Stencil Words

2(?)/(?)/08

Dream(?): The streets unlock as metaphysical chambers, less a place than an object, sky made of liquid tissue – stars drop to the ground like space is a water faucet and erupt around me, sounds like piano strings plucked in empty mausoleums – my face becoming ghostfog – the sound of a string wound until it snaps – the sky cascades down like data is falling out of place, like the sick of a computer emerging under plush synthetics – a dying anatomy of chemicals abstract – I am standing in veins that lead me at last to your mechanical heart, space – here we are again, me addressing you as if you exist – I am standing in your pulmonary chambers as you pump your thinning blood and collapse into your fade exhales –

Where have I come to that I am watching a planet deliquesce from the inside? I borrow your eyes so as not to expire apart from you – while the walls of my mind crumble and my head floods with sky – I may have lost it, yeah – but as an aqueous structure I have at last become free. Is this enlightened? A realization that everything you’ve lived for is superficial and sets as calmly as definitely as the sun?

Tired of looking to the sky for answers – the most important questions have none to be found.