goes about it with disgust, disdain, disruption.

he goes about it in reproach and revulsion and readmittance.

he goes about it in new ideal and principle and sense.

he goes about this thing by going about.

how to go about this thing,

this measure of heading forward.

wrapping my mind around that which

never occurred as possibility and

that which writes itself off

like a nice piss against the wind.



see, it would be no issue at all

to simply continue beating my head

against the stony wall;

but the lessons of skull being tougher

than brick make that impossibility alongside.

they just don't make bricks like they used to, see?



always been stubborn this way, my friend.

believing enough, caring enough, tortorous enough,

to actually have ideals and principles and senses.

now, where have these nuisances brought me to?

exactly where you shall see me stand,

poised to take a go at the barriers with cranial might.



i would wear it all on the sleeve,

if not for the haphazard ways in which i cover.

these old rags are just fine, friend, don't worry

your own ideals are not in jeopardized state, see.

for there is no way i could ever poison your motive.

i only say this to assure total misunderstandings.



from this point onward, there will be no purpose.

we will find it easier that way, you see.

without purpose, the journey becomes a much simpler manner.

a manner of flailing with emotional repose,

flopping about like a mudfish gone to far from the moist.

let's welcome that realization, shall we?



i will slither about in my disguises,

tatters of my ideals and principles and senses

dragging along behind such as the shed scales

of serpentine purpose and existence.

oh yes, i shall drag them and the dust shall

not settle upon this moving beast.



how to go about this thing?

simple, one might surmise, though he would be wronged.

he goes about it with disgust, disdain, disruption.

he goes about it in reproach and revulsion and readmittance.

he goes about it in new ideal and principle and sense.

he goes about this thing by going about.
how to go about this thing,

this measure of heading forward.

wrapping my mind around that which

never occurred as possibility and

that which writes itself off

like a nice piss against the wind.



see, it would be no issue at all

to simply continue beating my head

against the stony wall;

but the lessons of skull being tougher

than brick make that impossibility alongside.

they just don't make bricks like they used to, see?



always been stubborn this way, my friend.

believing enough, caring enough, tortorous enough,

to actually have ideals and principles and senses.

now, where have these nuisances brought me to?

exactly where you shall see me stand,

poised to take a go at the barriers with cranial might.



i would wear it all on the sleeve,

if not for the haphazard ways in which i cover.

these old rags are just fine, friend, don't worry

your own ideals are not in jeopardized state, see.

for there is no way i could ever poison your motive.

i only say this to assure total misunderstandings.



from this point onward, there will be no purpose.

we will find it easier that way, you see.

without purpose, the journey becomes a much simpler manner.

a manner of flailing with emotional repose,

flopping about like a mudfish gone to far from the moist.

let's welcome that realization, shall we?



i will slither about in my disguises,

tatters of my ideals and principles and senses

dragging along behind such as the shed scales

of serpentine purpose and existence.

oh yes, i shall drag them and the dust shall

not settle upon this moving beast.



how to go about this thing?

simple, one might surmise, though he would be wronged.

he goes about it with disgust, disdain, disruption.

he goes about it in reproach and revulsion and readmittance.

he goes about it in new ideal and principle and sense.

he goes about this thing by going about.