The land Icarus built

[Sepia]

In a city built from blood and bone, in the high tower with its fundaments sunk into an earlier time, seeping and we like men, like the women we are the apex of life itself, in the bars built from problems and addictions- to drink, to live, both end with the same diagnosis, in the bus station where the tiles are made from hope for something better, unrequited and a joyful sorrow, the essence of arrival/departure, the mellow blue mind finds solace in departure since arrival is merely the accepted mind-state preceding departure, the state of 1 waits only for the fulfillment of prophecy, to become 0

Of the heart, the dying men know little, their hearts crude and simple, they are no longer the thoughts they were, they are some where else now, somewhere looking for something more, like the dying tend to, when life feels lacking or hollow or empty and everyone else has died and you were a shit to your family so they only stop by once a year now to hear your curse them but why can I see that you are a child playing adult, like me? Why are you blind to this, why isn't this something that is understood, didn't I get this from the fucking master mould itself, I mean, it'd be a pretty basic thing to possess, to be able to measure where you are and where the zenith is but then we'd have no stars, we'd have less illusions and less entertainment and sometimes something comes through that isn't what it says on the label but unless the system is there to support it, is a black swan able to live?

The streets are cold, they feel barren yet filled with life, through prayer and excessive meditation, dosed on lsd watching the dreamachine we see time happening simultaneously as we step outside for a dérive through the streets where jack once lived and ripped and built, built much of the city with his magic, his position, his chance but mostly cutting from left to right and we walk his streets, see what his mistress, his city showed him and await for her to show it to us, we await her signal or command that will show us   something deeper, a dream we once wanted excavated but most have forgotten by now, amidst her stones, each brick forged by michael and sammael and the mortar are the bones, the blood, the misery and joy of everyone who lived on them and loved on them and died on them, alone, waiting for the clock to tick

[Miley Spears]

 

[Mistre]

So, in the end, the land he created was as devoid of meaning as the land he left?