various experiences condensed into one - a sense of longing, long made distraught by the tide and other forms. to wait in silence as the shadow is held at bay to my self - the minutia of life marches forward, dressing itself in the colors of the long past dead and gone. reincarnation? it's not just a way to bob ross a flower in the middle of the night - simply put, my spatial poise puts me at unease towards the restless wanderings of a night gone thick into the truth of the matter. when that uncertain moment passes by - thinking, dreaming, or what have you - it soon becomes appearent everyone is talking about the same thing over and over again, that fundamental twist in the gentle fabric we call the existence. it simmers in the dusk just before we go back to sleep. it makes the tide happen and hides the sand right before our eyes see the first light. a dream begins anew, and a periscope tells us otherwise. we trust in those mirrors - because they reflect what we are, badly i might add. in a sense everyday is a lie, brought to us by our own vile perceptions. made real by hallucinations we take for granted - that cup of coffee, the memo, or the doughnut we've been craving all day. this inferno knows not the boundaries between what is real and what is fake - it just relentless pours itself onto everything - night and day, until at the very end the whispers of delightful silence make us wonder for just a second - did that really happen?
oryon:
your nomenclature gives me a hemorhage
