i been gone a long time.

my new job skills involve continuing to bend to the will of others, typing the word "SAMPLE", and sliding some imaginary and completely intangible bars back and forth in order to change a mixture of three colors, three wavelengths of light smashing into the back of screen, so that they mimic real life.
And we wonder why we're apathetic.
My time is spent sitting in front of this screen helping to mass produce some "artist's" metaphorical pile of shit to be consumed and then ignored by the masses.
It makes me sick. It makes me despondent.
And we wonder why we're apathetic.
My creativity refuses to be lost with age, it's just pushed back further and further into the back of my skull and deemed by my mind to be useless. I'm conditioned more and more each day. If it's not necessary for survival then it's wasted space.
I am closer and closer to becoming an orphan. I've grown up, i'm not around, so there had to be a replacement. "Fear is the heart of love". Oh God, is it true? It seems it can all be analyzed down to such.
I'm at work so much that i only have the urge to shit when i'm here. Like and dog, so is a human, we can only relieve ourselves where we feel at home and were we find our scent.
My heart still beats. Sometimes it beats loud enough to overcome the worryful noise that crowds my brain. At these times i find some passion. I build something. I love someone. I cry. I scream - at the windows and the speed. I can make it sound like i wrote those words.
I am writing words.
I used to stand for something, even if i didn't even know what the hell i was standing up for. I used to think i would grow up to become something special. I thought that i was different. Now i know that i am not unique. It really is true that i could be anyone on these streets. I could be anyone with my state of mind. My work, sleep, eat, staring state of mind.
That's all we do. Work. Worry. Stare. Talk. Worry. Work. Stare. Type.
If all this time moving my fingers could lead to something worth while. Or even something tangible. Some kind of magnum opus. But i've been practicing the wrong movements. Too much pushing, not enough dexterity. Who needs opposable thumbs when you got all these buttons set up so ergonomically.
My heart hurts, so i know that i'm still here. It gets lighter when i see my lover smile, that's how i know there's still hope.
My heart still rises and flutters when i feel the presence of my God. That's how i know that there is still hope.
There is still hope. THERE IS STILL HOPE. And hope always makes trying a little easier. And that's all i need to do is try. "There are days longer than nights".
They say good things come to those who wait, and i've been waiting and i've found that's bullshit. Good things come to those who deserve them, and waiting around for good, for creativity, for someone to slap me in the face and tell me to get up off of my self-pitying ass has just left me there for as long as i've been waiting.
my passion will overcome this apathy for life.
We can win, we just have to try.