Life is not fair

For an elf way down here

When an elf way up there

Lives with jolly and cheer

Now they jeer

prod and poke

At the elf in the snow

Not that they know

But because a Fat Man

Told them so!

Yes! A fat, fat old man

With his gavel in hand

Come to tell us

What’s good, and what’s bad

’cross the land

How do you even know

Did the gods tell you so?

Up there elves think you’re god

Are you god! So you know?

You don’t know,

That I know

And yet still they believe,

You can’t help

Down here elves

See things differently,

Every elf has his way

Every way is his own,

It’s the elf with his way

Who should say

what’s condoned

Fat, fat old man

Just cause you sit on top,

With your spoiled milk beard

Stinking up the whole shop,

You think right and wrong

In your unfamished hands

Well this down here elf's back!

In his old banished lands

With this candy cane

And garland,

I will scale your high walls,

To your chair by the fire

Where the cookie crumbs fall

I will sneak like the ghost

Of Christmases past,

Silent essence of nightshade

I will drop in your glass

And if that weren't enough

For to see your breath-stopping

I'll bide by the fire

Tucked away in your stocking

And then

Fat old man

When you've drawn

your last breath

This down here elf will come up!

as the bringer of death

So then I'll have the reigns

With this slay, I'll make right

Merry Christmas to all

For it all ends tonight

Im sitting alone, willingly. I have a family in the other room but they're asleep. I chose to be by myself, on the floor, kinda. On a bean bag chair made to be a rainbow unicorn. I can't help but feel the irony so cushy on my bum. It fits. The irony, not the unicorn. Maybe the unicorn. Its natural for me to be alone. Its where I feel the most natural. I can be myself because it's only myself. Maybe I like to copy the demeanor and mannerisms of other people too much. Those are other problems for other times. It's easier to bring the isolation along with me and not move too much at all. Only subtle movements along with short pithy statements. Although, when i'm out i don't want to be isolated, but I make myself feel like i am. I do it to myself. Not really me though, someone else. He's also me but he wants something different. I let him have his way too much. I can be very persuasive. I can be very, very gullible. I'm never truly isolated. It's always me myself and i. I think that's the best way I can put it. But still, I enjoy my own company over anyone else's, so I isolate myself while wanting to join the fray, so that me myself and I can have something to talk about.

It was the feeling of the strings gliding against the tips of my fingers, the vibration of the drums beating right behind me. The pressure of the air, waving on in organized rhythmic waves around the back of my ears and being sucked straight through to my brain, I could feel the beat in my head, then my spine, then my body. It was the rumble of the bass that gave us all a ground to stand on, shaky as it was, we rocked along with it in perfect timing, back and forth, back and forth. It was the placelessness i was in that mesmerized me as I realized I could see myself standing right in front of me, watching my hands caress the fretboard of my 1970 epstein sunburst electric guitar, and tenderly I guided myself over the progression of unity that held the wandering band of souls together. It was then that i took off over myself, over the band, over the crowd as a melody poured out of my hands and onto the floor. Then, as it pooled in front of me, a figure started to emerge from the pile. It was a beautiful temptress that seduced even the coldest of hearts and melted away all sense of self so that she could enter in, and make nested in their soul, a warm bed for her musing. It was a baptism of vibration that cleansed the soul of the misfit.

the moon found her rest

in the shade of the earth

the earth found his joy

in the moons loving tug

her gaze is set all fear is gone

his hands are open and never let go

If I were to drown what then? is it black? is it bright and shiny? as my meat machine sinks to the bottom of the dark and crushing ocean am I in it? or will I go somewhere else? i think im drowning, therefore, i am drowning. so when will i stop thinking that im drowning? when i stop thinking, and how can i stop thinking, does my flesh reject the dead thinker or will the thinker remain with the flesh and fall into the earthen crust darkly? If I believe, will my all powerful friend bring my thinking thing into the outside, beyond what we can see with our meat and our machines? or if i dont believe, will my righteous friend keep my eternally thinking thing connected to the meat machine I cherished so dear? is this hell? dark. trapped. restrained in the lifeless weight of my ephemeral body, feeling the weight of the water surround and slowly start to crush me, the heat of the thermal vents pushing my grayness here and there ever spiralling downwards. the unnerving feeling of microscopic organisms and the gore of Gods hidden beasts gnawing on my cold, soggy, all too feeling flesh. and i go unnoticed. my agony unchecked. If I were to drown my question would be answered, but will i be around to recieve it?