The roadmap of...

Had sometime just now to sit down and do a stream of consciousness piece, which happens to be the Meeting The Bar prompt over at D'Verse, where the talented Victoria is hosting the pub.

computer pages, where preambles are not made solely for constitutionals they are ever lingering around the black harvest of this fruitless vine and then another connection will form, and the repercussions of tomato insects will burrow through the veritable vegetation and it’s unenviable momentary state of squish

TacohotsalsabeansriceBurritoFlowerJointpainCanOfsoupFireFlamesRedOrangeYellowBrownEarthDirtSoilStainWashBleachCleanDirtyShowerSoapShampooBlindnessReddeningTearsSaltOceanWaterFishLifeBeneath the wavesTidalDriftsLost boatsNever foundNever in one pieceBuoys underSubmergedSubmarineswithSubstituteTeachersparingApplesintociders, corebasicrudimentary, principles not principals, no friends inChalkboards, blackboards, draw,eraser smoke fills the lungs, white, chalk, dust EPA, memorandum, write, wipe, cleanScraping noise, irritating to the ear yet something undermines the mind as the miserable little children throw barbs and airplanes from their soiled seats of wood, connected like they’ll walk away desks of education, little brats that berate because they’ve been told their entire life that they are upper crust, elite, bread winners for society, they are the future, and everyone owes them something, we are their walking boards their mats upon the muddy road, or perhaps they act in such despicable mannerisms because they overcompensate for the feelings of what happens when they go home, they either believe the berating’s they receive are but normal transparency or they are just vicious little kids, learning the power of hate, so they then transfer that information to those who want no part of the matter, and these are the teachers, these are the masters of the educational wars, these are those with most influence these are those who teach you hate from an early age

Something, yes those types of things you never forget, they simple blossom into a festering wound that simply eats a little more of your soul into until you are one big powder keg with a lit fuse ever following you along until one day, one day whenever, now, later, now and later, juicy hard on teeth but then zen, nothing left, but that fuzzy place between air and earth and walking quickly we see the stars that could have been taking a tour, like those Christmas tales, where one person realizes how different things would be without his or her ever coming to be in the first place and by knowing how miserable others would be, you understand that your misery is reasonable, might as well be a martyr for the rest of civilization and all the great people you help spawn, just because you are able to withstand the brutality place upon you but inconsiderate and self-scared little children in grown up shoes, walking a sidewalk meant to still be grassy fields, where a house was would have been a little lake for grazing cattle to feed upon, enjoying the nice sunny sky and the whispering of the breeze….it’s still here, but it no longer whispers, yet yells and screams all damn night, and in the dreams of thought, I often pray I’d see only light, but awake to realize another day and another night is yet to come, on the docket, all lined up for whatever is tossed at you, then, perhaps you relish in this thought, perhaps one day you’ll own that deflector shield and watch the tables turn and the fortunes realign and understand the pane of glass that ever seems cracked but never breaks completely not until someone shoves their entirety at forces too fast to imagine breaking into little shards scattering all over the carpet, laying there in wait for unsuspecting naked feet to step on them, only knowing what has happened until they are at that point where a bloody mass now stillborns itself out from under souls of toes, trapped in a glass house with only bricks to throw and then and then and then and then we can hope these thens then come to become other then not other thans buytradesellstopshortcutloss losewin tie even fly away to the Shangri-la of tomorrow’s light and understand, when one dreams, often times the meaning is not understood until some other  morning’s light.