Cold

Pressure is heavy on the mind, wait, it is heavy on the clouds. It rains to bring out the best of the sky.. The best falls only to rise again but in a different form. The stars burst out of our chests to run in lines. The light came into infinite interior spaces. rays of light seemed fluid, fluidity was controlled by my ideas. I was weightless, a boundless space of a floating movement. How did I become the movement and when did the serene feeling become something self-possessed provided by nobody but myself?

Speaking slowly..

This was a fantastic episode. An arcade in the late evening of a humming-home human. He has lost control and let the light in. He has lost control and lost the interest in this investigation of astonished seductive apple corpses. It swells and hurts his spine as he blinks. He cut off his wings just to be able to walk around like everyone else.

An ocean is contained in this passage. Sea weed floating like clouds on a grey day form a window display. A boy looked outside at leaves flying across the street and bouncing off sidewalks. He yelled “I hope you find your way” to the wind blowing everything in its way. You belong to a time frame and a place but you have no geometrical balance. You have become that space that you’ve once owned. This is an accumulation of incidents within an emotional movement of reflective forms and sensations which have been passed on to you by an experience that you have once lived.

My body is a form of leftover logic. Was it logical to strive for a future?

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