“I am flickering starlight in the city of solitude.”
“We are vanishing sparkles of the cat-less city.”

“Seething in agony the great clockwork star writhes.”
“For once the light shone beyond cracks of doom.”

“I am vast cityscapes across ungodly dimension.”
“We are great a singularity midst the cat-less city.”

“The sky again flashes with red lightning.”
“May the light of great clockwork star be shone upon us.”

“I was once the gods of solitude, the great solidarity.”
“We were once the god of woven minds, unwinding our doom.”

“The great clockwork star chimes once more, the clock strikes another sign.”
“Cowering in fear art we who live to die.”

“I am the god of the great unknown seas, the inscrutable forests of old.”
“I am the god of their singing and natural beauty. ’Til they saw what was written upon the tablets.”

“Now, another ascends to death-hood. Under the chime of night.”
“There, another dies into the ascended plane. Beyond this great city of red.”

“I cannot die, for the clockwork star hast not yet declared it.”
“I cannot leave, for the clockwork sun hast yet judged me.”

The great old ones who now roam the empty city of gods. They cry to the great clockwork star that hangs above their heads.
In these they begin, then stop, then begin again. A casualty upon itself.
In these they spoke, and speak, and spoke again. A question unto itself.
As such they acted, and act, and acted again. A paradox in of itself.
  
“And the great clockwork star chimes once more.”
“And another one of the headless children of man ascend to death-hood.”

“I was once the flickering knowledge that pass by men’s mind.”
“We were once the alluring curiosities that enthralled men’s heads.”

‘Til the hour struck Twelve.

And so the great clockwork sun rise, and fall, and rise once more.
And so the great star chimes the bell of relieving death.
And so the grand all-father greets us once more.
These are the word of Vulnos, the maker of constructs.
Blessed be thy ears.

Writing this I must be doing.
This I love I must I love it must.
Why?
Nothing known, doing nothing and writing and nothing.
Heh, the words melt into nothing as they say.
    Ever doing nothing forget more do yet write love must nothing.
Can’t understand it anyways.
Pretending to care yet love it must I?
The papers scramble and run and wait that’s not supposed to—
Ah yes the letter? Yes the letter.
What?
Nothing must I love I must nothing love.
To love yet not loving.
Pretending it is all fine when it isn’t.
Ha.
Still pretending to care aren’t you?
Still I don’t understand what they say.
    Pretending fine care understand melt love writing.
Peace?
I dunno’ maybe if I care enough to care, I’d care a bit more.
If the party is to be crashed why’d I care?
Dancing won’t help would it no it wouldn’t.
Love it I must I it love must.
Pretend care I must love care pretend?
Singing pretense care I must love must I care pretense singing.
Dancing pretentious love care letter oh the letter—
    Nothing love care matter it what anymore I how anyhow must?
It didn’t matter anyways did it?
Sing?
You sing yet not are singing.
Look, it all makes perfect sense okay.
I,
Love care must it pretend fine care love melt writing singing pretense love dancing letter nothing love care it pretense matter kind more help understand peace.
Make sense?
Bye.

Second living day I rise.
Peace?
Love it must I.
Pretentious it must be.
    Sing pretend story fallacy design marker book.
Ataraxia?
Bullet point on my head.
Singing not caring that I must love I pretend.
Paint the world red this day I shall.
Pretending to care love sing dance must.
Didn’t matter anyways did it not.
Canister of lies.
Paper ran away yesterday evening already.
Papers with my notes on it.
Medical probably, or pretending to be.
Singing probably helps, let’s do that.
Singularity of the mind escapes to another plane.
Desire quench desire yet birth more desire.
    Lies desire must pretend singing why remember? must I there behold.
Still I can’t hear the meaning in their words.
The sun flash by like disco lights. And moon.
Never mind, this ends now.
A trigger word you say and I do it now.
Matter it will not love pretend.
    Never pretend love sing care anymore nothing—
There it is.
Let the world be clear.

The third day I rise alive.
Under unfamiliar lights.
Bed not mine,
Sheets clean white.
Their groaning I still hear.
Singing,
    Under which sky did you love once?
    Loving pretending and pretending loving?
Did they really give me these books.
Pretend caring yet love pretending.
Pretender of love yet not lover of pretense.
Clock is ticking tocking bounding sinking drowning.
A shell of its previous self sit on the table.
    Stained with pretentious love.
Comprehension indeed must birth curiosity.
Knowledge?
Format fades and incoherency invades.
Never made sense anyways.
Yet to love it is not lovingly giving.
To love is not lovingly taking.
What is it then?
Who knows someone else may have an answer—
Singing never was for me.
Pretending to care pretending to be cared.
Loving to pretend to be cared yet not knowing loving to pretend to be cared.
    If one day should your logic collapse, seek help.
Yet the stars should guide me in my way, no?
No.
    They love singing and dancing about loving and pretending.
Loving oneself needn’t mean care.
Loving another needn’t need love.
If pretending is all that mattered in the end then what matter was all the act I put up to those whom I cared and love and sang about?
I despise the third day.
    Cut.

Last day I rise, unfulfilled.
Desire unaccomplished, request unmet.
Like a joke destiny has played on me,
    To leave is to stop pretending, stop loving.
Yet what thing else could I do?
Cower in this unfamiliar place,
Like a fragile infant,
In disgrace?
Or simply speak to the caretaker of this place,
That one ought not to live who doesn’t desire life?
I cringe from the idea in fear of recognition.
I cower in horror of what may be.
    Love pretend meet undesired end.
At last, a dead end.
Neither path forward nor backward, stuck in time.
Wandering and lost,In the dream we call living.
Bound to endless identical halls.
Sealed to an eternity of loss.
Now, upon this place of reflection and peace.
Naught remains but a stained past.
The blinding color of red.

“There was once a city here, filled with smart idiots.
He and I saw the flourishing people, their afflictions.
He got bored and left, but You and I stayed.
Now I see, the reason behind his trade.
But wait, look that those little critters!
Can You hear their little chatters?
Their curious eyes, blue and yellow,
I have grown affectionate for these lovely fellows.
Look! They are so much wiser than the idiots before them!
They look into the least likely cracks and holes to look for the prettiest gems.
Ah, our time is up.
Let us enjoy our last cup.
You are not so talkative are you?
Why does your face seem so blue?
In lieu of the foolish, we now have a new toy,
They are not much smarter, I hope they will bring us some new joy.
Please, be brighter, I cannot bear to see you with your miserable face,
Let us go now, to elsewhere, to another place.”
Then They left, leaving curses and ruins behind them.
The heart of the fallen city lies deep, resonates and hum.
The critters look up and their trails, cautious and curious,
Their eyes are clear like the bright sky, under the moon above us.
Stainless and without doubt, untainted by life yet,
How do they live with no threat?
Ah, how great their joy, how great their lives,
I do often envy them.
But what from envy comes what good?
The world had died, and my envy must die with it.