Byline: No New Secrets

Buford Youthward

I don't want what is now, I want what is great.

Preparing a face to meet the faces we meet, we conform, confirm, copy and confront people on the street like it's a real treat.

There's a time for murder and birth, time for a hundred visions and a thousand revisions.

I stopped worrying, wishing I was something more and realized who I am is enough.

No yesterday, no tomorrow, only now. Shhhh. Some secrets aren't worth reposting.

I given up and accepted that common sense rarely becomes common practice.

That doesn't mean girls can't construct special costumes for ordinary occasions. Showing up with an original, delirious, ecstatic experience has a way of turning her night on.

She is a shower of shimmer on a cold dark night, a buttress of truth smearing butter in history books.

She sees the Situationists as little more than glorified scrapbookers aimlessly babbling about consuming your desires.

You go google your god while I blow up on networks unrelated to computer transmission.

I lurk like a jerk, arrive like a turk, sniff coffee on the perk then get on with my work.

I separate from a world of separation. Create no surfaces, charge no fee.

Crime is a mindset. To act in a moment, to breathe refutes the void.

Remember, you never saw this post.

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