it's today, is it?

It's March 23rd.
As I type these words, it's eight minutes to midnight.
And now, as I continue to type, it's an hour and thirty six minutes past.
It's March 24th.

Things happen fast in reality, whether it's rational or even realistic to begin with.
A monotone can lead to a shoutodrome, a hollow palindrome of human emotion.
An empty tank, wallet, heart generally means an empty solution, or lack thereof solid.
We sit on top of the world, and never look down. Another human condition is to conditionalize human nature, to let normal behaviour bleed out as though it were a thing of melodrama.
We let the ocean waves wash over our dirty shitty souls, we let kind strangers with hidden agendas scrub us clean of our emotional oil spill, we let, we let, we let and continue to let until all that is left is sand carved with blood. Sing songy children, pritty polly burnin a lil olly in my olly wolly wocket, as whatever may or may not validate my emotions walks past my cubicle of worthlessness.
blah blah blah, ribbit, ribeye steaks stare down at me in a face of meat, click click, meat grinder, face eaten. uncontrollable sobsadists rob sorrow of it's very own tomorrow, and we click clack tick tock plonk about with our giant hammers, smashing thousand dollar pocket watches on the granite tears of civilization.
rubik's cube, rubik's cube, in my hand.
rubik was a kind man, a man of puzzles, until his family was murdered by the village people. rubik grew teeth ever sharper, let his bones split and splinter, disfiguring him ever so. rubik rubik, rubik the kibur.

rambunctiousness is the spice of never ever waver land. sitting on my spleen.
it's now an hour and fourty seven minutes past.

Things happen fast. Your life is off a little, but you have a plan. Simple requests pave the way to a better tomorrow, and yet a few sour words break the pavement. And you're left wide awake, with shit for soul, and grit to roll.