We Have The Right To Lie, But

When I Think About Myself, My Thought Seeks Itself In The Ether Of A New Space. I Am On The Moon As Others Are On Their Balconies. I Participate In Planetary Gravitation In The Fissures Of My Mind.

Admittedly Or Not, Conscious Or Unconscious, The Poetic State, A Transcendent Experience Of Life, Is What The Public Is Fundamentally Seeking Through Love, Crime, Drugs, War, Or Insurrection.

Without Sarcasm I Sink Into Chaos.

All Writing Is Garbage. People Who Come Out Of Nowhere To Try And Put Into Words Any Part Of What Goes On In Their Minds Are Pigs.

Excuse My Absolute Freedom. I Refuse To Make A Distinction Between Any Of The Moments Of Myself.