When you speak

When you speak I don't hear what you say, I hear the wheel that's spinning the words, and wonder why you don't, if you don't. I won't voice my own (we're not so different you see) What's the point?
All the mud of the world has leaked away. Step away from yourself. Unlock the door. Vast engines of warmth roll out and wrap you in colours. The veins of darkness are coursing life refuted dance and reaching wills then freeze. Into brackets. What shape is a healthy mind?
My only note is a too ting ROAR!
Blessed be pain. Hurt in peace. Must remember to buy some sausages. Why you interested anyway? I'm no-one, nowhere. Just trying to record a fiction that's grotesque enough to alter the one that's left us here.
I'll give you the Jackson Pollocks. They're always the new thing. As much as I hate to see them cry. I'll leave them cat food. They'll cry. It's funny how we care, we don't care. How! We don't bite, won't bite, because we're new here, and this may be the only chance, something we all need. They're not paying attention! Reel them into the honeypot. We can neither reign the running horse nor feed it grain until we've nothing more to gain from suffering.
I'm, you know, making a big mistake. I'll get totally lost in the time of it, and you know what's really stupid is that even when your face stop movin' you're still there.
So God is invoked, to quell the fluidity that is the mind's birthright. Our elders told us so. They're going to argue an eternity to keep from moving on. The power lines they're hungry for will never change. They've doomed themselves; wallowing in luxury engendered by their acquiescence to authority. It's all a part of the game. I'm not so very HARMLESS. There's always got to be a time when you start to get a sense of what you're doing. So our current leaders; are they as ruthless as their forebears? We wouldn't know. They've yet to be tested. That is democracy. It's why my words conjure the collapse of means in search of the cipher to stop the bleeding. When the poor are gone what will the rich have left to feast upon?
Fighting our adversaries with the weapons of our own destruction. Who lives in fear? Because Smith isn't here?
As time drops petals to the ocean, I have worlds to put right. I am free to tug against restraints, but which way I pull offers scant respite, I'm still torn apart. If I have one wish, it is to be like my father; to squeeze myself into the barrel of a gun, and dangle. I light the one torch. I love the one light. I bruise in the eyes of fate, in jet streams whitened by torque. But if there's anything left when I'm done, please let it be my brain. I'll be needing that for plucking woorms from out the jam jars of life.