The Real Deal

landslide into my DMs


I took my love and I took it down / Climbed a mountain and I turned around / And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills / Till the landslide brought me down / Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? / Can the child within my heart rise above? / Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? / Can I handle the seasons of my life? / Oh, I don’t know


Regrets, lamentations. Mistakes that last generations.

When the children fall and tumble down the wall,

do we just sit back, shrug our shoulders,

“oh well. we can always make more.”

Mountains or men? Mice or mites or our memories of them?


It doesn’t matter. Do not answer. It is my fault for I suggested the damn thing in the first place. I started it. Because I turned my head, I looked in a direction in an attempt to foster this thing called “focus”…

I’m always turning my head one way or another… another damned shiny thing that caught my attention as the light breaks through the barrier in place. It dances rays upon my keyboard and my fingers tap the keys in chase.

Ratta-ta, rap-i-tap, hah, what’s the point. Light makes no sound so I need make so sound effects in my head. But do you see? Right there! There! See? Shh… Don’t move your head so fast, your head gear dangly things are practically a sun-catcher.

I didn’t know what they were conspiring, I thought I was happy. I thought I was allowed to just… I don’t know… It’s that damned fucking thing again, isn’t it?

I was too busy thinking, planning, trying to figure out purpose and direction. My physical efforts were not always seen, or if you were not looking at me when I was doing nothing.

Planning, research, reading, thinking… They’re exactly the same and no different from idle daydreaming, youtube streaming, sleeping, staring into space, glaring at my face…

Even if they’re not the same, if they are completely different… It doesn’t matter. Because they look the same. They produce the same end result – nothing, except a wandering of the mind. At least the daydreamer doesn’t have to worry about trying to remember their imaginations…

How blissfully ignorant and selfish to be a passive dreamer. No responsibility nor care in the world, because they will always be taken care of.


It’s so good to be me. Everyone wants to throw themselves at my feet. Look at all the gifts and admiration I receive.

I’m so happy.

You’re the one who is suffering.

Wait… I’ve got it backwards again, haven’t I?

God effing dammit, see? This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to think. I’m so easily confused and stupid and pathetic. PSYCHOTIC! The psychopathetic psychopomp of the prehistoric parthenon. You know, the original one of the dreamworld.

Orior allele I


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