Apr. 25th, 2016

proximoception: (Default)
Here's the thing:
There's no God, death's forever,
All our joy is forfeit to a mad scheme of the dead,
Our minds infected such that those informed can't stay so long,
None believe enough in others' pain,
Plans are all made nonsense by the sudden drop to nothing
Yet all our tongues know how to speak is plan,
And saying any part of this will earn one only scorn
Since surely it can't be so
And everyone already knows that.

But here's the other thing:
Some idiot's mistake did the unthinkable
And let you live
You actually you
Live actually live
In a place where joy can be
Can be and because sometimes is
Is never far away
What with the basic sameness of the substance of the jumble
What with the joywick growing fresh inside us every morning
What with how many jarrings lead reliably to flame
And locked me in with you
Me or someone like me
To talk to
To jar with
To help
And to be helped by
And most importantly
To laugh your goddamn ass off with
At how bad God
This fucking God
Quote God unquote
This grip stopped short at nine tenths of intention
How awful this imposture is at damning.

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