What There Is

Are there two sides to everybody,
Or more,
Or simply no discernable characteristic make-up,
That is neither a person nor,

A jumble of perceptions, and if there's not,
How could anyone have assumed to write,
A description of anyone else,
Unless they really might,

Be thinking of a world where people exist,
Whose minds actually are set fast,
And know what they would do given any situation,
That they actually think can last?

It's alright,
To try to understand the world,
In terms of a way that can be understood,
Just don't forget that it is always unfurled.

Randomness

Can truth come out of randomicity?
Isn't reality proof of that?
And if you describe whatever's given to you,
Isn't that a truthful act,

That reveals not only what you see,
But what you don't?
If I had a penny, no tenner, for all the things I miss,
I'd still never be rich enough for this joint.

But everything can be connected,
No matter how distant they seem,
For the randomness of structure and form,
Underlines absolutely everything.

And it's alright,
If you have to organize the randomness,
To get a handle on how the world is just,
Intrinsically a chaotic mess.

Finally

It's never too late,
To know thyself,
And in this age of anything's possible,
There's a tool on the shelf,

Waiting for you to use it expertly,
Even if no one has been able to,
See it as even anything useful,
Except you.

And to translate your idiosyncrasy,
Into something others can understand,
is the surpising accomplishment,
of every great man.

And it's alright,
If it takes you a while,
To figure out what you have to offer,
Just stop being in denial

Lying Story

He ended up destroyed,
Because he lost himself in the ploy,
After he found himself defending a lie,
About a high-powered, remote toy.

The sun was out and the heat was on,
As he met, by chance, is very best friend,
From whom he'd borrowed money to buy a gift,
That he never bought in the end,

Instead, he paid some bills and got drunk,
And now he has nothing for that same friend's son,
As he tells his friend that he was robbed,
At the same time the two of them were on a run.

But it's alright,
He has another friend or two,
That will stay his friends until that time,
When his best friend tells them what he can do.

Being Others

You can't be someone else,
Period.
You are who you are, and the best you can do,
Is paint over it,

And as you know paint will peal and crack,
And must be sanded and reapplied,
And if you want the same colour again,
You must keep a sample of what you first buyed.

And if you think that this is rudimentary,
You are right, but people often forget,
That being who you are naturally,
Is your best bet,

For being alright,
And excelling at what you do best,
Unless, that is, you're best at being others,
Then go on and be my guest.

Intentions

Can you misrepresent yourself,
So that other people think,
Your intentions are other than they are,
To hide that you are a rat-fink?

It all depends on your definition,
Of the word 'intentions',
For if you want to avoid all mistakes,
It should be synonymous with 'actions',

And then no thought exists before its actualization.
Oh, what a shallow world that is,
Unless you stop to think about all of your own thoughts,
That may as well never exist,

Because they're alright,
As a reverie.
The risk comes taking some of your darkest thoughts,
And making them reality.

It's How You Look At It

Fortunes change in a second,
Though a lifetime may be dedicated to that,
And if anyone tells you events are just random,
Well, they are right, but also sad,

Because they also are not depending on,
How you look at it,
Because that's the only control you have over life,
So why not work at surrendering it?

Because that makes you so much larger,
Than just a candle blowing in the wind.
It also gives you a powerful ally,
In a force that will never end.

And it's alright,
No matter how you look at it,
You'll always be the one that has to cope,
With however life is interpreted.

Book

This is a story of love,
For the story of love,
Of the varied choices left to one,
After being stripped of,

All pretension to knowing what is right,
Or even knowing anything at all,
Just as each generation has to remind itself,
To get finally get beyond,

The legacy of those who came before:
A method born of habit.
But all is lost once it is realized,
That this new story can have no end,

Because it's alright,
To describe a world built on assumptions,
But try to make sense of one built on truth,
And you'll soon find yourself with no foundation.

Who's Crazy

Yes, everyone's crazy,
Because no one knows for sure,
If what they're being told by everyone else,
Springs from nature,

Or from deceit, if you consider them opposites,
And no one knows if what they're saying themselves,
Is based on truth or even honesty,
Because humanity's innocence fell,

With the decision to live together,
And to spare each others' pain,
For both require a certain amount of obfuscation,
And estimating what's in the other's brain.

And it's alright,
There is one test for finding out:
Just compare what someone says to what they do,
And if they match, then you can suspend your doubt.

Headache

To know what it is you want to,
Do with you life,
Requires a certain knowledge of yourself,
And your price.

And should you expect to be happy all of the time,
Once you've figured it out?
It's all a bit obtuse when it's not even clear,
What 'doing' is really all about.

And while you're sorting it there're still things to do,
Demanded by society,
If you let it rule your life,
Instead of living as you want to be.

And it's alright,
If you go through life never satisfied.
Join the club.
At least you'll be allied.

What Now?

