Desiring the past is not a signal of my discontent. It is not even a true sign of what I really want. I am so excited about what the future has in store for me. I can see it now, the blood path of self-chopped waving hands. I will be cheered on by the dismembered faces that are stained with the excrement of the ones who blazed this trail.
The 'Yellow Brick Road' is showing me the way but not toward home because home is a fantasy I choose not to accept . Why would I want to to go to a lampoon vacation home filled with chocolate covered cobwebs. I chose the path of Golden Razors that have sliced the ambitions of people who wanted more but only understood the drive of orgasmic pleasure and not the liquid mess that remains.
I know I will make it despite the mold that continues to build when I am with my friends. I don't believe that they are bad but nothing I do feels fresh around them. Lately, even my success' smell bad. I feel I have jeopardized my ability to separate success from failure. I will no longer swim in the blood of a woman's heart but lay in the path of my spit. This is the way I will achieve my goals. I will ask people in my way to move and the ones who do not, will drink the inner drive that always replenishes itself.
I will arrive on the backs of the people I love but will be holding them up like puppets because their belief has died from the journey. When I reach my success, resurrection of the heart and mind follows but the guts and balls remains buried. When my success begins to decline, it will fall like a shovel into the ground to dig up the remains of my supporters. Then they will have the necessary parts to feel and stand up against the spit they swam in to get to their "better than life" status.
The past seem so simple. People make expectations and defecate on my my ambitions. The smell of their disapproval is so distasteful, I would just give up and swim in the spit of others. I would never go anywhere but I would be pacified by the company of others.
I'm not satisfied but I'm reaching for the ultimate dissatisfaction in order to to feel the excitement of mental and emotional Euphoria.
An article that well outlines the writer's idiosyncrasies pertaining to the unsolved puzzle called life. The writer is trying to bring out the meaninglessness of running after all the material achievements in life which man is craving for. Here euphoria is an illusion and nothing to be desired for considering that life itself was never here to stay.
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