The Lucid Caliginosity

It is early in the morning, sun has not yet risen. A snail crawls up a blackberry, over the thorns leaving a trail of silver behind. Perhaps a wonderful beautiful thing has happened here, perhaps not. Solace. Nobody saw anyway...

Love will always win if you let it. Satire. A snail will also win if you let it. Love doesn't grow unless it's fed, and even then love always dies. Hate will win if you don't control it. Ink. But like all passions, hate will also fade and die...

Catching a glimpse or a feeling of something you not what but you can never let go of it and it plagues you forever until you start to wonder whether dreams really do tell the future, then you remind yourself that they mean nothing, breathe, but convincing oneself is possibly the hardest thing on earth...

Sometimes it's the implications that impact. A realisation that slowly winds it noose around you and then tightens. Like a dirty window suddenly shattering and then you see. Ignorance.  Why the house at the end of the street has always been for sale. Why the neighbours suddenly moved away. List. A dead telephone number. Delve. A note left in an unmarked envelope...

Slamming ones fingers in a door hurts...

I like walking along the the top mountains, jumping from one great peak to another. Over the oceans and over cities, over deserts and forests...

The wall holding back the flood of hatred is indeed leaking. Bleeding cuts, weeping wounds, at any moment threatening to burst forth. Everything could be prevented, but then again nothing bad that has ever happened was prevented. Denial. Hopelessness. Philosophers sit on the bank, while nature takes it's course unabated...

Perhaps can sit on your pile of silver coins and whisper to the cockroaches that gather at your feet for crumbs from those mint flavoured chocolate biscuits you greedily munch on...

Most people try the right way first. Most people try to be happy first. Adolf Hitler wanted to be a painter.