In the Office on Memorial Day, part 3 - Wanting/not-wanting

Wanting/not-wanting, part 3

Here is my salary from these past three weeks, take it

You have children you see, vacation with them or pay the light bill

Fix the radiator in your car or pay some of that student loan interest

At least it will do something than be lost; at least someone on this side of the fence

Heard another laughing for a moment on the other

On this, I am on the seesaw of debate on purpose to human life.

I remember being married with a child and the zealous exuberance my wife

Had for obsessing over her job, her child, her parents, her brother, her town,

Anything but love, that was too close to self, too close to intimacy with existential exploration.

So I am torn on that seesaw, between the big numb clandestine pair-bonded dream

Of finding a suitable bunk-mate to tie limbs together and banking accounts

Until the machine manufactures itself in a combine of time of soccer schedules, homework

And aborted logic to attend religious circuses so that a man has a million balls to juggle,

But is just standing still exasperated in excuses to postpone original thought

Or do I see the dabbling economics of our societies, the governments the laws,

The universe with physics dribbling from the nebula, the musical notes of the deceased

Playing orchestras of conquering mortality to infuse me with aspirations to dare comment

To bear thinking into what is always present and even more so when I block the false obligations

The martyrs of sacrifice worship nothing but escapism in the eyes of their children

Even I see the giddy indulgence of teaching my genetic inheritance,

Such Darwinism is unearthed

In this ring of baptisms, birthday parties and younglings packed into minivans

Always going places and then a mother goes and turns on pop radio

And a father knows the refrains as he drives the horde.

Armies and armies of thinking-soldiers debilitated and self-shot to be dead-brains

Yet all I have is this numb, between seeing any purpose at all to this road trip, but

Love glaring at me again in the board rooms of commerce and the café twilight

Knowing there is no difference, home-work all equal alone

Not in the traditional loneliness of isolation as a problem, but as an unavoidable consequence

Being around others brings the ache, being alone is anesthesia for the purposelessness

The writing, the music, the art, the debates, the distractions are all variations of the numb

Dance monkey, I get paid to think for others, to assassinate what no one else wants to figure out

And when I do, no one gives a fuck or notices because no one desires the path just the conclusion

To the point, packaged by D-day and me all I want is the journey

So it doesn’t matter what I am doing it all feels the same

And the truth is I can never stop thinking; I am hooked to the incessant wave-machine.

I am more thankful than most I gather; every day is beautiful to me, to cherish, to celebrate

In what I consider a worthy method of celebration; that is to do something with it

To create art, to do work, to build a system, like a worker ant; I am present to construct.

The Earth, the life, the land, the thoughts, Oh yes, the thoughts!

I am here to permeate the iterations with focus as a turtle

Fuck the haste of the hare, I am reptile see my cold-blood ooze

I am all the time in the universe in these atheist bones

Seeing deity-dependency as more juvenile escapism

Which asserts an Other will do one’s work or worse that one is in the employ

That choices are non-autonomous and thus culpability is fundamentally purged

Rectified by a salad of justice tossed and devoured by a sky-God; Vomitus!

I will lay a thought upon a thought every day like a porcine mason

Wary death only as a twister to segment the thoughts from myself

But not the thoughts from the collective, for those are possible to be found

Even in the end of this universe this energy in my shell will reorganize

Through the wormhole and I may be teaching my new self now

Never knowing the emancipated kernels jettisoned into the waters

For these corrupt hands to marvel like a criminal fluttering cocaine out a window

For vagabonds to find.