all soulless day.

this is it, kids.
the one year milemarker.
awwwwwwwwww, man!
you guys wouldn't know this,
but at exactly this time, last year, it ALL started taking a huge sh!t.
fractures became chasms became abysses and the ever-lovin' sarlaac-type
millenial digestive doo-doo butter activation got started.
the beginning of the end, the end of the beginning, and the end of the end.
end-over-end-over-head-over-heels and time heals every wound but the fatal ones.
so,
this may be day one, year two, of undeath-
or the last day of year one of dying slowly.
F*.
that's a hard style...
but no one is actually counting,
not with fingers nor toes nor a calculator nor abacus,
because it doesn't really matter anymore.
how could it?
not when tonight is the perfect combination of same-as-ever and worse than before-
and why not?
because the waking dreamworld of the walking sleepers is what's going on instead.
shystie geists of days gone by are who we're being haunted by:

it's all souls' day, duders.
or all soul's night, really, at this point.
the ghosts and smoke ring circles of spirit and memory have all
come together, disquieted and restless;
unsullied from the slumber of forever and ever,
the ephemeral, ethereal, astral, and non-corporeal echoes of infinity
have focused on tonight to show up, show off, and show us the truth.
that's some serious sh!t, neighbors.
to overlap and intertwine as the veil between the mortal and post-mortal blurs,
stretches thin, and ultimately disappears.
that's a whole lot of fancy purple-style wordsmithing, huh?
yeah.
it happens sometimes.
mostly, though, it serves as a distraction from what's really going on.
i'm giving up the ghost.
holding vigil for the vanquished virtues of a failed plot,
an underachieved assassination attempt,
an unwritten implausible plotline,
and a flatlined life outlined in broad strokes and amateurish characters.
ah well,
we gave it our best shot.
a noble effort for an ignoble purpose,
saving the shivered timbers of a haunted houseful of half-empty promisory love notes.
i owe you one forever after.
yuck.
i've got the candles, lit,
and i'm holding guard, vigilante-style, for what used to be.
the goodbye ghosts of now and then,
the still-beating barbaric furnaces of right now.
it's happening;
never quiet, never soft.....