Septembers with song

[Sepia]

For Weill


The coffee burns our stomach, the pills, the drugs, the disconnection from reality by bringing it in hyper style- to connect is to sever

The drums snare with their beats, throbbing things making us believe they are the hearts and we hear them in the cities we hear them in the forests we hear them atop mountains we hear them in peoples homes we hear them on the street we hear them on the docks we hear they keep hanging around schools we hear they take our women and our jobs and we don't like the idea even though it's the only that will work with our way of life, we'd like to think we can do it like they did when we grew up but it's a braver new world with moores law applied to a whole society and some times I feel like time is speeding up, I swear that I can just feel time spinning faster

It's the cloud, we can see as we walk it, prophesized children in a universe we know more about than our own, one mans ideas can change everything and it seems like all gods, the force included, moves in mysterious ways but who are we to challenge the supremacy of technology- our legacy, our evolution. The only sense of evolution we will gather in our civilization

Something that separates us from the barbarians is how we treat our dead. In out peripheral visions we see the mourning, a mound of dirt soon to be placed back to where it once was but the dirt is holy because we said so and we all weep but for different reasons, some for a loss, others for a farce, others still for joy, others for custom and tradition, one does not ask what you pray to god for so none asks why their sister cries, why their brother cries, other tears will follow and your muscle memory will not remember this wake and perhaps you will and perhaps you will recall it as you grow older how to throw a wake or how not to because this world just keeps getting braver

Did you ask yourself What do I want from life and did you reply? Did you converse with yourself in your head thinking yourself partly mad but feeling so at home that your stomach churned, waiting for playful jack around next bend?

I will never admire you your station

[Jenne]

Another jewel, Sepia, thank you.

[Eve Hill]

 

[the last yatto]

So civilized society is just a collection of death cults?

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Sounds right to me.

[Sepia]

Thank you, darlings.