rate of rate of change of change

nobody's rocking nobody's baby
nobody's telling baby, all will be well

everybody's telling me so many things i already know
everybody's giving me solutions to problems i don't have

i'd like my intelligence to be confused for eloquence, and not my observations for complaints. i'd like what i see and what i say not to be intrinsically linked as to make perception of impossible impatience and juvenile injustice.

these twisting, twining pipedreams perhaps only live in the realm of nobody, in the pathetic idea so utopian as to be a caricature, rather than a revolutionary interdependent fantasy. life isn't like that. everybody you'd ever ask for advice must genuinely hold you at subordinate level - otherwise, they'd be a peer.

who can give me safety, then? am i truly destined to be a unicellular organism in a world of fellow flagellates all swimming rampantly, rancidly away from those eukaryotes who would report in casual tongues on the greater prosperity of the kingdom?

reduced to only the simplest possible things i can think, do, be, i must imagine that my every complicated thought lies above me, striated in the skybox. these things i persist to vex myself do not concern me, in that finer world.