Fleeting Meditation

I'm so calm right now - overwhelmed with the scent of 
freedom;

It's cooking, you know?

We're all cooking - melting into the decomposition that is 
fuel for the revolutions of the earth that will eventually 
crumble under the guise of efficiency which the feeding 
hand has created for the sake of our contentment.

But that's irrelevant - i'm looking for a fleeting period 
of peace to engulf my drunkenness;

A recliner without weekend-yellow tape surrounding the 
perimeter of rest so that when i finally get there, the 
only thing left to do is worry about what's outside the 
boundary of bureaucracy that i have so loyally fed by 
virtue of a dream to destroy it.

I try to realize the real lies, but my real eyes are 
laminated with the artificiality of the goal i have set out
 to conquer; though my actions bleed reality. ironic? i 
think not. more typical than anything else.

Again, i've gone off track - i want to hold this feeling - 
it is intoxicating; the feeling of indifference with a 
hard-on. it's really something else - to not care about 
anything except the very moment which just passed - and to 
let it pass without mourning;

To hold your cock and type a therapeutic regurgitation of 
the life you have swallowed and still manage to think about
 pizza is a phenomenon which most will fail to recognize 
before their systematic death.

I, for one, thank god for this stall in the sequence of 

time.

Goddamnit! now the moment's passing - and i'm not even 
coked up. i gotta go take a shit - fuck this world.