to be deleted.

"People's hollowness still depresses me but my anxiety ebbs as something as permanent as tree rings displaces it."  The former promise of humans has arrived at a decidedly unpromising future and the illusion of shared goals has compromised civilization since its dawn. As far as any lasting sense of community or its legacy is concerned, the abundance of third-wheels, moochers and disembodied beggars has come through like any adequate handicap. From humble creatures with precious little intellect and a treasureful of drive, the species now clings to every inconvenience and deficit until despair, suicide and acceptance like death-warmed-over are the only options remaining and we acquiesce to be polite.  The helpless populations that endured the sorrow inspired by fascist regimes and the oddity of serial-killers in yesteryears now finds itself outdone by grief inspired by body-issues and lonely frustration and the sheer ubiquity of the overprivileged, hateful men that English...

Metta Bhavana X  I live next door to a liar. You can hardly make out  two out of every ten words he says but it all sounds  exaggerated, fake or wrong.  He's probably a little older than I am, in his midforties.  Perfectly imperfectly American. Can he hear my pen  moving on the paper? Smoke wanders through the air  as if to ask what's going on in the movie.  I was reading Malcolm X last night. When he was  in prison in his midtwenties, and he thought about  the deficits in his own vocabulary and the people  around him, he disciplined himself to copy pages  wholesale out of the dictionary. He thought about History  and found new lights and channels inside himself.  Nibbana of introverted energy. The focus  where matrices of the finite and the galloping speed  of their legacies lock one upon the other and the soul burps  and smiles from its rapture.  It's pretty easy to get good pot and all other sca...