A Thought To The Roamers — Morning Papers VI

A Thought Shared — A Memory To Trick Death

Throwing away the lingering clouds of doubt and shameful smiling; To get myself out of a tedious mood this morning I decided — or rather I’m deciding to jut myself forward into a morning paper. Though sometimes, I do resolve they may come out in the afternoon — the globe is vast and some read this in the morning, some others late at night. Time, my babe, isn’t ever linear, especially for me.

Once the mind grows ill and tired with thought — what do you see? Once it all goes so suddenly — what does remain?

When one is one mile over down this aisle — what container can contain you? Slacked under by almost irrevocable thoughts that pursue the mind like some hungered beast, finally, may it come, and all the world will be gashed and sore — allowing you to sink in and away; out from hoods and into deserted pits where others have somehow bridged across.

To see you — they won’t see you; by what abjects them to an ill reflection of themselves; to life! To life, yet a reflection nonetheless.

Whence the finger was clean — now the finger is chopped and minced for roundings so faint. Roamer — Oh; Roamer! Halted to a sudden abject rejection to the whims and contortions of this wider whole that may jug and chug you out asunder unto a whirling street someday — yet your own contention to know why, may never appear.

Ah, by those are my sudden, stark remarks done in my notions — As per usual

But these slouching thoughts to them, projected by some jeering yet oh so vulnerable throng — oh, it makes me cry silently inside; this bracing foolishness by mindless clumpings. I almost could despise them for they laud in brutal weights upon my fellow Roamers — All throughout the years, of time — of immemorial acts. Roamers — You have me more than I could have it all to myself. I’m just one in a box, mixing and rapping out these stories to a few who may listen — perhaps even one, dare and say it, may take it to heart.

All these Roamers, all of my days, that I have come across, all of them — Gone are they from the world yet their lasting touch; all they may ever be remembered for is a mere footnote in a piece like this or perhaps, just a novel somewhere to be brushed over by some foot-scribe and forgotten about all the same; yet, I can never do so myself — I remember you all: Roamer.

Roamer all — Roamer devastated by Social Hate. Roamer all that will be — Roamer shall one day, all but disappear; Expect through this feigning of life known as Memory. I remember you all this morning. I remember that — I remember you! I remember that, always and completely. And I share that with you. Just that, a thought to become a life to become a memory to be forgotten, even after all seers are gone — it’ll be but only in the living may it have ever dared to mean anything. There it is; There I am, in this breezy passage. Goodnight — A Thought Shared — A Memory To Trick Death.

Ta-ta Now.

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