The Absence of Wavelength and Sight

Me in yslf (an allegory)

Chose your own relation adventure:
Self-editing the informing chromosomes leant by them in a redacted, daily life of repeated recompose.

Redaction, editing me from myself
Would require a rewrite, enmbellishment,
A life not lived, but from experience.

Reduce personal pronouns to rubble
In the town called yslf and fake it
Until you don’t recognize the author.

Reduction result could catapult,
But likely indignantly insult me.

Yslf couldn’t flourish without me.
Whitewash a wan face, aged, recalling
Nothing noteworthy, knowledge gained
In a recreation-ist image worthy
Of another’s homage to self-deceit.

We trade our mirrors that deflect, reflect
Into clear pools of time, whitewashed.
The silt of soul, not so far below as we reach,
scoop the unrecognizable image floating.

Alone, we walk this journey — aimless —
as yslf doesn’t incorporate with me.

Looking on at the former, not reinvented,
Not used for spare parts without catalyst,
Disparaged, stolen, paved over in yslf.

Only the mechanic knows which vehicle true.
He only maintains the two, less narrative.
He’ll continue polishing the windows
But none can get a vision passing through yslf.

Inhabitants are far and between, not so near
To know the former as spirited, impassioned soul,
But lobotomized, unsanctioned, on life parole.

Roaming the villages of yslf, only me knows.
Bright lights, broad avenues, all leading nowhere,
As yslf is a never ending journey back to the start.

Only the mechanic understands the navigational,
Having tested this vehicle himself. Wheel-locked,
Parked in yslf, a memory glimpsed jump starts me.
And I begin by writing a litany of odes to myself.
I’m what’s important, not what others may think.


4.5.25
Concert in yslf, raising awareness for lost souls to reclaim (placeholder)…



The introduction as summary is all one needs to read to know, apart from the absurdity that forces (placeholder) underneath.
There is no ground.

‘Pencil pushers’ I wouldn’t have guessed when I selected yslf’s ceremonial band song.

Video even in darkness. R.I.P. to that band.

Stay tuned. Predicting the future of yslf:



どうもありがと Mr. Roboto
どうもありがと Mr. Roboto
また会う日まで
どうもありがと Mr. Roboto
秘密を知りたい

Influence forces the town underneath from fire-breathing creatures ‘10 stories’ high.

Whether or not it translates, me doesn’t care.

I’m always in rewrite.

So were the barn walls of yslf.