fisher king's wasteland

the streets are filled with light and dark, they crow barks for justice, cries to battle fiction it's not the pull of mutual satisfaction just the sense that we've sunk too far below you stand there wagging tongue while armed with signs representing one of your heart's issue the fools pass by but they don't notice you you don't see the others for their child rhymes a break in numbers gives you time to rest drop your heavy sign down by your tired feet so that i've no idea, when our eyes meet, that i'm smiling at someone so blessed we've crossed our paths with guards down under moon i pray we don't go back to sleep too soon

i am synchronic. i'm either in all time, or out if it. i suppose that's simply a matter of perspective. coming back to a diachronic moment is effort enough in itself, without that forcing me to actually do things that fit in with the future i've seen or cause a bunch of potential ones to collapse into a more definite path. it's exhausting to keep watching all those movies of other times and universes in potentia while constantly flicking back to the main channel to keep tabs on the "important" stuff, but i've gotten used to it and it's undoubtedly addictive. if this is psychosis, it has become normal to function through it. the world i perceive seems to accept it and sometimes praises it.