Beneath the Kudzu
…keep making her laugh, don’t let her be taken by fate. You’re alone, but you can turn scars into Friday Night’s…
“Invasive and considered noxious weeds. The plant climbs over trees or shrubs and grows so rapidly that it kills them by heavy shading.”
I suppose all ideas sprout with the same initial vigor. The same potential for all dichotomies. Whether they start from a place of anger and manifest into an understanding; or from a place of good. Only to be corrupted by intentions unreached. Either outcome creating a neuron of understanding in which we experience reality. Signals running up and down. Only a natural pulse. Awaiting for another one to be built. Unassuming of whatever imminent reality it’ll eventually form. What it’s already formed. The first kudzu vine is as indicative of kudzu’s nature as is the final one. Originally my nemesis with myself being the rot beneath it’s suffocation. Months after the concept first came to me; I’m the suffocation.
Faking being O.K. is easy. It's a lot like faking being asleep when you're deep in thought at hours of restlessness. You close your eyes. Tight. Slow your breathing. In and out. And for a few seconds pretend that you aren't your own apocalyptic horse striding toward damnation.
“And way down we go”
-Kaleo
Still breathing. Out and in. Playing catch up in a no-holds bar game of cold blooded impressions and shit executions. How goes the story about the King that turned everything to gold? I’m too drained to remember said name’s touch. Migh-tas’ just touched upon it had I not been too disillusioned by delusions of grandeur like a DiCaprio leaving a Gatsby; hoping for a different kind of bright lights. Instead, I’ll just entangle myself in some Wall Street vines and gnaw away like a wolf. Na. Na…that’s not it. Maybe hack away at it like that bear that Oscar fileted young Leonardo. And as my delusions dip down stream, may each rock hit me with humbleness. Been dodging that currant for too long.
Fuck
vines caught me…
“The roughness, yes, the rudeness, ruckus
Redrum, I verbally assault with the tongue”
So rude. You and I were born to die, but our paths wouldn’t have intertwined for any other reason than what is now. a Passenger. Wish I for once could tell you I’ve clipped away and really changed. But I’d be lying on beds of where there than lays something that my consciousnesses could never lie.
I’m flyin’ to the moon again, dreamin’ about marzipan
Taking all my medicine to take my thoughts away
- Lana Del Rey
I think the kudzu vine is really just some sort of sister-city of humanity. We’ll win, over all. If victory means consumption and, acres. We don’t mean for it; only collectively. I think we first need to peel back our securities and hardened certainties. Expose whatever rot we’ve created. Externally, or internally. Prune our own beautifully false reality. Maybe even down to a stump. Visceral. Exist in the upside down for a while where I assume you can find the roots to these vines. It’s just a different space, but a different viewpoint. If you can’t tell then you’ve dug too deep into that madness. Too many friendly visits. What if it doesn’t make sense anymore. What if nothing makes sense? What if the nature of our reality doesn’t abide by any realizations of nature we’ve become so enthralled by. Balance. Where’s the balance in Kudzu? There isn’t any balance in invasive species. It’s why they’re a problem in the first place. You put a fucking cat on an island where there isn’t cats and eventually the whole God damn thing crumbles once the first shitty bird dies.
Except that’s not the same is it? Kudzu doesn’t really need much more than the substances it can’t naturally fuck up. Sunlight. Water. It’ll march on. I guess maybe the nature of reality is less about balance and more about who has that better hand. There isn’t any church in the wild. If your own righteous demise is having your pretty little forest burnt down, then you’ve won about as far as you can. It really is pretty, though.
Maybe entropy is a better word than balance. Only half of a definition but much better at describing the nature of our reality. It’s not what we’re born with, instead what we come to understand. Slow battles against decay. Which works just fine don’t get me wrong. But I like low’s and I like them probably because I’d rather know if that rollercoaster does eventually turn into the upside down. What is that even. A curious desire to know if the show goes badly so that there is an antagonist to pit myself up against? I think there’s a little of all of that in us.
upside down
uncomfortably comfortable
looking up at a matted blanket of normal
So here we are. In the upside down plateau. A safe, overlapping conundrum of fears maze’d out.
