Stupid and meaningless everything
Figure your fucking life out already.
Without regard to your stupid fucking feelings.
It just goes and goes and goes
And occasionally will laugh at you
If you try to make any sudden moves
Without first consulting the i-ching
Or some dusty ouiji board
Or the tarot deck.
Maybe existence does precede essence.
Maybe essence is just a word
Perfumeries use to sell their shit.
And the second you realize this
You can’t help but laugh too.
For there is literally no point to anything
Except the fleeting observation of a passing cumulus cloud
Or the stretch of light through a window
Or a dogwood tree in full bloom.
What if you died crossing the street?
Would you have found a way to smile
Before stepping into the crosswalk?
Or would you have died as you lived?
Caught in some tired malaise,
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming
Of some remotely better life
You have no clue how to create?