MINIMALISM AT ITS BEST.

It's a Monday. And I'm not surprised it feels like Friday as if every day my muscles are always this sore from sleeping too much and moving within tight contrived geometric patterns of time designed with profit in mind.

I'm lost. My eyes and skin are glossed with 4 hours of dirt and midday sun and every day I break mirrors with stares that stun to kill and glares that squint my face to make my eyes spill forth in nihilistic rapture.

This is going no where.

I'm just so fucking tired and tired of fighting apathy; it's no wonder the masses are drowning under the pressures of media advertising and brand recognition and superficial fissions of non-meaning connected to concepts that we mistake for dreaming.

I feel like falling and tripping over these two feet only propelled forward by the downward slope that would lead me to landing in a soft bed and hope with a nice spot for my hard head that will never learn.

Philosopher friendly and my thoughts yearn for an intercourse of discourse on intellectual theory of sweet kisses blown from apocalypse--

change and demand and profit marginalizing what's real; the sidelines blur and center of gravity has hands reaching that can't feel; between lucid gleaming and eyes fixating with rhythmic undulating photons of light refracting from electric boxes occupying distracting me and sucking me under the blue waves of wonder the masses are drowning in the pressures of media advertising that is concentrating; it's scientifically captivating and designed with you in mind. to hold context as the root of all meaning but what's context when the content is all created for you because they think this is you but it's not you, so what's context.

My stomach grumbles and stature crumbles I'm so tired of fighting this apathy that fills me, swells my stomach instead of food

I'm sorry this wasn't supposed to be poetic my handwriting's not meant for it but I'm not a mathemetician I'm not even a hunger artist

devours all truths to shit out partical meaning and partial objective realities but what's context as the root of all meaning?

I'm fucked beyond reason.