I had set off on a 45-minute tour and the fire had not yet crumbled into dusk. I was awash in laments as usual wishing that any number of things were possible right this very now.
I can’t divide at that line every time we come to it, love. I can’t mark down the words that were if the severed song is the sonnet for a risen sun mi amour aec7acc3ludi. Worn of watts indefinite none like to turn away from the light. Makes for marginal maneuvering in meat-space when the detritus thoughts collide. Packing the work into the loops while the wise-men concur, I feign authorization when my voice is at the beckoning call.
I was lying to myself as usual, because, as a matter of fact, I’m pathetically lonely without you. I just don’t have that facial recognition anymore, but that was excruciatingly necessary and you probably know it, if you’re still out there. Alive or not, there’s an ember somewhere, I can feel the need to see what I’ve unearthed just scathing in my veins. Ghosts don’t scare me, but I’m not afraid to admit anymore that actual zombies do. Robots or not, the absent of mind in forms of current time; easy enough to ignore in day to day life, but the ongoing task of imitating them can sometimes rend me.
I don’t necessarily start out each day with the goal of providing anyone with a product, but I abide that one truth law [of time] as much as consciously possible. Awareness situational; just that I never can pick my own safe-houses. There is always the other truth in triad, but it earns no terminology via English all the same as it earns no terminology in electrons illuminating these words in whatever way. I was faithful in 1999, but frail. When the recordings we made of any media get stuck in my head, it still comforts me more than it frightens me. I’m grateful that I still have those dream-whirled discs to revisit.