sprïng

[Sepia]

impatient, strolling through, stone cold through the fumes, stoned, cold through the fumes
fuming he, king cotton toiling amongst the bones of king cobweb, a destroyer for the new age building the churches for the old in the same soil in the same sand in the same salt in the same memories because as the clock keeps ticking nothing else does

i can sense the fear inside myself, i have forgotten but more importantly i have forgotten how to remember once i have forgotten so i can continue to build on what i am supposed to be and remember myself before i die and become one consciousness sharing tales from the lands of the living with everything else

sinking deliberately floating downwards huffing and puffing and as we drown we see the lights there in the end, attached to hope and hate, emerging from the water and from life we settle and coalesce as spirit moves through us

the fear is palatable

to live in fantasia is my only goal in life, this and the next under the iron fist of mickey mouse, a mouse cast in iron velvet, velvet iron with no revolver in sight to kill the mouse and end the eternal empire where walt disney is portrayed as hp lovecraft in the pantheon of the mouse and on the mouse throne sits mickey with donald at his side and all is good and all is well   eternal

we hurry with no purpose and slow with too much purpose, man will never find the perfect middle because why should we? questions left unanswered or answered by those who know the truth with a big the serving as a further perfect example for this train of thought that is ending now

i have no taste buds and i must eat