_Life is very long

[Sepia]

It feels like we are running, it feels like there is something to be found, unlocked and pulled out of its' chest and be placed once more under the sun, the task seems time-sensitive but there is no sensation of time passed nor of time itself, there is only the feeling of the task at hand forever nagging in the back of your skull, a question that always lead to more, questions and moments in life worth snapshotting for the gallery on the other side where we lie to dry with our jars and dogs and concubines, there

that is where we are, not in limbo because there is none, like there is no heaven no hell nor xenu but the concept hasnt been translated since the old gods dwelled here, in the deltas and by the fata morganas too deep into the desert like we are enveloped in dunes of skin but still do we feel it, the skin hunger, eating us, taking us back to other times and showing us how the past looks like the future but we don't know that- yet, for we are in the eternal chambers where there is no rest but the mind is intact

Did you wake up one morning with the answer or did it hit you as you walked through the graveyard smoking a joint with your best friend and it's summer and hot and green or did you read it, were you pushing yourself when it happened or weren't you, crouched on the couch, did you stop asking for more?

We weep for we do not know who we are, some of us prepared by trying to read the symbols that rearranges reality and we know what is coming to us but for those who don't know that the world ends as it begins and that the stakes are higher than what one realizes as we don't ourselves, stuck infront of a telly with a beer, stuck infront of a computer with a joint, stuck but feeling it somewhere, distant like the way it'll sound when we die and we're in the pure white light and a female voice that is the mother of all calls out after you and you let go and you find the rest that was prophesized and as her hand touches yours you explode like a thousand suns into a new universe, filled with life and light, filled with meaning

The snow falls on memories, taking them away for just long enough to let them fade, still to be cherished but not a part of the now but part of the somewhere, a piece of a shadow lingering and will not be whisked away and both of them are always there, both faces but after a while, shadow-boxing becomes tiresome even though you know and you settle for pleasant and you no longer try to fight and understand your demons but live on the grace of angels where you build your Silver City, your Jerusalem, your Babylon and you inhabit it as you listen to the angels and leave the demons only to come out when they must and what fiersome beasts they are when you no longer know them as brothers, know them by names but only by their howling

The drift thickens, black talons curse the sky and all men and women below it hoped like americans hope for their presidents that it wouldn't snow just yet, the sensation of spring in march makes it feel outlandish, different and new, like seen with fresh eyes, innocence walking out and onto the platforms and entering the City to try to learn the secrets of the virus