I am captivated by the pattern of a tiled staircase where fountain pens scribe forbidden texts upon spiral bannisters which lead to debased psychological states.
Do we have permission on this stage of trajectory, to fire statements into unfathomable corridors, which surpass today into the realms of tomorrow?
Dark figures writhe in the thick fog of eclectic séances.
I have engaged in nightly astral flights down the streets of blatant innocence.
Are you standing on the inside?
Bring me back from what is deemed to be modernity and bypass my voltage where uncertain predictability is a predictable uncertainty.