Survive – Elements surpassed our expectations and now we are on the cusp of a life or death situation, deep in the muck of Harvard-scholarly wallow, drinking desperately at any cup of liquid remotely close to optimism or positivism. I too, lower my cup. Aching for solace on the homefront, a reassurance of narrow nave, the apse of my brain can only tolerate so much fight or flight, life or death, “true God from true God, begotten not made, one in being with the Father”. Elementary certainty. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy. Faith confuses and doctors truth (sometimes); Maybe it depends on who’s doing the thinking. Survival mode: The video game you can’t get out of, the holodeck that will not “Computer, Exit!”. My lungs need air, my heart needs something worth beating for, my stomach and blood need nutrients. This is functioning biological machine – we all are. I must maintain it to the best of my ability. Nursery rhymes be damned, I am atop this peak in myself climbing ever so higher until the oxygen depletes and I delude myself to jump down. How, why – everything. Master of massive existential domain, catapulting reality ever present now; How can we not anticipate the future of factual representation? A tiny cough I cannot quit. Hollowed and hallowed stumps and stones, gazing on the web of history.

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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