Her song

[Sepia]

Ondina, where do you break the shore? Where was it broken, your sacred heart and why did they do it, were you part of their plan, the gods sitting by altars in the ever-shining city, surrounded by clouds or just smoke coming from their cigars, old men around a poker table, dividing europe after the fuhrer. A leader most fondly remembered by bill hicks in a burst of outrage- a birth machine? We are driven by the daily toil and secretly we wish we could be the people that lose themselves from everything, be it drugs or religion- Just to dive deep into the ocean, hearing Her song.

A song we're hearing increasingly as every day goes by but we think of it as something else but it's really there, underneath the surface of words, our own attempts to compartmentalize our souls to the 2d format. In that abstract, chains linger as we hear the swan song every day, on the way to work, while working, whilst leaving, shopping, drinking, drugging and spiritual transcendental experiences changing everything about and this is what we speak about, we can talk about everything but we still can't talk about our dreams, old freud sitting there in his chair with those cold coked up eyes staring, stripping down your soul and your dress. The dreams we can't explain and no one can relate- these images are only worth something to us, our selves and we should begin here and we should understand that this is what interpretation should be.

We hear the sirens in this dream we have where we're pirates or perhaps it's just the movie because when we wake up we hear sirens again, a more wagnerian approach to that question. They do not lure you in nor do they lull you to sleep but still in this age of fearlessness, these sirens work like a pavlovian command and we are struck down but we still try to think. On the mountain she sits, mourning herself deeply, her fate. A calliope caught and trapped by a binding word and it is more than a scroll that burns, it is also our innocence. We become men then, an initiation, nothing more.

A hollowness is upon as parts of us are trapped in qlippoth, we phase out of existence and into husks and we hear her song over here, stronger. We let despair take us as we feel the only desire we have is to fade out, burn out of all of it, leaving nothing but ashes not to be spread in the wind but to sink deeper and form more mud, there is no transcendence and there is no god for we are nothing more than this, we are animals and have always been, we have always been the bad animal but lo! how we sing.