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Life is very long

Started by Sepia, March 23, 2010, 10:50:28 PM

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Sepia

Settled into the city was what we were, becoming, young and not yet of age but ripening as the sun would set as we sat on the bank of the river, drinking beer and eating cheese. It was the dawn of that age which would propel us into the unknown depths of reality, something we knew in our spine but not in our minds and hearts. The city would breathe with us when we visited it, feeling our pulse as it gazed once disinterested in first time travellers and we felt the disconnection through our limbs, we were connected but severed.

We tried to find ourselves in the city, tried to connect with our forefathers, they too had walked the same concrete and stone, they too had marked it with sweat and laughter, spilled wine in wrong neighbourhoods and the same thoughts echoing through russell crowes eternity.  The city sang for us, crowed to us in its pace, let us out and about within it, we were enthralled with this new discovery. A transmission.

Crows feet carried us into the heavens, we smelled the clouds as we passed through them like magic, something delving deep underneath the waters of both truth and lie but usually so uninteresting that it'd be no idea to even notice. This world they told us were underground wasnt still in nazi bunkers, still in trenches but was up in the air, smelling of a hospital filled with angels. We'd meet father time here and mother space, we'd sing with them at their tables and laugh as they entertained themselves with the servers. They told us a story of four men heading into a castle to stay for the winter and find god

Seeing it as a story, it would be a beautiful turn, it would set god as something human rather than not. We would by someones definition be more angelic, we would turn more holy overnight. The darkness that burns would still linger, perhaps grow as the more apples we eat, the more cursed do we become in our curiousness for we are not a good animal, we never were. We were always the bad animal, scratching at the fences, hoping for a baby lamb or a kitten caught, not necessarily for food or the hunt but just because it can be done and for some awkward reason, it should be done.
Everyone will always be too late

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

I like this one quite a bit.
"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."