I refuse to die. I think about death just about every day. Who doesn't. Yes that is a statement. I refuse to die. SHOW ME ALL OF MY LABELS. I will show you a complete set. A complete-ish set? I miss my friends. Am I alone. I am alone. I am l onea. O, am I lone. A olo nei.
Destrega. I have dreams about the end of the world. They are fun. Are you?
Dogfights are luscious.
I dreamt about trees falling and bears coming out of the woods across creek where I used to live in southern Maryland and the spider monster came down out of the bear tree limbs in the middle of winter and before the bears could get to the fawns grazing on what grasses were left behind in a mild thaw before the permafrost killed everything the tree sized monsters began swooping down to harvest the bears.
Their force began tipping the old and dead trees over, held up by ivy.
The entire thing began collapsing.
Have you ever heard the sound
of a tree hitting the ground
that was as large as you
can run?
The shadows were enormous. I ran fast. As fast as I could... the entire dream collapsed. The ground collapsed with the bass of the shear air the trunks displaced as they fell. The spiders were squashed. The bears became pelts and powdered glistening bone, when I had time to glance back at the pink mist.
I lived. The animals died. I panted. I watched
more trees fall with thick and thicker trunks, torn asunder like toothpicks before the clouds.
The troposphere. The fucking fickle thin layer of air that had just a little too much sun. God, some single batch would probably kill me so I dont have to know
what's coming next.
No comments:
Post a Comment