so on what protean glamour were these wings built, that brings the
day to the functional masses, and Here on this plane?… we are the gods
united… stuck to each other because we are glued by this ephemeral
longing to experience everything that we can even glimpse within the
realm of possibility… the writing i do is the outgrowth of the private
quest made public to seek the answers to make my personal mythology real
to me… everyone strives to put into place their own ideas of order
before losing to the perils of time… those decrepit swinging doors
opening out onto a landscape of cretins and sycophants… sitting to abide
the time, wasted and a-daze at the increments exploding before the
eyes, and puzzle gets deeper and richer as i begin to show off the clues
to the wealth i have discovered so far… however, in the guise of myths
and legends with maps and sketches, and these words always these
exacting words… the core “elements” expose a world to me where my
imagined creations share some kind of inherited rhythm from which
stories and epic poems are written… a decision to become what next lies
in front of me, and to catapult it into the staged resemblance for which
we pass, in a confused state where the reality prevents oneself from
growth beyond this larval stage that spat us as caterpillars crawling
along the vine… we share this ‘visce-reality’ up to the unconscious
point where dream manifests as our reality, but limits itself very
carefully to our collective consensus pronouncement of it…
Thanks, khet.
