Byline: Stolen Self-Esteem

Buford Youthward

You are being tricked into believing you're in the best spot in the world. That's the role of government, patriotism, music and the arts.

Craftsmen don't create spectacles or reflections. They seek to captivate mindshare and real estate on your hard drive or in front of a gallery wall or concert hall. These are not windows into a personal reality rather deep fried sales pitches.

I'm standing by waiting for new wave nightmares to come true and spending too much time in deep focus weaving narratives through time and space hoping that love is a sequential thing. I'm sold on my own misguidance, bought into my misdemeanors and paid all fines for crimes against the state.

No class clown from the school of non-sequiturs can sanctify meaning, soul and stuff. Tonight, let's loosen lots of information and try to decide on what something is and what something means.

Anxieties about wish fulfillment and acquisition drive us to drink. Waking up in an ice-filled tub with your self-esteem stolen laughing at your station in life while setting stations on fire.

Voice communication perpetuates the chemistry we are trying to ape. Friction and gravity delay our search for the speed we need while angels sing about the pleasures demons bring.

The right spirit must occupy our songs. In the shadows of my garden I gravitate to the proper concept allowing the treatment to roll off like instant affinity. There's an imbalance of data and the coolest patterns get seized as time erodes empathy in most contexts.

I can't sympathize with patterns and can only appeal to consequences and identity. This demon is looking for his devil like every saint is looking for his martyr. I feel love like a philistine, enjoy sex like a salamander.

Graffiti stars are only in it for the minute. Collecting currents like a breath of stale air. Intent on becoming a person instead of a personality, the writer feels an inspiration scorned as he tries his hardest not to become the lie.

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