The Life Of A Lion (But Not The King Of Anything)

[RareForm]

there is no such thing to remind me of the troubles i have endured,
there is only a habitual attraction to things that catch my divided
attention. i only go so far and then i subtract myself from any
equation. it's a wonder to know that i am not who i am going to be,
i am only who i see day come day, oh what's my name again?
it attaches to me and i don't feel, i don't see, it appears
circumstantial, or that's what i tell myself.

there is a very small window of opportunity, i keep getting myself
closed in it. all of these words are without purpose and i permit
them to keep regenerating. i am Steven S. Merriwether and i wish i
was a prostitute with subacute endocarditis. i am a puppy with broken limbs,
please take care of me.

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swing low, sweet cherry tree. grow me an apple please and twist off the
stem, A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M, M - Mark Morgan, the man of my dreams,
grow this way and buy me a house with a nice view. overlooking space and
time, if only i had the right.

i am a temperamental rental service salesman with short winds and bones
with skin, devil may come, choose your sin. today, i'll covet and bear false
witness please, and i think i'll take the LORD's name in vain. god damnit.
what's my name again?

ohh well, you show what you know, and i know that i am insufficient and
insatiable. there's much too much too much to know. i am never prepared,
for a bug's life. i think aquatic. i don't think i'll ever dry out and really feel
what i want to feel. i'm sure it's merely the time. who knows, i could marry
myself in the future. that would be all right, i guess.

 

[New]

This fascinating analysis of a man bared to the world intrigues me.

Nice.

 

[RareForm]

thanks for reading.

 

[lostNfound]

To me this read a little whimiscal, and I liked it.
None to serious, but a few underlying things in there.

I really enjoyed it.

 

[(Wordy)]

Good to see you posting again.

I like this one best of the 3 you posted. Absorbing, quirky thought-flow. There seems to be a self-awareness going on here which manages to be both acute and surreal at the same time. Acutely surreal? Notwithstanding the fact that there are several selves named ("I is a colony" to paraphrase someone whose name escapes me right now). And the self-awareness carries through to the way you describe the act and purpose(lessness?) of writing:

all of these words are without purpose and i permit
them to keep regenerating.

That's it, just let 'em keep on spawning...