On eves of the hallowed, the lady fair walks out of her red doorframe and into the night with a cup of coco. Pumpkin heads on stakes with candles inside that give the impression of glow and stare as she lifts off her heals and peels out to the moon as if the ground would never be enough for her in a world in which she was destined to pretend that she was dirt bound. Creation took flight and thus she was able to see beyond the barriers of weight and gravity and seemed to receive a peace that the earth could not give her on nights when she became so forlorn that she wanted to lay down on the floor and be sucked into the under planes for a time.
My God, My God. Who am I and where do I fit into this realm that stretches me shallow and rips me into pieces for the “common good”. I must choose to be derailed, disinclined to see the material as the majestic. Let us softly caress in the deep moments of prophet serving and diamonds could be forgotten once their sheen dulls and duels for our attention.
Who is he that looks restless back at me in the mirror when I am angry and surging to change the defeat and surrender all that I see in the world of the real. I come from time warps and chastised brethren that falter with each new idea of empathy and mischievous undertaking. To directly pursue the phantoms that float in and out of my periphery cackling and shaking their fists with smirk and purpose. I sweat eagerly to find ways in which to be truly alone when I am not in the presence of another human form. The afterlife and the dimensional realms that encircle us are hard to quiet once they break the barrier with you one day when you are sitting drinking coffee and listening to what have you done when the nightmares start to get worse for the wear and wear me out in the nighttime when really I want to close my eyes and forget the visions that flash through my mind.
Fight force with passion creativity and Armageddon is coming to sweep us off of our carpet stains and mail orders into a setting of warlords and the twilight monsters of the molten earth. Is there doubt in my mind that life is supposed to good, that people don’t die before they are ready, that as we sit and spit we are all dying and some unfairly so.
To conclude this delusion of severance from the tiger’s eye and all these fine vibrating spaces around us, we twirl fortunate that these frail bodies do give us a place to sleep for the night. I end up in a rabbit hole regardless of what time it is anywhere. It would seem as if that is my purpose and I habit it as well I can. The fervor in my voice would have made you believe I was an animal of wit and magic maybe but I don’t know for sure. I seem uncertain of myself with all masks aside and put on the bathroom shower curtain to draw conclusions and dry for a spell. I am misanthropic fatal as seen by my performative audience.
Channeling to the whole is difficult to judge by in the terms of through the white columned hallways and byways of international skepticism. Lying only became me when I was a monkey in the tree outside my neighbors’ house maybe on some Wednesday night when I didn’t have anything else to do. Yes, there is a monster of sorts that hides lonely and eager to get some stage presence in our drama for today, but I don’t let him out often in circumstances of the vile we drink out of.
Where is our conference room in which I could read this out loud and explain- or demanded to try at least to whisper in the minds of the folk I live around. It was an odd assortment of discipline and slippery moonshine. Twas Brillig and so forth, and I was humbled by your presence in our house again. Was there anything I can get you? A piece of my mind to munch on casually or a scene from the hole in the ground... I was too shy to simply say what I mean and confront you in the mirror, dear players and characters of my mind infinite set in my brain that seemed more confusing than when I started this writing endeavor.