So we reach into the raging chaos, and we pluck some small glittering thing, and we cling to it, and tell outselves it has meaning, and that the world is good, and we are not evil, and we will all go home in the end.
"We'll be living in an age when everybody's born in a little glass dish, and raised by a man in a white coat with rimless glasses and he'll never say... "and after all I've done for you""
-Quinten Crisp : gay icon 1909-1999
The devouring effects of time claim yet another victim. Oh god! Why does it have to be this way?! Who decided that this was the result of living? Is this a punishment? A lesson to those who are too young to realize what they ake for granted, that which they abuse every day. Deteriorating vessels clutching thriving souls. What have you become if your soud dies along with your body? What is left then? Banished away to the mysterious world of walkers, dentures, and three square meals of tapioca a day. Where the looming castle walls keep you captive as someone, somewhere feeds you pills and the vague idea that they will keep you alive. What exactly are they keeping alive? a Disembodied voice and lonely hands left empty by the careless thoughts of the ones you love. What are the options? Die or stay alive to face another painful, confusing day. The world is changes, no questionthere. I can barely keep up with it now, how about in 60 years? Can we blame those who are afraid of the debit machine and can't quite decide what to make of cell phones. Age is the punishment for being born. You work your way deeper into your sentence until you've served it, LIFE. Hard time...
To go on without the knowledge of previous evils, she headed north to battle the storm. Facing down mountains covering indescribable terrors of reality. Burdens upon riddles plastered upon dirty walls of contempt. She looks the powers in the eye and unlocks the beauty of the beast. Her mind is that of the sun and the moon and her sister stars. Her in him, all that which she could not claim. He in her, all of which she so desperately needed. To unfold the hideous beauty of all the truth and reveal unto the darkness all of which the vessel could contain. Because truth is madness and madness truth truly revealed and to see is always to see too much. The voyage home had brought her to the edge of the realm which we call time. The fleeting pain of existence in which all is seen to no one soul. The empty eyes are full of the pain, which swims over the skies and the grass. A single tear feeds the pain as another broken wing tries to fly skyward. Strain to the sky to find that perfection which you seek. It is there, somewhere. The voice speaks the backwards truth of existence as everything which once was black, now turns to fear and up is now the backwards light from the black void of here. Once she arrives, the reality of it all begins to sink in…
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