Justin Razor and the World

Random This is completely random/ Because I need to fathom/ My needs that grab from/ Obscene distractions/ Could you even stand to/ See the havoc/ That beams and flashes/ In the meanest cracks in/ My vision, relief it crashes/ Over me as the cleanest flashes/ Of evil fascist/ Regimes and panicked/ People laugh at/ Me and rack the/ Gun deeper back and/ Release the magic/ Bullets that seem to have me/ Bleeding sadly/ Unleashed and rabid/ I'm seeking savage/ Leanings mouthing/ A demon's answers/ So please my magic/ Eager half just/ Start reaching out and/ Keep me grounded/ I'm clinging, static/ Unclean and maggots/ Writhing, indecent, scalped and/ Seething mad with/ Jesus handing/ Me the package/ To realize my ceaseless passion/ But this isn't profound/ With my nose down/ Sniffing all the low ground/ I chose how/ This would go round/ Merry and slowed, doubt/ Would throw out/ My own clout/ Those clouds/ Passing by ove

The Road And The Sea I've spent the last several days exploring the catacombs of my previous life. Since returning home, I've felt oddly out of place and out of touch. Storefronts stand derelict and melancholy, the zest I was familiar with absent and dead. I'd hoped portions of my old life would be comatose rather than deceased, but it seems as if they're either expired or reincarnated; there is no middle ground. As I pen this, I'm sitting at the pond behind my public library. I'm enlightened, yet embarrassed, to admit that, upon my entrance, my eyes teared up and I had to catch my breath. This hasnt happened anywhere else here; not in the house I grew up in, Barnes and Noble, 24 Hour Fitness, or even my beloved Marina. My parents redecorated and refurbished the house, and an enormous, spacious memory foam mattress now occupies my bedroom. The aforementioned shops and haunts have either been vacated or transformed. Stepping i