Breakfast

[Sepia]

Time would be here, trembling, waiting. A touch of humanity, quirking in forgetfulness, hearts harden as the sun rises and time is here and we're waiting for the train to tremble us through the underground. Sometimes in flashes we see shanghaied trains in ghost tracks with pirates skirmishing, sometimes we see restaurants and there is one man sitting in front of it, smoking a cigarette, drinking an espresso with one finger lifted. Some times we see our dreams here, plastered on the walls but we shrug and move into the light, thinking it wasn't reality but it is and perhaps more real than what reality is because these visions are small shocks and they prod us on our general way and as we ascend, the restaurant reminds us of something, we climb the stairs thinking about Kafka.

The correlations, their converging happening here now, at this instant and you won't lose it because it'll last forever baby, we'll set the controls for the heart of the sun and as the world turns to ash we'll be down in an old nuclear silo and as it ends we're on everything and it's the best fucking party and as we die we're leaving the light on and as we end we end with love, we end with happiness and that is the end, just a party.

The shadows will always hold us but the shadows are part of us, they are ours, fragments of us shattered around the world, perhaps Oppenheimer knows where?
Here is the hardened heart of Icarus and one tear from Leonard Cohen is all it takes and the heart will soften once more, radiate the world in golden light, revealing to us as we jump the hoops of our own making and we're damned happy to do so, this is us embracing our shadows for not all are found in the cesspools of the mind, not every shadow is about your mother and love of the lash, the subtle scent of latex and hot rubber in the air but then again, that would be easier, wouldn't it?

Her song is all that we miss, we feel our hearts wanting in, remembering it, superimposing it and we can't let her go because of that sound and we become monsters as we pursue our own thoughts and we are truly disrobed in the comfort of our home, monster. We see ourselves and we make peace and in the abyss we are calm and tranquil, we understand and we are left with the desire to hear the song once more.

The fields are hard, autumn is shaping up, moving on to winter like a furrys wet dream or a native american legend. The apples are cold to the touch, not yet frozen but soon and all life shall perish but we will remain. We've always been here and we can't stop now, there is no reason to not do anything, it's ok, it's usually not that serious unless it is and then you do what you must but those are seldom, write it out: do shit, do shit all the time, don't stop because if we stop when we're dead when everything has changed, who are we then?

We sit there, you and I, we drink port in the clearing and we feel the forest solidifying, we feel the darkness being encased in ice and we see the sun turning blue and the frost is coming but we talk and we stare at each other and we talk and we touch and we stare and we talk and we eat and we drink and god it's beautiful and everything is freezing and we feel the end and we feel good, we feel the gut, satisified as yet another home is decimated and we pick up, we move on and take what we can carry of memories before we trot further.

[Jasper]

Made me smile.  Your writing always has such a complex feeling to it.  Happy and sad.  And funny.