3-5-93 Springing into the Chasm.

I wish there was easy access to a place, Lord knows it doesn't need people, it needn't be anything but sweet miles of land of soul.  Give me a destination that sings more boldly than such hollow cries.  There is a phantom calling, and I know very well that it is a dastardly one.  Tempting in the least degree, evading the intimate scope, something is hidden again from sight, yet is seems made of dreams in another odd light.  Can salvation be found in a place yielding only fodder in the past?  Who can speculate?  It would be nice.  But it would be sour.  Hoping to want the experience, without counting the near past as the rule.  The ugly town can only cry foul to me now.  No matter if the gates of heaven opened up on that spot and called all to its salvation, I would look up to see dinged columns and a rusted gate.  Even the greatest something turns to the least nothing in that area.  It's a plague on moving life. It's a black hole, devouring everything worth shit in this world, and turning it into a mere molding of itself, eradicating the core, the essence.  The vital factor of what once was, is lost to the searchings of the now.  For all I know, Mongolia has captured deep Milwaukee.