Connor Mac Writing

Always try to figure out

Where it is that it is going

Where the future is headed to

 

Future holds the key to present

Present holds the key to progression

Breathlessly, effortlessly intertwining

Sharing ideas, whispers through time

While meeting Captain Beefheart

For the second fucking time

Stumbling out of the 60’s starry-eyed

With hearts paving progression’s path

 

Progression is an idea

An idea that there’s worth

Worth in what’s being forged

Forged within the present

To progress beyond present capabilities

Is to want the feeling of present to live forever

 

Always asking how to move

Moving forward is the art

Staying instinctive

Remaining relevant

Don’t grow old in

Your time’s best moments

Holding onto the present of your youth

Gets you old, makes you irrelevant

 

 

The most impressive men and women

They’re the ones connecting the present

The presently presented dots of the day

Who are still searching for what’s next

Still sitting there, in the gutter, with the kids

Asking, is this it? have you kids got it?

 

Have you, yes, you, have you
Found that intangible parameter

Of growing old in your head

And tenaciously chosen

To sidestep around its ugly truth

Its saddened cheeks of decay

Its creaky hips of dismay?

 

You can tell a relevant man

All from his face

If he’s still smiling at nothing

While smiling at everything

In the one throw away moment

 

Irrelevant men know the path

Of their youth well

The new seems scared of them

And them of it