Paper-Bytes

The Grit Delusion & lts Confrontation

ln capitalism grit is survival,

Grit replaces true thought,

It substitutes for lack of experience.

There is nothing to muster,

Always a function of bluster.

Accepting that which is fabrication

ls like collecting trophies without a sport

No win or loss can be unknown,

Like skipping a stone with no surface

Water just waits for it to sink

You will not miss it even to blink.

This provides no solace, no peace

Since nothing came before

Standing lonely a cliché,

Reified the empty, to full,

We cannot rely only on will.

What we say is a thrill,

But not reality, still.

Can one love existence,

or does it love us?

Not something in the least,

Persistence feeds only a beast,

Devouring the present

With bites in 2 directions

The past & future

Taking up all the space

It neither moves or gives chase

Doomed to a never ending pace,

Ever eating only intention,

It is never satisfied.

Only the system talking,

The conversation of misplaced identity.

Voices we mistake for our own,

A layered ideology is sown,

Harvested with smoke & mirrors

Like the morning mist over a calm lake

The beauty cannot deny it's fake,

But to many, what it looks like is enough.

This false matrix of woe,

Making ourselves the foe

Of terrible states sewed.

The warp & woof can both be ugly sides,

Nothing at life's end owed,

Counterfeit after told.

It is far too late when age comes,

Dominating physiology, psychology,

All in a fog,

No more strength, just stalled

intent, bent on not waking up,

Embracing the slow-long dull

Rejecting the short-abrupt clarity.

Tangled in the carnage of the natural,

True, but not so true,

False, but not so false,

What then to do?

Finding the way back to where it began?

The demarcation from the simple to demand,

Like the child's mind at hand

We hope to clear the slate

Avoiding a contrived fate,

A state without stake, with innocence

Rolling the blank dice, the winner.

Possibilities last, recognition lasts,

So we seek the unfound,

So we find the unlost,

So we feel the unfelt,

The consequence of separating life & death,

Its interim-ness, health & sickness

Experiences folded, unfolded,

The paper is blank, the pen is empty

The space to be,

Giving the chance to see

That grit is a needless spur

Under a saddle that is not so,

On a horse that is not so,

This is all we can know.

Convenience keeps us separated from this,

inconvenience keeps us separated from that

All l can show, is something I know

Like the time to feed the cat

TIME'S DOWN, NOT UP

As time runs out,

There is no doubt

That the trees will remain,

The flowers bloom again'

The winds blow without us,

The rain drops on someone in our place,

Love and hate will continue,

Focus only on strangers,

Someone we will never know,

Since not having the right eyes to see

While the world continues to spin

And new stars & suns are born

There is this thorn,

Stuck in our heads,

Bleeding the essence of mind

Replacing all that is kind

With a bind of denial

That end is all that we share

Instead of marching together

Hiding, hiding, a fake out

Here and there, avoiding now

Tears fill time's intervals

Not that we care, to care

It is never up, time is always down,

Sad it leaves no trace

But all have been in its' embrace

Witness to all squandered in its' name

Not even love can be put off by it,

And hate cannot touch it

Yet pretend to own it, at times'

Expense, nothing can be measured

Aside from the loss of connection,

Exaggerated by the fiction of past and future

Now!! is time's only scream

Now!, Now!, Now!, even Now!

Some listen at the last moment...

Most close their ears?

Until it is too late for them,

But never does time skip