Jun 2018
The tides are high and there is fear in their eyes,
the eyes of the ocean,
the eyes of the creatures down deep in the sea.
The hunt is real, they search deeper,
taking their whims and their fancies and their instinctual projections and finding themselves in their safest place.
The buildings that design the obsequious cityscape are filling with water. The groveling air towers over, like a filmy smoke of misused thoughts, and moments people want but lose.
The roofs are calling the names of crowds and everything is the same color.
The color of fear; mis-colored schools of thought, a murky brownish swim of trepidation and drowned almost brilliance.
She waits a while, leaving her misery and love and dirt and meaningfulness to turn into what it wants.
Her feet are one with her mind, a waterlogged caption held captive on a steamboat headed toward the end of the world.
The water is purest at the end of the world.
The way to move is no longer open form, pick a card and get a boat if she’s lucky.
Masses gather on the tops of buildings, Freedom a word synonymous to safety.
**** a boat this kid's gonna swim.
Paper boats and carrier pigeons prove the back and forth of things.
Overnight everything becomes as clear as the rising ocean.
The escapism from daily trivialities is now arbitrary as there is nowhere left to escape to.
People gather around doors, a vague hope that one might open in a way that is beyond itself.
Everyone glistens with wetness, water pouring from the sky, coming up from a place too deep to rightfully understand.
The mouths of fish are left to their own devices as one door opens.
A lonesome unlocked door holds a building of more buildings.
Facilities meant for easy death, built into one another like memories that play off of a fake idea of what the past means.
Steel doors of fiery incinerators, reaching out for a hold on life. Immediate death the most vital thing any one of them can do.
She gathers. Thoughts, hope, love, sentimental objects. A sketchbook, a book of sketchbooks, a stick of incense, a cat, a longing.
She comes to a place of peace with the idea of steel-wrought incineration.
Meditation, endurance, strength. A step inside the narrow steel room, painted with the blood of the ancients, the loss of a civilization, She loses herself.
Within the nothingness that is death, comes a realization of the realization of nothingness at all.
This realization of nothingness transforms into darkness. A stumbling around. She wanders and wonders a while.
When she comes to, she recognizes a second consciousness.
Herself.
Her consciousness seeps into the mind of an alternate version of herself.
Slowly, she fades.
Slowly, she morphs into herself again.
the eyes of the ocean,
the eyes of the creatures down deep in the sea.
The hunt is real, they search deeper,
taking their whims and their fancies and their instinctual projections and finding themselves in their safest place.
The buildings that design the obsequious cityscape are filling with water. The groveling air towers over, like a filmy smoke of misused thoughts, and moments people want but lose.
The roofs are calling the names of crowds and everything is the same color.
The color of fear; mis-colored schools of thought, a murky brownish swim of trepidation and drowned almost brilliance.
She waits a while, leaving her misery and love and dirt and meaningfulness to turn into what it wants.
Her feet are one with her mind, a waterlogged caption held captive on a steamboat headed toward the end of the world.
The water is purest at the end of the world.
The way to move is no longer open form, pick a card and get a boat if she’s lucky.
Masses gather on the tops of buildings, Freedom a word synonymous to safety.
**** a boat this kid's gonna swim.
Paper boats and carrier pigeons prove the back and forth of things.
Overnight everything becomes as clear as the rising ocean.
The escapism from daily trivialities is now arbitrary as there is nowhere left to escape to.
People gather around doors, a vague hope that one might open in a way that is beyond itself.
Everyone glistens with wetness, water pouring from the sky, coming up from a place too deep to rightfully understand.
The mouths of fish are left to their own devices as one door opens.
A lonesome unlocked door holds a building of more buildings.
Facilities meant for easy death, built into one another like memories that play off of a fake idea of what the past means.
Steel doors of fiery incinerators, reaching out for a hold on life. Immediate death the most vital thing any one of them can do.
She gathers. Thoughts, hope, love, sentimental objects. A sketchbook, a book of sketchbooks, a stick of incense, a cat, a longing.
She comes to a place of peace with the idea of steel-wrought incineration.
Meditation, endurance, strength. A step inside the narrow steel room, painted with the blood of the ancients, the loss of a civilization, She loses herself.
Within the nothingness that is death, comes a realization of the realization of nothingness at all.
This realization of nothingness transforms into darkness. A stumbling around. She wanders and wonders a while.
When she comes to, she recognizes a second consciousness.
Herself.
Her consciousness seeps into the mind of an alternate version of herself.
Slowly, she fades.
Slowly, she morphs into herself again.
