Magnetic North vs. Nautical South

worrying about the retail marketplace value of tomorrow is about as silly as wearing your most lavish winter sweater, whilst cooking in hell's kitchen in hithe of heat-wave weather. we've clear-cut more lush-lands and swallowed more oceans than five armies of angry nay-sayers making a king's court commotion. this is no such paper plead of "please save my earth" serotype sickness. this red and blue sphere will bask in sunshine long after the last body falls from the final bout of the "erase all sapiens" flu. its more a matter of making sense of empty pockets and filling empty stomach linings when they're needed, rather than when its in fashion. and to the ravenous audience hearing this, whats the flavor of your passion?

and under this graphite carving of a gibbiss moon, i ditched all hints of emptiness, and tipped death into it's tomb. this scent of setting something alive on the fringe afire has got my insides lined with cables. three million volts abound on the tip of my finger. trust me not, for i found a spark, and will gladly make a display should you let my index linger. from here on until the final night, as far this day's eyes yield sight, we'll unearth the worth of every spell and every canvas fit to write. all these acts and aphids formed around the profound meaning of the yin-yang. rather than focus on the psuedo serenity of flipping your couch to a counter-clock-wise angle, or the array of places you can contort into a Kama-sutra flexion, you ever stop to pay homage to today, or send a smile in that shunned clock's direction?

i don't profess to be any such semblance of a sage, i'm just saying there is fact within the fiction, friction within fact, but in fact there is no friction greater than when opposites attract. sauntering to my end of the table is a messenger with a letter-headed with scarlet members of the alphabet. random outlines of leylines and teeming with disposable felines. all that said to say theres no promise in the unwritten future, so take comfort in the confines of the present that is today. so when your mirror edge reflects a flailing limb of a scant familiar visage. when your ailment wears you in shackles and contort the sun's image. recall the fact within the fiction, friction within fact, and the fact there is no friction greater than when opposites attract.