Falling Mushroom

Soundscape Landscape
Serene sculptures stride across the plains of sullenness. Creeping pleasure thunderstorms light up the evening. Small dotted lights pronounce life on the marina. Cradle sleep ships visible from afar. Her smiling cheeks lead parallel with her nose. Adorable and quested to become another casual cherub upon the life. Her aura serenades me with the instrument of her heartstrings. I embark in some sort of mania, just staring for some time at pictures that entwine her love of nature, and her default protocol to smile elatedly in every single one of those photos. I wish to bring her to earth from her dewy eyed pedestal via the madness of Mars, and the serenity of the Moon until an orbit of galvanism is located that locks between two. The notches of her slender spine spell charm in Braille. Beauty is such an ugly thing, unless its got things growing out of it. The girl is damaged because she never discovered what love was as she grew up. Battered from pillar to post between the pair of her creators who valued other things above the feelings she desired to reciprocate. And then when she grew up to become so beautiful, she thought shed found these feelings shed longed for in the eyes of illusionary desire all around her. She thus came to define love as the pleasure she could easily obtain, but she was still empty, and lost as to connotation between what she did not have. She realized that love is something far more meaningful. A dream of ascent into the clouds above. For if we were blind, would our eyes still dream for the things our eyes have never seen? And in the gnarled minds of everlong who can be sure of anything that good and bad provides us? The final light fades by the sea, glistening conch shell reflection. Broth ablazen, open mouth height of dawn soon to follow. A hopeful swing of the mind turns around, and Im proud to live my own life once again. Scrubbing star residue lights up the night. Cloth of litter luminary, that streaks and glows. The diet of explosive happiness, and uncontrollable sadness I consume and cry in my spilt sanctity of pureness over. How I can only write as a young person of artificial pain, for my mind is ever so... Increasingly paved in self destruct, though not true. The light is found through alternative ways of spending time away from civilization. Until the clouds are long, and my sentiment is short, and the ghosts of my thoughts stop then so be it, and the life I lead. Ive sat in cars talking of the end, so close to it, with mysticism powders of death. To my knowledge they were beautifully disgusting nights. Nights where the value of time ceased to exist. Hours in a secluded world with secluded creatures of an unsure destiny, trying to locate heaven like its on some sort of map in the quarter light window. I used to drive hard, braking according to the dimensions of the will to live.

Searching In The Death Doorway Waltz

So here we go! Proposition nowhere! The clichd open road! The world, so round and vast to dig! Theres an angel propellaring in the sky above the car. I scald her at satellite temperature, inquiring about the chance of some mysticism to bless me on my travels. She smiles promisingly, kisses the car, then disappears in to where religion began, in to the inebriated monasteries where imaginations of free will are prepared, ready for bastardization by the outside world of ignorance. Tumbling tides, permeating invaders, skyfall, rainfall. Alone, other than a-lone wave of magic, of anticipation.

There is a grand gateway to explore. The intelligence of being humble is whats required to explore this gateway. And may whatevers up there strike me down! Ive broken many of your laws. And introspection suggests that theres nothing that the invisible adorning God can do. I am afraid of pressures sometimes, although these pressures are the result of my manifesting mind most likely. In death who will care longest to be alive? I am a reckless nirvana chaser in every sense of the word, and I wish to scald on a bed of matches if it should yield a story to tell. In fact the words youre about to read may well just be the crazed fidgets of a man possessed, but are probably much worse. The walk that seeks purpose dreams of adventure.... The darkness descends once again, and its the first night of this trip. Densely layered thoughts mean I cannot think of anything other. The place around me right now is green and alone. There is a derelict church in front of me that nature has reclaimed. Abundant flowers oozing with pollen shoot out from the church roof which has become concave from the pressures of shrubbery that rests upon it. It is an example of nature, the nature that will grow over everything. It has no expression. It is neither sad nor happy, its just nature! I can wish for a kind nature to bless my travels upon this earth, but it is the arbitrary hallelujah from which I can never see that will decide my fate. Hate in the space between my flesh and bones, lose in faint phosphorus that fertilizes new horizons of beyond...