On a linear scale time is still a spiral. It grows forever inward and the cycles become quicker and shorter, the years faster. It tightens toward oblivion as there’s no room left and the last few cycles run over themselves and spin on the spot; dizzy death at last. Now the line is gone and you create the line instead. You can stretch it long and elastically slow or free the line completely; where a thousand nows rest on an infinite dot. Or a forgetful circle to re re repeat a life, recycling soul and bones. Silver amnesia flows in layers in the dark river and you have to drink it in gulps, dripping down the chin. Utter destruction forged in sips and slurps. Silky threads weaving, slipping lightly between the tightly cross-hatched thread, a red swathe, a new life. Enfolded and flooded. Dense again. Little markers, little signs. Little epiphanies, déjà vu for you. You’ve lived this life before you must have as you recognise this moment. A shade of this and that of light. Why would you choose it twice? Maybe not a Ground-hog Day but a god-damn ground-hog life. Wasted spaces, wasted years. Iron time, or is it mercy, a rest in an easy groove?
Another loop, another compact life. Your diminutive desires, unnecessariness and waste. Fake happy and a lifetime of purchased smiles. Stuff the gaping holes with stuff but not with love or light. Paper dreams and solid coins, gouging the earth much deeper. Manufactured apocalypse and another world is starting to end. The firmament softens. At the very top of the sky you see some of it has come free like a poster corner unstuck from a wall. It rips away a jagged square and behind it a peep of space, the chilly eyes of stars. Your shielded eyes and craning head balanced on a stupid spine. The sun comes in hotter; it’s a contradiction as space is so fucking cold but that’s what happens. The earth heats up, sweat beads on seven billion thinning skins, and the screams are nothing against that wind. It’s night all over; the sky has fallen. The pine scented atmosphere escapes; it’s the first time you’ve seen air against the void as it’s sucked out into space. Lay down with crushed lungs. Wheezing on the grass, looking up at stars and you don’t want to think they’re indifferent as it’s cliché but you know it must be true. It’s only now you realise how thin the sky always was. One last breath, eyes closed. Without the earth’s blue umbrella the sun scorches your closed eyelids in outrageous red and yellow. You try to breathe again. It’s only natural to try.
Reality a swirling conch shell the macro again and the micro, your body the example down here in the mud. Little organisms looking up at your brow, their stars. Breathing it in, breathing it out. Reality. Soda water bubbles exploding like suns. All fractal if you look up really close and it’s such a good way to understand. Go down to the bottom of the clay pile and see what you can see, the clay feet, not the stars they’re made of light. Clay and light mixed it’s not Adam’s ribs at all. An energy antennae stuck in the bony head that’s what brains are for. Knowing in another way but not using the blinder eyes. In the world but not of it, coming from a higher place that has nothing to do with pills. Can you dig it? Can you dig the clay feet out of the other mud, separate it so you can take a step? Shakti mother energy and father it goes in the brain too it starts at the base, a triangle of power bones curled up like a sleeping puppy. Unfurl it, uncurl it winding up the tree like the snake up a tree trunk, the apple at the top is your glowing orb but you don’t need to bite this one just let it shine.
On a linear scale time is still a spiral. It grows forever inward and the cycles become quicker and shorter, the years faster. It tightens toward oblivion as there’s no room left and the last few cycles run over themselves and spin on the spot; dizzy death at last. Now the line is gone and you create the line instead. You can stretch it long and elastically slow or free the line completely; where a thousand nows rest on an infinite dot. Or a forgetful circle to re re repeat a life, recycling soul and bones.
Silver amnesia flows in layers in the dark river and you have to drink it in gulps, dripping down the chin. Utter destruction forged in sips and slurps.
Silky threads weaving, slipping lightly between the tightly cross-hatched thread, a red swathe, a new life. Enfolded and flooded. Dense again.
Little markers, little signs. Little epiphanies, déjà vu for you. You’ve lived this life before you must have as you recognise this moment. A shade of this and that of light. Why would you choose it twice? Maybe not a Ground-hog Day but a god-damn ground-hog life. Wasted spaces, wasted years. Iron time, or is it mercy, a rest in an easy groove?
Another loop, another compact life. Your diminutive desires, unnecessariness and waste. Fake happy and a lifetime of purchased smiles. Stuff the gaping holes with stuff but not with love or light.
Paper dreams and solid coins, gouging the earth much deeper. Manufactured apocalypse and another world is starting to end.
The firmament softens. At the very top of the sky you see some of it has come free like a poster corner unstuck from a wall. It rips away a jagged square and behind it a peep of space, the chilly eyes of stars.
Your shielded eyes and craning head balanced on a stupid spine.
The sun comes in hotter; it’s a contradiction as space is so fucking cold but that’s what happens. The earth heats up, sweat beads on seven billion thinning skins, and the screams are nothing against that wind.
It’s night all over; the sky has fallen. The pine scented atmosphere escapes; it’s the first time you’ve seen air against the void as it’s sucked out into space.
Lay down with crushed lungs. Wheezing on the grass, looking up at stars and you don’t want to think they’re indifferent as it’s cliché but you know it must be true. It’s only now you realise how thin the sky always was.
One last breath, eyes closed. Without the earth’s blue umbrella the sun scorches your closed eyelids in outrageous red and yellow.
You try to breathe again. It’s only natural to try.
Reality a swirling conch shell the macro again and the micro, your body the example down here in the mud. Little organisms looking up at your brow, their stars.
Breathing it in, breathing it out. Reality.
Soda water bubbles exploding like suns. All fractal if you look up really close and it’s such a good way to understand.
Go down to the bottom of the clay pile and see what you can see, the clay feet, not the stars they’re made of light. Clay and light mixed it’s not Adam’s ribs at all.
An energy antennae stuck in the bony head that’s what brains are for. Knowing in another way but not using the blinder eyes. In the world but not of it, coming from a higher place that has nothing to do with pills.
Can you dig it? Can you dig the clay feet out of the other mud, separate it so you can take a step?
Shakti mother energy and father it goes in the brain too it starts at the base, a triangle of power bones curled up like a sleeping puppy. Unfurl it, uncurl it winding up the tree like the snake up a tree trunk, the apple at the top is your glowing orb but you don’t need to bite this one just let it shine.