stae

the roof is blackened by the perpetual spirals of smoke that drift lazily towards the rafters, accompanied by a low murmur whispering secrets kept. time passes here much the same as anywhere though i think its the sky or maybe the light that makes it feel the way it does.

a couple weeks ago i dreamt that the moon crashed into the earth, and this massive blue wave of prismatic and ethereal light washed over us all. whilst being the certain end of humanity it was strangely peaceful.

as i watch the tides recede i sometimes wonder whether i should do more to stop it. it erodes the foundations away much like the old proverb about not building your castle on sand. but then accepting the cycle seems much more natural, everything has its moment and all things come to pass. i do so like the bubbles though, some might call them pockets but bubbles sounds more whimsical to me.