The Outpost

Communication with satellites across the globe typing away in a medevil slumber, can barely make sense of all the people I have effected over the years, not even counting family, who have been casted into exile like myself, either to become stronger or be digested like the wounded, sick, and the elderly. Technology pisses me off most days because it morphs into some prankster who does such idiotic things as erase everything written in the past twenty minutes. No emotion or recollection, even at this moment the damn cursor pad keeps deleting my writing to the point where I will have break my thirtieth laptop in the past five years, turning into something less than recyclable parts. Through all the lost moments of my life, there are people whom I have touched, effected, those who might even care about my well being, which totally blows me away. Team members, fan club attendies, of those whom at times I have given very little thought of while swimming in my own sea of personal disasters, yet they are still out there amongst the 6 billion or so, with their stories, songs, and art, twisting my thoughts, words, and emotions into a sicker, darker, more realistic piece of expression than I could ever hope to create.

Feedback has never been en vogue with me, just for the simple fact that I do not care about anything and have set sail to every human being on this planet like a match stick struck against a box in the night, quick, bright, and fast fading. Desperate entities within me put these words down, as my middle class parasite tries to mute expression, best to me leave to the workforce, long hours, and dulling the mind, who shall win, guess I still write, so the battle continues. Outposts cry in the night all alone, vexed on empty promises from a side show con artist who has only felt the need to serve his own personal desires. I told them all, but no one ever listens, sly smile, seductive nature, and primal lust do all the talking. In my lonliest moments from extreme drug withdrawl, decadent partying or laying half dead in some anonymous country, the will breaks, the thoughts of others give me something to cling to, something to fight for life, a small window in a micro second of escape from cosmic recycling. That's it for this one.