Good morning,
All my beautifully twisted up souls,
Tied tight to your unknown egos,
I pitch a question to quiet minds
(And to the burningly miserable intellect of a generation that so nobly denounces it):

(Everybody sing along to this one)

What to do
When all that you
Had trusted
Peaceful and sturdy piton of trust
Instead of hitting bedrock
Hits rock bottom,
Pitiful python, sizably deadly, but venom-less
Dead weight needs a sizable impetus
But the man that you had lain with
Is now a pack of wild-horses
Some say cut your losses,
Hard pill to swallow
When suddenly all analogies
Are out the window
And suddenly all your similes
Are like galoshes
Trailing all your dirty weather
Up and down your quiet carpeting
And in a moment
You can only think to strip your mind
Of all its heavy winter layering
Sit peaceful now in your altogether
Each and every minute of your many mangled
Mixed up metaphoric rambles
Leads you to believe you’ve been deceived
And that you mustn’t miss a beat
In trampling your only biggest enemy
Right under your own two feet,
But that pill ain’t so damn hard to swallow
But something now you eagerly greet
And this blind leader you humbly follow
And this sick poison you readily eat
“Will it make my nagging insides fly away from me?”
And I answer, only if you’re willing
To flitter away all conscious choice on these
Now tell em

Make a little fold on a page in your book
Put you on hold for a dirty little look
But I’m not tired, I’m not that powerful
And I’m not dying, there’s no such animal
Look at my blood, still shaking to silence me
Over eager, good intentions, violent man, violating
Form a little crease on the edges of acceptable
And make a little note that your thoughts are inexcusable

Having sailed the same boat
I know it’s not so nice to feel the anchor start to float
But as mutinies show,
You must abandon all your needs to let go,
And let go of all your needs to abandon,
I know
It doesn’t make any sense,
Nothing ever does
And that is only because we think that it should,
But nothing is ever bad,
And everything is always good
We just can’t amputate
The cold brats of our psyche
With no way to replace
What cannot be detached in the first place,
Cuz your peaceful feeling is fleeting
Now floundering
In its momentary ecstasy,
All at once turned into a misery,
And I thought,
This silent heaven is starting to wear off
(More please)
The silent killer self,
In my attempts to delete it
Was only concealed under it,
And
Under cover of the menacing toxin
Meant to wipe it out
Was only whited out,
And could now
Under the shade of my own indifference,
Readily unleash all the spiteful wrath of its own brazen existence

Make a little fold on a page in your book
Put you on hold for a dirty little look
But I’m not tired, I’m not that powerful
And I’m not dying, there’s no such animal
Look at my blood, still shaking to silence me
Over eager, good intentions, violent man, violating
Form a little crease on the edges of acceptable
And make a little note that your thoughts are inexcusable

I, I, anatta, nobody
I, I, anatta, nobody
I, I, anatta, nobody
I, I, anatta, nobody

And how does one
Unravel the knot
In which one has tied oneself
Without unraveling said self
And yes, we may ask the question
In a calm kind of earnest,
But is it not in fact
The burningest notion of all, namely
The sudden unraveling of decency
In favor of
Tranquility
Medicinally
Induced in me
Produced a kind of
Reverse rapidity
A sudden and very quick
Slowing down of all my wits
And while I was for a number of minutes
In a bliss and in an indescribable peace
I had only to be reminded of
The clamoring world directly above me
My silent sea, my still ocean
But my poor scape-goated ego
In exile
Little anchor now felt such anger
Meant to make me feel the murderousness
Of all the meaningless I had
Imprinted on its existence
In other words,
It saw that I sought to suppress a bottomless pit
And the absurdity inherent in this
For emptiness cannot be forced down
Will not succumb to force for the sake
Of what you call real
Over and above it
Will not stand for force for the sake of force
But perhaps for the sake of farce
May make you repent a little
For belittling the only wits you have left within you
So never believe for a moment
That you can out wit
That gaping, glaringly actual nothingness
Inherent in all your attempts at betterment
Because, believe me son,
All this silliness will only lead to bitterness
Our wits will always out wit us
They will always come out
Still sitting on top of us
And there will never be any doubt ever
Whose ego had the better
Of the most diabolically confused attempts
To blot it out to its bloody ends
I should have left, as the wisely careless say,
Well enough alone
And held my fallible little ego
As something to own
Oh, and it’s nearly impossible, but still so admirable
I will own my blown over ego
Instead of owning up to an inescapably feeble and failed attempt to let go of it
Burning and miserable intellect
(I’ll slow down to reattach it)

So good night
My burning egos,
Let he who sleeps the soundest
Cast the first stony glare of distrust and indifference
For there is none around you who has not felt the buzzing hum
Of their own unignorable emptiness

(I, I, Anatta, Nobody)
They say let go of yourself
But there’s nothing left to let go of
Say let go of yourself
But there’s nothing left to let go of
(I, I, Anatta, Nobody)