I wonder if the rest of the world can see it. Or if even we can. That hyposentric nature that we have to attack each other. Like it’s some inbuilt power corrupt.

Chasing the opposite of peace in the wildest of ways. Cutting off heads while we bomb them to someone’s satisfaction. There’s all kinds of wrong here.

What I mean is that most of the worlds problems can be erased with the right cooperation. But when unity defies the interest of the few, you have all kinds of problems.

I probably think we can coexist in our groups and forms in the future. But it’s a long way from even being chased so far. And that’s a problem.

So I think we should raise our flags together. Every one from our planet. And old stitch them together. And join as one.

Because how can we not be one, when there’s so much more than just us. In this galaxy. In this universe.

In this eternal life.


The Montauk Project.

If it did in fact happen, imagine what the future might be like for those within the technology in our day and age.

What could be used to manipulate the planet.

It’s a sliding scale of terror the further you go. Or maybe a roller coaster. Or both at the same time.

You would hope that they’d know better.

But not many would.

Trying to write at 5am is like trying to piece together an episode of Lost. You write some shit down and then take twenty minutes to realise it MAYBE makes sense, but not really, and then someone falls down a hatch and all of a sudden it’s like 1942 and hatches weren’t even invented yet.

Untitled Pt II

So much time has passed it’s like there was a whole other universe before this one. One where we knew each other just a little bit better. And made a little heaven in the details.

So it’s in the details that I’ll make my mark. Scratching little indents into your arm while you sleep. Little ink blotches that map out the galaxy as we remember all the places we still want to go. 

With eyes just to see every detail in the sky as it falls, and ears just to bleed the sound away. Music was never meant to play softly in the background like things aren’t meant to fade away. 

It ends with a bang, not a whimper.

So when World War III does start. Turn the music up and play loud. So you can burn bright. Because there’s a party at the end of the world and every one of you is invited.

Out of a volcano and into a pyramid.

We know more now then we did then. I’m red all over and sideways isn’t what you think. As each universe chooses the order of its line. Decided in time. Yours and mine.

So much fucking time.

If someone ever steals the car radio out of my shitty white commodore I don’t know if it’ll be the black hole left in the centre compartment or the new CD on their playlist that’ll make me smile more.

But everything that will ever happen has already happened more than once. And time can be explained in two ways at the same time. 

By zooming in on an infinite fractal over the timeline of forever. Or holding it still. Choosing a time and place in the cycle. And telling yourself it’s the present.

Either way works just fine.