Desperation Desperation courses through your brain at a fever pitch, click click click, searching for something to hold onto, as all that is solid melts into air,
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gregorypleshaw
gregorypleshawCommunity member
Autoplay OFF  •  3 months ago
Performed live in San Francisco on and off since 1993, this desperate rant describes a mind overflowing with the detritus of culture. It belongs in this medium, I'm afraid to say.

Desperation Desperation courses through your brain at a fever pitch, click click click, searching for something to hold onto, as all that is solid melts into air,

as all that is familiar remains intact in form but not in meaning. The web of clarity you built to tie it all together has disappeared, dusted away by the broom handle sweep of your own mind, a request that all be made simpler.

You search for a situation to bail you out, a solid phantasy to whisk you away from confusion, a keystone to hold it all together.

As it stands, you are confronted with scattered variables that have no equation to fit into, and you seek a solid beam of light that makes everything seem connected, whole, manageable.

Your head is a whirlwind, a Mall of America circus of people, places, stories, poetry, ideas.

Free your mind? Open the Pandora's Box whose lid is sealed with Krazy Krazy Krazy glue - what would happen if you chiseled it open? No, no, you reassure yourself, far better to free the restless shaking body,

give it endless vistas of nothing road upon which to rest your ad-addled eyes

The road. Visions of bands of illogical mohawked renegades shooting each other for three drops of gasoline on a dry dusty wasteland landscape, away away away from the civilization of safety, Pizza Hut, half million dolllar homes insulated from other human hands.

You wish it were so desperate - you long for outlaws and witches and maidens and Robin Hoods so that you might fulfill the destiny offered by the sage and prophet of our age, Mario the Plumber:

"In this life, you have but one destiny. Save a princess, get a treasure, oh, and don't get killed."

"Going somewhere is for squares. We just go." The Wild Ones words echo in your ears, a small comfort against the mountains of junk mail you receive daily as one of the lucky ones able to claim citizenship in the Age of Information.

Advertisements beg your purchase, money asks for productivity, McDonald's demands you line up like a pig to be fed from the Great Trough of efficiency

computer networks send stylish ultra-hip bitstream data transmissions of endless null characters, electronic mail is 100% recycled electrons, what is the legitimacy of the printed word anyway anymore?

Beneath it all you know there's a human being behind it all, so you seek one out, neither for attraction or communication or sex or warmth, but as a fantasy reminder of your own humanity. You don't want her for love, or sex, or companionship -

simply a prop to keep you afloat as dig deeper into the Global Mind that seems increasingly brainless, endless, and immortal.

To wander. Nothing to do or see but the seeing and doing. As long as its done so fast and wth such a sense of purposelessness that that becomes the purpose. To glimpse the oceans again, that vast expanse, more calming than a mountain that can be climbed, the ultimate boundary.

You long for a real adventure, with true suffering and danger, hardship, and death. For if you take away the fear of death, where then goes the meaning of this life we live in?

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