Soul's Hand

Breakdown Your Inner Cynic

My first reddit . And now to dust off the dry blog and douse it in photography and weird experimental memoirs. Aka: Breaking My Inner Cynic, Part One.

Maybe the beginning is a lie. A fantasy. A chalk outline on a souls streets. Maybe this is your face, maybe it is mine. We need to avoid arguing. We just need to heal.

Or perhaps we won’t and it will all go to shit. None of us knows but we are consuming it like sensational rubber neck newscasts of a trial or missing child.

But first, first we must break it all down – the streets, the banks and the self. Breakdown,

We opened our pockets to them but they were empty of empathy. 

The Body getting ripped from the group, the senses torn asunder.


We are not the same, not anymore. But you and I are different. We are changed together.


When your heart is broken by one person you retrace the steps. It is always night. The feeling of apocalypse is a different Heartbreak. It leaves the scar on your eyes of a mushroom cloud, a siren burning your ears, and the boot-heel on your throat fills your nostrils with death rot.  Now when you walk you shuffle through your work and chores, you barely make love, because what is the point of anything now. Why laugh. The madness of the crowd and the holy men screaming leave hand prints over your ears.

You can claw your way out. It will never hold you back.

It will be a matter of furious anger. You will finally divide yourself, and dismiss your inner jury.

The future is brighter without that half in it.

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