When your hands are full,
But you really don't mind,
Don't make excuses to others,
For a life that is sublime,

For outside of the society you live in,
That demands much work for little pay,
Imagine what you'd be doing with no rules,
And then think what you would say,

In those moments of pure idleness,
When your mind's free to contemplate,
Why you've ended up where you are,
And what you're here in the first place,

And you'll see it's alright,
That society ain't all that great,
Except for the freedom it gives your mind,
From the onus of figuring out where you originate.

The Top

Can you keep on going?
Is there time to stop?
What are others doing, either way?
Are you barred from being on top?

And is the one on top the one who won't stop,
And is the oldest of those who don't?
Surely, there's more than just perseverance to succeed,
Like nature, nurture, geography and hope.

And a combination of these is probably the way,
That one succeeds at what she does.
And for that matter, there are many tops,
To be striven for by many humans.

And it's alright,
If you don't know which one to strive for.
But if you don't pick at least one randomly,
You're guaranteed to never get off the floor.

Perspective

When the darkness has fallen on you,
And only clawing will help you out,
Be comforted by the thought that when you are,
There will still be doubt,

And there will still be just as far to go,
To reach any true happiness.
Like any absolute, the distance to it,
Is infinite,

And any joy you can grasp in relation to,
What you had a moment ago,
Is a triumph beyond all miracles,
That you can ever know,

Because it's alright,
Until you start to think about it,
And then you wish you never had,
And just continued to just exist.

It's Not About You

No matter how much you think about it,
Nothing will change,
Unless you take it upon yourself,
To amend your brain,

And consciously make the world,
Not how you naturally see it.
Because, remember, nature is a combination,
Of who you are and what you found yourself taught.

And it's bullshit if someone tells you,
You were taught all wrong.
With everyone in the world taught differently,
They're just angry that you'v got more going on.

And it's alright,
If they search for themselves in everything that you say.
Chances are they're just hoping you haven't found out,
How they actually have none of the things for which you've paid.

The Enviable Life

Yes, life is passing you by,
But so is it passing everyone else,
And not to make everything hunky dory,
But there's a life for every self,

And taking any one and putting it on display,
Creates an art, as is proved by new media,
For what's interesting is not what's produced,
But how much truth can be seen by ya,

'Cause whether drawn, written or thought to yourself,
You'd be surprised how much deception there is.
You want the proof for this, just look at your life,
And identify the fruits of your wish-es.

But it's alright,
For no life always feels fulfilled,
And the outward view is no gauge of just how,
Many wishes in it have been killed.

The Value of You

What's the measure of a man?
It depends on who
Holds the ruler and where it is he got it,
Because there's no likeness between any two,

But if it happens that there's still an agreement,
Among an impressive population,
That you are made of laudible qualities,
Then,the scale has reached objectification,

Not as a measure of who you are, though,
But of the calibration of a few,
For no matter how many are in agreement,
There are an infinite more who are not, too.

So, it's alright,
If you're told you're great or good for nothing,
The only critique that is ruler in its universe,
Is your own self-judging.

This Little Piggy

No moment is wasted,
Even the wasted ones,
Even if you are thinking nothing at all,
And creating no productions,

Even if what you are doing,
Is impeding others from doing things, themselves,
Reminding them that you exist,
But leave everything on the shelf.

Mere existence is a powerful thing,
And consciousness of it, even more,
Especially in light of the fact that you can't,
Know that other people are.

And it's alright,
If you don't intend to be productive again,
You won't be able to avoid it,
Being a human.

Life Well-Lived

Is it ever too late?
Not if you're among the right crowd,
And you don't forget what it is you love,
And how,

To do it in such a way,
That you forget,
That you're doing it for someone else,
Because you wouldn't,

And still be doing it with honesty,
Because that is the point,
Unless you want to live a life unlived,
Because then you'll be going,

To be alright,
Because there's no hard and fast rule,
That life should be lived any specific way,
Unless you want to be arbitrary, too.

It's Soon

It is any day now,
And it's like time has stood still,
And you don't know what it's going to be like after,
So, what is life until,

That moment, and what is that moment, too?
Where is it you are residing?
Or, perhaps you should just appreciate now,
What you are experiencing.

And when the time comes that it's all in the past,
You can remember that you were once,
Someone completely different than who you are now,
And that in identity there's no permanence.

And it's alright,
Life is full of these little things,
That make you question what it's all about,
And makes you pray for no endings.

Making Change

Things can change very quickly,
In fact, they do,
And keeping track of where the changes lie,
Is only helpful to a few,

Whose joy comes not from living life, per se,
But from analysing life so far,
While for the rest of humanity,
It's a constant war,

Of conflicting passions and the thoughts that serve them,
Amid this background of ambition.
Change is necessary when you want something else,
But only of a portion,

Of what's not alright,
Because some things need to stay in place,
For the things you want to have any meaning.
Really, it's a losing race.