No more long, slow days of pushing through fatigue and boredom, we've stagnated long enough they say.
Now the wind kicks up a renewed warmth that greets us in the morning over the white-capped mountains. Now the sun sets and shrouds a cloudless sky in gold.
We hear voices, whispers saying someday soon we'll go out to **** or be killed.
And it's scary how much it excites us to fantasize about death; about our role in catastrophe and the empty glory.
Sometimes death hurtles through the beautiful high, azure sky. And leaves not a mark, not even a cool shadow on the ground as it flutters harmlessly to the earth bemusing us. underwhelming us.
Some weeks are so quiet that we touch the nuts and bolts of true nothing too much. 000000000000000000000000000000000000000 feel too little and lose sight 000000000000000000000000000000000000000 of our purpose. Lose sight 000000000000000000000000000000000000000 of the need 000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000d000000000000000000000000000000 for one. Lose sight 000000000000000000000000000000000000000 of memories of ******* by the fire. Lose sight of what there is to guard inside of us, to keep 000000000000000000000000000000000000000 whole and untouched 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000 . Lose sight of why we're guarding it, why we're trying to, need to. Lose sight of what the air tasted like back home. We just lose.
Sandstorms kick up giant tornados of dust, pebbles and sand cutting silently across the burning concrete.
We stand in their way, constantly.
To keep busy we tell the same stories so many times.
Now they dive out of our mouths dropping weightlessly, not even the strength to carry a wingbeat.
We barely believe ourselves anymore, that's what we say.