Re: Brothers, part 1

I think that most of the time, people don’t understand the question. If you could just sit in that box all plugged in and love it. It wouldn’t just be the baser things. I think that anyone that’s been both places’d tell you

Having a cool drink up in the mountains with just enough acid and really believing it all works together, and even tends to shape out rather well, and that the brightly colored breathing walls are a nice touch

Or thirsty for non-gritty tap water on another god-forsaken windy cold as fuck late night doing nothing but disappointing everything you ever lay your senses on, walking the valley in a slow, steady circle, knowing you aren’t climbing anymore, knowing you can climb, not climbing.

and it’s “high as fuck on Olympus doc, I don’t care if it’s in a box, in a fluid with a tube down my ‘real’ throat’

but this should’ve been quite obvious, and isn’t much new.

This is where Ivan ends

And his brother begins.
This is where the quiet runt of the litter nods and smiles and sips his beer

And everyone listens just for a second.

For some reason they look at him, at first anticipating to be amused by his reaction. His shy duck of right hooks. His unanswers. His ribless chest of recycled air.

But they listen just for a second.

And the alyosha among nameless clans and motherless families, huddled in the cold, chugging vodka for the lack of good acid, spewing ideas for the lack of bright colors, killing pastors for the lack of honest revolutionaries,

Spoke of the dust and dimmer days in the kind of cold a valley needs to hold to really grow up

And seeing no rain with dry eyesAnd being months past crying for much of anything
And wakeless turns of the ground

“To remember a quiet promise there and hold on to the whisper of a world that seemed to move on without you,

to stir beauty with a dirty spoon and eat olives far below sea level,

these are the god’s legs that outrace your machine.”