Untitled

Did you ever have the sinking feeling that you are on the verge of a major breakthrough.
That the next 3 steps are going to lead you down a corridor that you're not quite sure of....I know what you're thinking...what's with all the cryptic.
Patience my pretties....all good things in time and in their rightful place....whatever the hell that means. Oh look, sarcasm, you can't write that.....HA.
Anyway, I wish I could show people the "entire" picture. From the very beginning of a "scripts" inception to the very last adlib, brought to fruition, in a time of "trying to pick up their feet, being left behind like the SHIT in a public restroom. Damn, that's fabulous imagery.
Oh, what to do??? What to do??
It amazes me how "clever" some men think they are....how "devious". They really don't know the Game, the Rules or the Masters of this "realm".
Ah, you're still wondering "what the fuck is he talking about???"
Stay tuned readers......it's going to be a bestseller. Fo sho'.
There's a faction of our society that practices deciet, or at least they try to...drawing from past attempts at keeping truth's hidden......we'll draw from life to create Art. Art that moves and shakes at our very core. Words delivered from the quivering lips of an Anarchist. A fighter against the system. The enemy of mediocrity and conformity.
I find myself lost. I feel for the man-child. Torn I am....for I understand his fear. What I can never understand is his superficiality. His desire to be part of the status quo. Especially after such exhausting conversations on the strength of his convictions. The Manor of his care.....hmmm, I think I've exhausted this topic. It's at a stand-still for me, at this moment.
But...there are other ways of telling a story. There's a mastepiece in the making and I can only tell it....for only I can see the meaning. The Art of "Reading" a person isn't an exact science. It's practice. It's a process of elimination. Of throwing out the covers to see what's truly underneath the sheets.
.....All he ever wanted was to live his life. HIS LIFE!
To follow the dreams that were drawn in the clouds of blue, Saturday skies. Early morning daydreaming as the clock ticked down the minutes of his daily routine. His eyes shifted back and forth, focusing on nothing, wondering, "why?" Always, "Why?" Why me? Why now? Why here?
Questions running through his mind like a leaky faucet. The kind you just sit there and watch and do nothing about......until you're forced to--because now, the leak has eroded the foundation of security surrounding your faucet. Where's the putty? Glue? Something for god's sake. Anything to keep it all in...nothing can get "leaked" out. Nothing. For that would be the greatest tradgedy of all. The flood gates would be opened and someone else would need to be called...and that can't happen, 'cause that would mean someone else knows about the "leak." Someone else knows...about the "leak." The equipment is not right. That's not normal. I'm not normal. Those are the thoughts. He knew he wasn't the first, but that didn't ease the dis-ease. Yes, Dis-ease. That's what he feels...and he will fight, fight and fight to keep it in check......unless......It's Midnight. The Darkness....protects. It conceals him. Gives him strength....temporary maybe, but for this moment in time, He is strong. He can breath now....but there are rules. It can only be here. Now. Time is of the essence. Stories must be constructed and alibi's crafted with the expertise of first year recruits....their arrogance is their tell.