Lazy from C-Z

 I keep thinking of you as if it was the only thing that I ever knew even if we have been long gone from each other's perception it never goes away even if I want you to say what we need even if this wish of mine finds no way it will be here to stay

It was a sort of like a callback to the whims and megrims of detritus past, like mud clinging to a wheel, regardless of whether or not the setting of this utterly preposterous ill timings happen here, there, or elsewhere. There is no such thing as a safe space. The safe spaces are merely a conjuration of the all too common mental impediment that plagues that one such fool who preys on other such fools. These all lack the common properties of a heimat , of which most people are in limbo of [represented by "the mud that clings to the wheels" conundrum. Even if one wanted to, it is hardly at fault to find this spirituality deviate from its typical norms. Perhaps the greater attribute one can bestow herein is that the ecumenical buff, once triggered, will initiate a path of self-righteousness looking forward and never back. One of the more menial things one wishes to have seen happen. If only God was as merciful as we are lacking.

Nightmares now dig deeper than vein thrombosis, and somehow it envigourates as soon as the realisation hits. Ani in the background. The shamelessness of it all. It is the only likeness one can build upon of what is left, often evocative, intoxicating, albeit uncalled for. What use would one have to a regret that steals even the loneliest, most solitary reprieve? One begins to imagine an alternative timeline. Of a whatif. Pointless, and yet poignant. The unbearable profundity of this regret, still. Tonight, anticipating heresy.

The Friday of all Fridays have always been about juggling expectations against reality. Wanting to step foot into something relevant, something that aches, but in the end it never does, perhaps because life is not always about flipping scripts. Why? In the grand scheme of this perpetual sojourn, the drive of purpose within the zeitgeist is shared within the collective, regardless of what one thinks they deserve, or what the situation at hand calls for. It had just ended, the unhinged transportation woes, that demolished many wallets during the week. Friday should have been different. At noon the eyes split against the sunlit weight, weighing the head down, clocking the shift for domestic life. There goes a little boy that needs a worn man paying him all heed. The woman demands it, the man fears it. And not because the responsibility was a horrible affair, far from it. It just consumes a lot of... time. The fear is more about losing what the man does not realise he has already lost. For...