Ambien & Acupuncture Tea Leaves
The ambien has kicked in (it's all I have) so the surreality is limpid. Oh to be eulogized by the bard, the talent of @RealCliveBarker. A moment, a breath, a line or two in the spotlight. They remember. I'm somebody's favorite, he squeaked. That person loves me, and I live in the replayed tendrils curling about your feet. I'll haunt you for decades though you saw me for less than even a minute of screen time.
But waiting to see how it will be this time. Will we truly build the pachydermical palaces of our childhoods or shall we settle once more for the pillow forts that defeated us even as we shared them? There is no difference but intent, and I've intent aplenty.
"Sex and death!" groaned the Void, the reflective abyss. They don't await us but obsess us. Leaving the flesh-suits, the Limiters, behind strips away purgatory as well as the brother-sister rivalry. The void has neither use for nor interest in our self-flagellating practices known as Heaven and Hell. There is only void, there is only absence. Sex and death are what it shines back at us: our favorite tv program... ourselves.
O to be eulogized by the bard, to be caressed with honesty and grace, the only roughness the texture of the voices raised, the fingers and tongues entwined.
If anything happens to her, he said as her skiff rejoined the main ship, I'll cease.
Trains move deep below us in the guts of the earthworks. One of the Oviates dreams things so awful (kittens, perhaps) she twitches in her sleep and a way home. They've eaten the fabric of our very earth but still twitch and cry in their sleep.
Fucking Ambien.
The ambien has kicked in (it's all I have) so the surreality is limpid. Oh to be eulogized by the bard, the talent of @RealCliveBarker. A moment, a breath, a line or two in the spotlight. They remember. I'm somebody's favorite, he squeaked. That person loves me, and I live in the replayed tendrils curling about your feet. I'll haunt you for decades though you saw me for less than even a minute of screen time.
But waiting to see how it will be this time. Will we truly build the pachydermical palaces of our childhoods or shall we settle once more for the pillow forts that defeated us even as we shared them? There is no difference but intent, and I've intent aplenty.
"Sex and death!" groaned the Void, the reflective abyss. They don't await us but obsess us. Leaving the flesh-suits, the Limiters, behind strips away purgatory as well as the brother-sister rivalry. The void has neither use for nor interest in our self-flagellating practices known as Heaven and Hell. There is only void, there is only absence. Sex and death are what it shines back at us: our favorite tv program... ourselves.
O to be eulogized by the bard, to be caressed with honesty and grace, the only roughness the texture of the voices raised, the fingers and tongues entwined.
If anything happens to her, he said as her skiff rejoined the main ship, I'll cease.
Trains move deep below us in the guts of the earthworks. One of the Oviates dreams things so awful (kittens, perhaps) she twitches in her sleep and a way home. They've eaten the fabric of our very earth but still twitch and cry in their sleep.
Fucking Ambien.