who will start the parade?

no one knows the way we’ve been to come here while everyone is shrinking down in size.
listening to brandenburg concertos kinda sideways of mind.
not much caring anymore.
the dream is over.
mistaken identity.
how can we forget ourselves so easily?
and the flames went higher.
everything tasting so sweet.
take all the chances we might need to.
do not feed the ducks.
the last to remember what it was like before everything turned for the worse.
it was never that much better.
there was no golden age we shared.
but the future looked bright instead of dimly fading back to the shadows again.
but there was no past and there will be no future except as passing illusions in our brain reflex thing in the moment.
but nothing stands still.
it takes time to shake that groove thing.
there is some confusion here not too many would notice while busy with their excitement.
the deal comes around every time for each.
reach out and grab it if we can.
too bad if not.
it occurs to us now.
asleep in the dark before a new dawn of human kind.
alien midwives.
birth is a bitch, baby.
so much to go wrong.
but so much has gone wrong already.
is there anyone who doesn’t believe it?
though we never agree about what it might be that has gone wrong.
aion.
who would have thought art would ultimately destroy the world?
if you call that art.
art of 1000 deceptions.
pop pop pow every 15 minutes.
bleeding visitors to the abandoned museum.
gray overcoats ashen faces shadows.
a maze of mirrors cracked and broken gleaming in the dawn sun finally.
fortune comes to some while others are wanting.
duh.
obvious observations yet there are those who do not realize.
the gods explain everything they want to think about, not too much.
the broken in spirit destitute of heart staggering unbelievingly through the world.
while the joyful ones dance and sing.
fall down.
laugh.
the show must go on.
the noise of it builds as the general population anxiety index levels rise.
upside down and backwards.
kick it around umpteen times.
chocolate muffin.
ginger ale.
cigarette.
dead whore his face smashed in.
refusal.
resistance.
the crowd of thoughtcrime alibis.
interwoven connections through the spheres.
tenuous threads web thing.
changing evolving.
mind shift/ship.
gazorbnik.
in the hereafter we will be surprised by everything and nothing.
in the hereafter it will be all be unicorns, daises and rainbows if we really want it or whatever else turns us on.
in the hereafter we will still pursue our happiness but realize it’s the journey that is the destination.
heaven on earth or living hell.
what will be so different?
as he lights a cigarette having awakened to another day with dawn sunlight coming in through the window facing the mountain to the east.
candyland possibilities.
he needs to clean the cat box, go to the store for supplies and take out the trash.
in the hereafter there will be nothing familiar, all is strange.
he should be taking photographs of spring flowers.
our extinction is nigh.
a buncha freaks everyone could do without.
let’s get our shit together.
no more doubt.
no more laziness.
just those who answer the call to duty.
his life has been writing on water.
as it should be.
no cast bronze statues of him sitting before the computer hunched over the keyboard typing out a not poem cuz he ain’t no poet about our theory of everything.
will people, if they are actually people, still think about everything in the hereafter?
or will everything be forgotten?
everything causes troubling thoughtcrimes.
when we discover everything we know is wrong.
we don’t care.
let them eat cake.
we have our time and place now here (nowhere).
to hell with everything else.
there is no future but there is a future.
when both are true at the same time we know we are on the right wrong path.
never mind what the others say, they’ll talk about us anyway.
as technology changes us.
becoming.
we all are mutants, variations on a theme improvised on the spot.
x marks the spot.
let x=x.
die hard advocates of truth and steadfast integrity.
the status quo.
the established order.
boy, things sure are exciting.
and scary.
what is to become?
the last gasp of a dying generation.
old and in the way.
the new youth marching to their long awaiting graves singing popular songs.
out of the mouths of gods.
speaking the truth once and for all to understand.
harmony among the discordant demographics of the discontent.
everyone finds their place in the scheme of things.
but we get to sit around doing nothing witnessing the antics of the others around us in this human dharma drama yin yang thing going around around onward upward never repeating quite the same toward higher more refined realms of tranquility and good taste perfected by incarnations of struggling endurance.
throughout the impending weather we continue rain or shine.
red cinnamon gummy bear.
what is time but relative to the situation we might happen to be in?
what is a day?
what is a year?
this is nothing within a larger picture of the whole über-infinity plenum void of everything.
but that has nothing to do with us beyond something to enjoy imagining for the moment as it comes to mind.
ours is the real world of cold hard facts.
this is this.
that is that.
the other thing is the other thing.
etc.
rationalogic saves the day and night of our loneliness in anti-philosophic despair seeking new found joys.
armed encampments on the shores of the nearby distant sea.
troubled waters of the deep.
shipwrecked ships.
preparing for and making war with one another.
our favorite pastime.
we lay ourselves down to sleep 1000 years.
the new zion.
who will start the parade?