My name is Comrade Homeless and I am the Mirror image of you.
I wear your boots.
Leave your footsteps.
words found and drowned by MIA A A A AA
Sunday 4 July 2010
Friday 2 July 2010
The preposterous ramblings of the late Terequin Jack
My life, in all its oddity and strange techniques has led to this state. This state, untold bar some apocryphal tales and whisperings in the cold night is something not unlike that of a guardian being. Some have called us angels. Some have called us genies. But throughout all the renaming and taming and misunderstanding we have clearly been misrepresented. We are trapped. Imprisoned and withheld to the upmost degree. Picture the summation of your life thus far. See all that you have accomplished in a shining second. Does that shine seem un-deserved? Fuck that and all judgements; at least it has lived within the moment of the least, which is more than us souls of the past; denigrated to mere memories and desolate imprints upon the ever-changing BORING planet earth. Deep empty breath. Hold it. Within. No thing. I live as I do. I am something which you might call a spirit.
There is a being. A being which due to some anachronistic reasoning of it’s own is choosing to name itself Comrade Homeless. It even has a blog and everything. And all. I am gone. Not that I know much of that to which I will reference; due to its inclined nature, but I assume that as time develops; as the human soul falls into a settled mood of nihilism, existence becomes somewhat of a hindrance. At the risk of straying off subject, I beg the question: “What is the point of undergoing the pains of life when life is but pain in all its fullest and least?” Exactly. None at all. But I have the great fortune of being relieved of that great pain. I am departed.
No. Not quite. I am attached. Quite attached. There remains upon the dear planet Earth a young being who calls itself Comrade and whom others call Homeless. I am, through no active fault of my own, irreversibly attached to this sordid (as in LIVING) creature. But. But. Butt. I long for a word which distinguishes life in such a way as that... but I must present to you the history of the state unto which I have come to form these words.
There is a being. A being which due to some anachronistic reasoning of it’s own is choosing to name itself Comrade Homeless. It even has a blog and everything. And all. I am gone. Not that I know much of that to which I will reference; due to its inclined nature, but I assume that as time develops; as the human soul falls into a settled mood of nihilism, existence becomes somewhat of a hindrance. At the risk of straying off subject, I beg the question: “What is the point of undergoing the pains of life when life is but pain in all its fullest and least?” Exactly. None at all. But I have the great fortune of being relieved of that great pain. I am departed.
No. Not quite. I am attached. Quite attached. There remains upon the dear planet Earth a young being who calls itself Comrade and whom others call Homeless. I am, through no active fault of my own, irreversibly attached to this sordid (as in LIVING) creature. But. But. Butt. I long for a word which distinguishes life in such a way as that... but I must present to you the history of the state unto which I have come to form these words.
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