high on namedropping

[Sepia]

I peek on the lazy street on the outside, bathed in golden tunes from the sun, standing in zenith above us but all I can think about is this recurring dream I have. I meet a man coming out from the foot of a tower in a very stormy setting, he wears something aking to what a monk would wear but not quite. I watch him ad his eyes swirl, like an oldfashioned attempt at hypnotism before he calmly states, no light is here emitted. The quote is from Promethea and the setting also the same. I've had other recurring dreams but they're always so different. Why did this dream get stuck?

In Jerusalem we dream of banks as he once believed naively that there was something to save under the blazing sun but we had always been the answer to that. Take one more rat, Grant Morrison states in the Filth, turn utopia into rwanda with the addition of one rat. One sailor, one fisherman. We are the flies attracted to the supermarkets, living underneath fake sun in an environment we all spend too much time in, us and our insect brethren. The lights are buzzing, headache inducing and if we hadn't seen it daily for so long we would have noticed that there was something strange to its entire structure, there was something out of place, something disconnecting this from the rest.

This not might not be true though whether it is logical and some say that reason is treason. In faraway lands the kwisatz haderach calls the worms and the people that he will lead to victory, to independence while jesus carries the cross up the hill and in the tale of two messiahs we have a tragedy and a comedy but the story is the same and some could argue that the end is quite similar, just different in time, trends, fashions, concepts and ideas, a story built like a virus, surviving the centuries and sustaining itself, bringing an old forgotten story into a newer world, the moral still the same even though we can't remember why

A man is seen jumping into the thames, no splash is heard.

[BadBeast]

All light here, is reflected. Everything we see is a reflection of something else, something too intense for us to look at directly. Dreams are the reflections of our lives.

No light is here emitted. Narcissus gazes at his reflection in the water, until dream and life are no longer separate things. The water is neither the dream, or the life, it is unable to make the distinction, it reflects what is above, yet still allows it's own depths to be seen, past any reflection. Past the dream. 

The dream loops and recurs so that you, as the dreamer can reflect on it. The man in the tower states only what he knows. His eyes reflect only the light that you, the dreamer, shine. The dream you, is unaware of the presence of the dreamer. But the man in the tower knows. He alludes to the fact that everything the dreamer sees, is from some other place.

As above, so below. And all the places in between, are no more than the shadows of forgotten details.

These words you read, are just reflections of the words you wrote. The words you wrote, are reflections of the dream you had. And as I reflect on what you've written, the words I write, are also reflections of a dream you will have again. The circle comes full turn, has no beginning, no end. Two points in the circle, reflecting another, from outside, create an infinitely regressing image, or dream.

Turning, the man walks slowly back into the tower. As he disappears into the shadows, the sun breaks through the storm clouds, and begins to shine.