this vital piece of traintrack that's in my hand

says loudly:
don't take the train.

at least i wouldn't, knowing where it came from.

it's a kind of torture

we live in the age of distraction
 in the deep ends of knowledge,
 less and less people pay for visits

they think it's all for free, scanning the shallow waters looking for reflections they can retweet

i'm not smitten by this, only bitten
its venom has my veins in a grip and it hurts to sit still, to find a certain peace

to be serene enough for complete absorbtion
it stings me into motion, always hungry for action

i'm an advanced dog and need lots of stimulation

but how come i think so far into the future references that when i read or experience something, the only thing occupying my mind is how i'll tell tall tales about this shit that's happening now, later on?
this is a form of insanity, i'm certain
the need to amaze people has become an illness
and my restless being absorb that channel, the vibrations and those disgusting habits of feeling important.

whenever i read something, all i think about is when, how and if i'll get use for it in future situations. what the fuck is going on.
"remember to remind me about this reference, put it to use, coming across as smart is way more important than actually being .. smart"

fuck the age of reply..

simple scetches of old cliches