with
desire to recede into champagne, so listless a spell, trying to authenticate
soundness to self. much a strange enterprise, much a rapid tempo, watching as
it cascades—the dreams of the pictureless, the films of the patriarch, with
hell to pay for some perception.
I
never desired entrance, those strobes are isolated, those chambers are for
members only.
it doesn’t matter
if one knows—those faraway dreams, those coming comets, our interior
lighthouse.
I wanted
revelation, as it palmed appetites, as it soon became familiar. so spell-taken,
sore cosmic, wishing to retreat. the cup is a cycle, same path, different
chimneys, same experiences.
shaking was a
phenomenon. we partake of the phenomenon. one becomes the phenomenon.
gestures, signs,
audible disapproval—nothing might appease us.
most
things are beyond description. one etches at shadows. one manufactures what isn’t
there. truth isn’t an issue, humans are pivotal, if liked, one is brought into
the fold, if disliked, one becomes a focal point.
I could never
match islands. Fiji seems close by. gems seem ineffable.
irrigation was
trying. restructuring was brutal. the maintenance is difficult. life is for a
time. beauty is for a time. appeasement is for a time.
many are blessed.
they miss out on the politics.
I should smile; at
least we’re treated like affectation.
