Words again

Words ain't going to help you. I love them, but they are just drugs. I used to wonder why people did them, words.

With their merry delusion of clarity, poetry and, that myth, understanding. Communication yes, but of what. I was right, my only failing was (shit the fucker is on the tip of my tongue - one word following) my ability to turn that knowing into symbols, sounds, words, written-downs, speakings and all.

And now i get it, the addiction to them and the missawareness that we are all doped by them. They take us, listed, to the shops, call out in the dark, whisper sweet nothings, and lie. . .

Its just the drugs, multi colours, dimensions and other such words. . . They become the fabric of our very meaning and yet they are not meaning. There only is, there is no meaning and test that by asking if that makes sense. 

Trip the shite fantastic, dip in ancient ponds, wake to dawns of perfect silicon. A drug you dare not stop, kick it at silent peril, numbed, all there is is what there is is what there is - and, so a wise man said, so it goes. There, without you go your words.