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| - Look dead How else would someone look if they were born with the memories of some sparse brain? The memories aren't clear. Triggers littered her life (eg the feeling that at any point while walking down the street you might come across some little thing which fate will compel you to pick up and promptly die for doing something as simple as following a simple instruction: Look up) All those epiphanies that keep us going? Boring. She had some cloudy idea of them all already. Those were like reliving the same thing. Only the subtle points to find new joy in. Life is only so subtle All those mistakes that we make? She could right them. How boring & make new ones. A gradeschool student with a college education's worth of knowledge randomly scattered. There's only so much knowledge that can be reused in sparse memories of what I've already described as a sparse brain Such a gender confused let down That sparse brain had known what would happen when it looked up. It would die. In that last moment, it had come to terms with death. Only to have to live again Living your whole life knowing you were ready to die No wonder she killed herself: & much poison in the end, for an agreeable death II Born Again Christianity Hello. How are you? Would you happen to believe in God? If you don't mind my asking. We're having a get together for people to accept Jesus into their heart for themselves. Have a good day Join us on Sunday as we discuss the meaning of life God forgives. Could he forget? Split past like death splits from life? Hopefully more so, considering this residue Years go by People come with problems, leave with problems. Somehow they feel better They're all in the long haul. Just a little longer How much longer? I asked: What should I make of this life? I was answered: I don't know. I'm not the author God forgives the sins he declared Years go by People die. To wonder: are any of them are hiding similar secrets? What memories haunt them at night? Laying on a deathbed. Tired. What has been accomplished? Nothing. The world's not getting any better. So hopeless. Everybody's left. Like they care Like I care Nobody cares when you tell them the truth. They nod, say good story, then bid good bye. All well, they'd only worry about dementia if they cared otherwise Don't talk, just listen. You have no information except what you've been told. Memories of memories are not for the telling There's nothing to be learnt. Decide what's fact and stick to it No harm no foul, no death no harm, no life no death. Or vice versa. Never stronger, always weaker What a waste What a joke God forgave us all a long time ago III Jokes get old If I could do all again, I'd tell God to get staked So let's do it again Get staked Go a step further: Tell everyone to get staked Get staked, get staked, get staked Literally. Gives style Make sure to act without bias. Juxtaposition is fleeting Remove them all. They'll be back. At least I'll be To each his vices, but to his vices himself I've got a collection of epitaths. I pass them out when I'm feeling telling. Giveaway. I'll take the rest to my grave I paid my respects to my past graves Did to them as I would all of you They ask: Why? To inspire such wonder. The kind not even truth can dispel When they strap me down, I'll let them know: I'll be back IV Locke will never die. In our memories he survives. Such sloth. I survive in my own Who would remember me? No one remembered me A century of watching people rise and fall. New people with the same ideas, promises, speeches, brave new worlds, demons, epiphanies, scapegoats, dreams, loves, unrequited loves, hobbies, scandals, salvations, witticisms, memories, rights movements, vacations, fear mongering, rallies, vices, grocery lists, closet dramas, religions, existential crises, charities, one night stands, late dinners, budgeting, optimistic projections, new age enthusiasms, strokes of luck, morals, proverbs, rainy days, lonely hours, principles, poor sales, hang ups, foolish superiors, unquestioned paradoxes, jokes Same old same old But everyone forgets. Everyone casts to distant memory what just occurred. Some new face comes around and soon enough talk is what that face was instead of is History is romanticized. Yet we forget so much. Thus spoke the power law Written or bitten, fate hates I wrote a history text. It didn't sell well; it dwelled too greatly on what was considered minute details. Irrelevance Unglorifying of modern saints Everyone new is someone old Hello again, which whom are you? Goodbye, I'll be seeing you again soon enough Is this a joke? An old joke still on its debut. If so, I don't find it an amusing one. Jokes need a punchline. I've been waiting, listening to everyone else's punchlines. Punchlines so unfunny I have to ask: Is that a joke? Sole knew the good ones die young V So many various sorts People change Musical chairs. Find any? There's a lot of chairs. Quite a few people too. But there's always less chairs than people Been walking this circle long Riding the waves of Neptune This marks the transitionary point. The end point of random points. Half way through, yet most has been said. Now is the moment where the last leap is taken, and the rest follows itself by lateral association. Not free association. Lateral is coincidental. There needn't be any intent. Note too, however, that random thought is not lateral thought. Random thought only becomes lateral when everything trivially relates to everything. At that point, lateral thought no longer requires the slightest creativity. Randomness is a creative gamble. That's my cue. Transition's up, the leap's been made Popping up randomly about the world, it's hard to come across a familiar face between the boundaries. But given enough time, there's not so many people People have quite a few children There have been no such derivative works of this anthology Beyond Bad and Evil Have a good one VI Stillborn Lucky VII Ever All the distraut of six lives is clearer filtered through a dying fetus's unconscious capacity. All the unique details flatten as their finer points would've taken a noncade to flood through The first incarnation which seemed most at rest. Reincarnation left quite a ripple to disturb that peaceful mind Only, there it found emptiness through a rushed life. Never asking: Ever stop? To... To shed the things we're supplied with upon birth. The things we'll always leave behind when we come around the bend To purse lips until explicitly demanded otherwise To sit. To stand. To watch. To prolong the ubiquitous act of blinking To know. Ever more, but never most Ever stop to think Thus does the circle complete, jaggedly spiralling inwards from maximalism to minimalism This is a life the fetus wouldn't've had to be fed as a trickle. This isn't a philosophy which requires bending one's own logical device to understand, nevermind agree Understand: correctness is only internal consistency. It is valid to disagree with something which is correct. But it is only the incorrect which must be disagreed with Thus is it valid for one to disagree with a philosophy so simple in its logical process as to be obviously correct. But one should be wary of those processes so complex that their incorrectness would be unobvious Starvation without hunger IIX In some past life, I memorized sic: Life is one conversation; The conversation between you and the factors that make up our world. Many people drift in and out, many subjects arouse subjects ,the conversation keeps going 'till the day your mind can no longer reply Fullstop IX
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