We dream of better dreams, to prevent us from seeing the eyesore that we couldn’t have dreamed upon, that we couldn’t improvise. To be here, and live this life without a wife or some strife tucked away in your cavernous quandaries. Moving mountains to submission but without surrender. Rendered and carefully devastated to the hands of crippling joy. Should we allow for devastation to take the back room of eyes when you know that space was reserved far before you starting to pay condolences? Recoil in irony found in oil and a bitter coil. Soiled it in desperation, without a first thought for respiration. Some kind of respite to breathe at all when faced with the challenge to breathe large breathes with stolen lungs. It was brung and bitten into a 1000 deprecated pieces to be pinned to the heart. Don’t move. Red streams are meant to flow before change sets that river on fire. It’s up to the buyer to make the choice between crier and trier. Top tier is an elephant walking on bamboo ready to follow the caravan into gleaming riches that seem to be sun rays at this juncture. Punctured under pressure, to maintain that apex of ineffable. To experience boundless connection, we blind ourselves and expect of our desserts without paying attention to the high tide deserts.
Connected without intention, a dangling leg operating upon kinesthetic impulses. In pursuit of what we aspire to we accidently let the slate plates shift under our hands and feet. March forward even if every foot in progress is an act of self-mutilation. To love our skins is an act of mutation now by the DSM. Why should any act require the prerequisite of harm? Is it written in our holy texts that to progress forward that we must kill the thing we love, to make sure that it is alive? How long have we been operating with this untold assumption? Sight is the natural state. It is the first state. Pieces are torn away, poorly splintered, sequester, and given a jagged edge. Cover up that eye sore to avoid the eyes altogether.
See without seeing, and see the world that will end up sightless. With faulty apparitions the veil remains intact, but the skeleton has disintegrated without a fair goodbye. It is the remnants of understanding. It is the surface of the subsurface. The dream state is the real state, and the real is thought to depend on unreal circumstance. The illusion, the prestidigitation evokes our core responses, without consultation of the prefrontal cortex. The lights are shut off, and paid to remain dim. The sunlight is smeared into a shame that does not belong to it. Casting away the specters that retrace the ridges our mind. Under the sunlight, masks hold no voice. They lose their protection to be disposed of. Under the sunlight, repose can be restrung into the likeness of musical composure. Film that was stored away for chemical decomposition refrain from forgetting what real joy once looked like. Each sun is a twinkle of the universe lit by transformation. A constant conversation and convulsion is the raw beauty of existence. This is where every story begins. This is where energy is born. The true essence of life is a proper extension of our progenitor. Made of sunlight and stardust we are the children of the universe in these temporal catalysts.