it's a cold, and it's a broken hallelujah.

that is a terrible, terrible song to lazily rub sleep out of your eyes to.
C Am C Am F G C G....it's just a song, really. it goes on.

and i've grown older, and perhaps i've grown colder. the sun rose on today so very long ago, it almost feels like i've lived a hundred lives in each moment, but it's only afternoon, yet. only afternoon - why did we always have this fascination with the night?
dream is destiny. believe. do you day-dream, anymore?

drift towards the door - unconsciously counting the number of ways you can remove yourself from yourself, and be the person in your dreams, finally. i dream that i can fly. some nights i hover outside your window and watch you sleep.
oh sinner man, where you going to run to?

but i don't day-dream anymore. i forgot how to stare, meaningfully stare into space. i fear that now i merely see.

and anytime tomorrow i will lie and say i'm fine,
i'll say yes when i mean no,
and anytime tomorrow the sun will cease to shine.

there's a cookie for someone who can name that song.

found this while exploring through the older reaches of the hard-drive. can't even remember when i wrote it, really.

when you call the modern philanthropist an idealist who is denying reality, you are, in fact, correct. this is because the reality we live in is a bourgeoise-centric reality, and as such suffering of the many is necessary for the wealth of the few. to be a true philanthropist you must be a revolutionary.
the humanitarian merely wants to 'raise' the prole from his suffering to become a member of the bourgeoise...thus perpetuating the way of things as they stand, merely removing an 'undesireable' component. what (s)he does not realize is that its the existence of that undesireable state that puts him or her in a position to begin to formulate these thoughts of 'saving' the proles.

the circumstances are not the problem, the reality is.